In the midst of ramshackle buildings in Detroit, a vibrant marketplace mushrooms every Saturday like a bold stroke of happiness and hope against the dreary canvas of poverty and neglect. Here, under a spotlessly blue sky, with the sun shining merrily upon the city, a large warehouse stretches across six blocks. Within its premises hundreds of local farmers set up their stalls brimming with farm fresh produce like succulent peaches, pears, apples, cherries, mangoes and other fruit, crisp leaves of lettuce, kale and spinach, jars of tongue-tantalising jams and jellies, slabs of organic chocolate and tubs of rich golden home-made butter. Their wares do not need any fancy marketing tactics to attract customers. A mere look is enough to mesmerise the umpteen patrons milling around.
As one strolls through the market absorbing the myriad bucolic sights, sounds, hues and flavours, it feels like time has regressed. Warm, mom-and-pop style shops replace shiny, air-conditioned modern-day grocery stores, unadulterated, healthy produce trumps over artificially polished fruits and veggies and friendly shopkeepers eagerly trade places with the oft mechanical cashiers we deal with regularly. It looks like there is nothing that cannot be found here. From fruits and vegetables to eggs and meat to flowering plants and herbs to earthen pots to jewellery, incense, creams and soaps – everything is available under one roof much like our neighbourhood grocery store but fresher and cheaper. Lugging my haul in a heavy jute bag brings back memories of vegetable shopping trips with Ma at
sabzi mandis in India. Sans the frequent interruptions of the bovine kind (especially the ones where a cow ambles up to you and tries to sneak out that errant stalk of cilantro hanging out of your bag) that are very common back home, this market is much like the
sabzi mandi that Ma frequents.
The general ambience is that of a fun fair. Food carts pepper the compound aplenty and provide much needed nourishment in the form of fun food like sugar sprinkled funnel cakes, delicious stuffed croissants, refreshing apple cider and lemonade. Against walls covered in colourful graffiti, street singers serenade the crowd as they go about their business. Thanks to stores like Germack, there is a perpetual whiff of a medley of spices, tea and coffee in the air. Tucked in a corner there is an antique store too which is like a maze of connected rooms which are packed with treasures from bygone eras. It contributes abundantly to the 'auld lang syne' effect with black box-like rotary phones, chairs with flower patterned upholstery, gramophones and old records decorating its showcase. I can see myself spending an entire day exploring every corner of this store, cooking elaborate tales of people who once owned the stuff on display.
All in all, a morning at the Eastern Market is a morning well spent as it is not only about finding good food at bargain prices but also about giving new dwellers like me a chance to explore the sunny side of Detroit.
* Inspiration for the pictures in this article came from my dear friend Nanci Johnson
