nathalie shushan

Farmers’ markets are a portal to nature and community. Fruits and vegetables reflect the seasons back at us as they change throughout the year. Going to the market is often an errand that I run by myself, to buy groceries or clear my head, but my happiest memories are of times I went with my family. The farmers’ market is the safest place for us to be together, each moving at our own pace, parting and reconvening, gravitating toward colorful stalls that call to us as we move through the crowd. My parents, who share little else, find common ground at the farmers market. My mother, an avid appreciator of fine foods and decadent indulgence, and my father, an advocate for plants as medicine, both find joy in a sprig of fresh rosemary. They indulge their senses and I, an equal combination of them both, bask in their happiness as much as my own.

“Try,” my dad succinctly commands as he walks up from behind me, handing me a spicy iced tonic made of ginger, calendula and echinacea. I wince as I sip it and he lovingly scolds me, reminding me of the health benefits of each ingredient and of my persistent cough. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mom and sister walking toward us waving the pint of fresh ice cream that they found at the dairy stall. “Look what we found!” my mom eagerly shouts over the crowd. “Should we have some now? It’s nice out.” I chew idly on the straw as my mouth widens into a smile, watching everyone stand together happily, admiring the treasures that they discovered on their journeys, and appreciating the reminder of what brought me back to the city.

Throughout my travels, I learned what fundamentally makes me feel home, which parts of my routine are portable and the different ways that I could ground myself as I moved from place to place. The first thing I would do when getting settled in a new city was always to find the nearest market. Not that I was cooking, to be clear, but I find peace wandering through grocery aisles or weaving between stalls of an open air market. From the fresh produce of Rome to the stunning spices of Morocco, I found calm amidst the chaos wherever I went. 

Exploring markets abroad did more than just offer a reminder of home or a semblance of routine. It was an opportunity to be immersed in local culture – to have small conversations with vendors, practice a different language, learn about local agriculture and customs. My senses were activated by elegant piles of loose leaf tea, fragrant fresh flowers, loud cages of live chickens, exotic fruits, pungent cheeses. I felt awake and I used that energy to embed myself in cultures that I refused to admire from afar. It was an opportunity to discover food that I had never been exposed to before or stumble upon familiar foods that taste like love. I’ll never forget the sweet Lebanese man in Paris whose kibbeh transported me right to my grandmother’s kitchen or the connections I made waiting in line at night markets in Thailand when the best way to make culinary decisions was to ask the people around me which item they liked the most and invite them to share it with me.

Now, as I ponder the best way to replant my roots, I walk through my favorite market with new eyes. I’ve always understood the way local markets nourish your body and revered them for that alone. It has, however, been a pleasure to learn new ways that they can nourish your spirit, too. Markets offer an opportunity to let the people around you in and make meaningful connections, even if they’re transient ones in your own city.