A Taste of Hungary’s Market Culture
Daily Blog #4 — Evidence I Need More Farmers in My Life
Neither of us had slept well and it took an iron will to crawl our way out of bed at 7:30am to get ready for our tour of Hungarian Markets this morning.
Ian has yet to fully master the Moka coffee maker (it keeps coming out burned somehow), so we stumbled down the stairs to the early morning bus without caffeine. Ian is convinced I’m a mutant for my ability to be cheerful in the morning if necessary even without chemical influence and I peppered him with encouragement on our ride over the river and into Pest.
We arrived on time which was a small miracle unto itself if you know me and my semi-flexible relationship with punctuality. Our blonde tour guide Amanda was all leg at six feet five inches, but spoke with a quiet voice. She immediately reminded me of one of my cousins. My age and with an entrepreneurial spirit, Amanda is a one-woman tour guide company who has been taking visitors to the different markets located in each of Budapest’s numerous districts for a year or so to help them understand the local relationship with food. She’s also a woman who knows how to get us on her good side after a 9am start time: she greeted each attendee with two Pogacsas. The small quarter sized scones are consumed in the morning with meats, butter, or the popular apricot jam produced from the numerous Hungarian orchards. Savory and just enough to eat in several bites, I was reminded of Scotland and marveled how some food concepts are universal. As luck would have it, a nearby bakery in the metro had iced coffee so after arming ourselves, Amanda let us and our fellow tourists out for the day to see where locals fetch their daily ingredients.
Unlike the US, farmers markets are alive and well in Europe. In every city we’ve visited, you can find local or regional farmers selling beautiful seasonal fruits and veggies for good rates and not just on the odd Thursday or Saturday. And they aren’t just in one spot in the city — they are everywhere. Amidst the food laden stalls, you can also find anything and everything from household goods, clothes, pickles, souvenirs, and even dried fish on a stick if that strikes your fancy. There are convenience stores and super markets, but they’re in balance with these local markets which open at 6am and close around 3 or 4 in the afternoon — sooner if stock runs out. The earlier you are, the better the choice and having had to pick through the remains of the day, I have respect for all the grannies who make marketing their first ritual of the day. They know what they’re about when it comes to early birds getting the proverbial worms — or perhaps no worms in this case.
Our first stop for the day was a small local market in the upscale demure glass building that revealed a beautiful iron interior with a butcher, cheese maker, and overflowing tables of fresh produce. We huddled around Amanda as she talked to us about the history of markets in Hungary and how they have remained a tradition even with the influx of super markets. Under Communist rule, supermarkets were never stocked with what you needed due to supplies and rationing so locals didn’t trust them as a reliable source of daily sustenance. Markets were where you could get what you needed. Amanda’s parents and their peers have passed on this concept of trusting in your local market first so even in the age of the microwave, young people in Hungary cook using raw ingredients.
She gave us samples of salami and Hungarian Camembert cheese, whispering conspiratorially that she thinks the Hungarian version is better than the French. It was definitely different — lighter with a softer touch to the tongue- but let’s not get carried away here.
Our next market was bigger with a unique architecture that Amanda said is still puzzling to locals who aren’t sure they agree with the architect’s concept of boats on the ocean.
Lehel Market is however painted in the three colors of it’s district and true to it’s reputation, the produce there was incredible.
Each tomato I looked at was near perfect in shape, color and size. The onions sang in their piles and heaps of raspberries tempted you from across the open floor. Lehel Market is for locals so few tourists find their way in and the stall keepers carried on conversations with their neighbors and regulars with an easy confidence. Very few of them spoke English and after a brief explanation by Amanda on which area had the best prices based upon her brief tour, she turned us loose to do our morning shopping. Ian trailed behind me in his still sleep deprived haze as I picked out onions, green onions and touched my first paprika pepper. The farmer warned me away from the spicy variety and rewarded my attempts at Hungarian with an extra pepper as a souvenir. The man with the raspberries lured me in with a free sample and the gentleman seated in a sea of bins containing different varieties of grains was brisk as he measured out exactly a quarter of kilo of rice and koos-koos for me using a giant metal scoop.
Each transaction was a small delight in cross cultural exchange — the opening welcome of Szívesen followed by a series of mimed maneuvers and broken English, smiles, an exchange of cash and my parting köszönöm rewarding me with more smiles and “Thank you!”s.
Our haul of groceries came to a whopping $8 USD and that included four slices of imported dried pineapple I allowed as an indulgence. If I needed further evidence that Americans spend more per capita on lower quality food than the rest of the world, I got it this morning.
Amanda herded us together for one final culinary treat for lunch: fresh made lángos.
The only way to describe it is to picture a fat flat donut the size of your head, hot out of the fryer and doused in garlic and cheese. It’s incredible and has instantly made my list of favorite street foods in the world.
Our tour complete, we waved our goodbyes to our fellow travelers who had given us tips on Vietnam in exchange for Budapest and Vienna insights on the course of our morning walk — temporary friends passing along good road karma. Amanda joined us for the metro ride home since she was going the same direction and we discussed the frightening similarities of Hungarian and American politics. She admitted she is very political and feels strongly our generation must be vocal if we’re to have any chance at making an impact. I wanted to hug her as she loped off the metro waving to us and imagined if life was different, we might be friends.
We returned home with our treasures and Ian promptly passed out for a nap while I plotted the evening’s cooking adventure feeling richer in spirit and belly. I’ve resolved to put more effort into locally sourcing my food and while Portland doesn’t have a farmer’s market around the corner everyday, there’s enough of them I really have no excuse not to make it a priority to shake hands with the person growing the contents of my dinner plate.
Viva la market!
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