Market Day With Mum

March 1, 2010

I used to hate going to the market, particularly the wet market. When I was little, I used to go to the wet and dry market with Mum downtown to buy meat, fish, fresh fruits and vegetables good for a week’s consumption. I can’t remember now whether she dragged me with her to the market or I went with her just because I was bored. Either way, I hated going to the market.

I didn’t like the smell of wet markets. It made me kinda dizzy, the smell of newly slaughtered cow or chicken or pig with their flesh precisely chopped into choice cuts; the smell of newly caught fish and other seafood that sometimes are still writhing on the vendor’s table, hanging on to dear life. I didn’t like how the smell stuck to your clothes, and you went home smelling like fresh meat. I didn’t like combing through wet markets because the uneven flooring, the gaps which were sometimes only bridged by flimsy wood boards, and the slippery surface made walking without slipping difficult. It didn’t help if there were a lot of people accidentally bumping into you or poking your ribs with their elbows.

I stopped going with Mum to the market eventually. If it were the supermarket we were going to, I sometimes would tag along because the aisles were wider, no risk of bumping into people and getting your ribs poked, no strong smell of fresh meats, no risk of slipping, and you would still look like a decent human being when you’re done shopping. I didn’t understand back then why Mum preferred to buy meat and produce at the market when they were also available at the supermarket.

Recently, I had to drive Mum to the market because she was feeling a bit under the weather. I knew she could’ve stayed home and rested, but she couldn’t entrust me yet with the meat and produce shopping. Firstly, I couldn’t tell whether a fruit or a vegetable looked good or bad or tasted sweet or sour. Any fruit vendor could easily talk me into buying a sour mango simply by telling me it was sweet. Secondly, I have no idea what the types of meat cuts are and what each type was used for what dish. Thirdly, I couldn’t tell the names of the fish for the life of me. Probably the only fish I could identify is tilapia. Lastly, I don’t know how to haggle. I feel uncomfortable just thinking about what I’d say to the vendor so that I’d get a bargain, so I end up not haggling at all though sometimes I know they may be overpricing.

Who would have known that going to the market now that I’m older would be fun. I was surprised by my reaction. I was expecting I’d be bored out of my wits, but no. It was like being there for the first time. I was inundated by a myriad of sights, sounds and smells. How I enjoyed every minute of it! Just standing there observing the trading of goods for money, customers carefully selecting their produce, butchers mercilessly chopping the meat into clean, ready-to-cook cuts, fish vendors effortlessly eviscerating and cleaning seafood - I was looking at the market with a whole new perspective. I was standing there almost in awe of this packed little, cramped place bursting with people and perishable goods for sale. Market day will never be the same.

(Image from www.flickr.com/photos/thebigtog/)