Coburg Farmers’ Market

When I lived in Newcastle, I would start every Sunday at the farmers’ market. I loved the early morning ritual of it. When we moved to Melbourne I missed it. Over the last couple of years, as I’ve slowly patched my homesickness with new discoveries, there’s still been this hole where the Newcastle Farmers’ Market should be.
Then we moved to Brunswick West and, shortly afterwards, the Coburg Farmers Market went weekly. It’s much smaller than Newcastle and the stalls change from week to week. But I’m quickly coming to adore our Saturday mornings together. I can ride my bike! There are so many cute dogs! I am in love with the potatoes that this guy called Bernie grows! I can almost imagine a time when my chest won’t ache every time my brother texts me about his weekly breakfast bao at the market in Newcastle.

Most of the things I love about farmers’ markets are clichés: the food tastes better, keeps for longer, just feels better, you know? I like how easy it is to eat seasonally when you put the choice about what’s available in the hands of the producers. I love how adventurous it makes me, how it encourages me to explore whatever is available that week. Because most of the store holders move between various markets, most are only at Coburg once a month. I’m learning to stock up on some things (like tortillas and potatoes) and to be flexible about others (fruit and veggies). I love how easy the markets make it to discover strange new food. Because the person who grew or made that food is right there and they are guaranteed to be willing (and excited) to tell you what it is, why it’s great and how you should cook it.
Little interactions make me nervous; I don’t like small talk. But somehow, I don’t get so nervous when I have to ask a man about his mushrooms. Even during weeks when I struggle to chat easily with colleges at work, I can still find the courage to ask about the difference between pine mushrooms and slippery jacks. I like the person that I am when I go to the markets.

Further reading

December – home

I spent the first minutes of 2018 on the beach. I’ve never actually spent New Year