My market’s older than your market…

This is one of my boasting points about Lancaster: downtown’s Central Market. The oldest farmers’ market in America. I had visited as a kid, way before my food-cabulary included words like “organic”, “local”, and “grass-fed”. I grew up, like most of my friends, with things like “corn syrup”, “transfat” and “roll-up”.

In 4th grade, before I set out on after-school activities, I would come home, scoop myself a g-i-a-n-t bowl of Turkey Hill Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, and watch Woody Woodpecker cartoons. *Good thing I picked up soccer a few years later…yikes…

This time, I returned, having been sufficiently brainwashed (for the better) by food-centric Portland and Los Angeles. Both of which bloom with farmers’ markets all year long.

Fresh veg! Bah. Boring. There’s lettuce everywhere. I wanted to see what makes the market “Lancaster-y”.

YES! There it is… The shoo-fly, Wilbur chocolate buds, cats…doing stuff (I don’t know what that is… chocolate cat turds? It looks fun and German!) This horseradish is sold by the Longs who are family friends. I worked for them one holiday season to package this stuff. (It is deee-licious. Get it!)

Cream puffs, tea and herbs galore, fudge that swirls your troubles away.

We decide to get lunch at the Lettuce Toss Salad stand (I KNOW… I just said lettuce was boring (your short term memory is fantastic, by the way), but this was a perfect snack…and it also cancelled out the Wilbur buds I snarfed.)

We walked across the street to Steinman Park to picnic by the waterfall and watch squirrels build their nests for winter. Baby deer bound past us as bluebirds called melodically from the trees and a Sasquatch quietly ate his brown bag lunch at a table nearby.

Everything up to the Sasquatch is true. OK…. everything up to the squirrels.

XX,

L