Local Find: The Farmers Market!

According to a website that has been consistently out-of-date, there was a farmers market last Thursday at Spon Street. I awoke hopeful, but dubious. Spon Street is very pretty, where they relocated all of Coventry’s remaining medieval buildings after the severe bombing during World War II. It’s now home to a few fine-dining restaurants and generally working-class pubs with convenient access to the nearby clubbing district. I haven’t seen much of it during the day, but it doesn’t get much foot traffic. Sure enough, when I showed up at 9:30, I found no farmers market.

Fortunately I’d been informed that there was a weekly “French market” in Kenilworth, and as the day looked pretty, and Kenilworth is always scenic, decided to go check it out. But if there had been a market, surely it hadn’t just disappeared, right? Any smart organization would have at least tried a better location. So I headed for the upper precinct. It may be a bit of a detour, but the window shopping is nice.


I got just past the library, almost to the fountain in the middle, when a glorious sight appeared: Pavilions, tables in front, striped awning fabric behind. I could see tomatoes. And bread! There was a farmer’s market after all! Of course I’d forgotten my camera, and I’ve been meaning to introduce more photojournalism to this little blog. So I turned around and hot-footed it to the flat, and made it back, camera in hand.
There was plenty of good stuff: crates and crates of eggs: chicken and duck, produce covering the ubiquitous spring onions, cauliflower, spring cabbage, tomatoes, strawberries, red currants and raspberries, sausages, smoked and cured meats from Tamworth pigs, lamb, pork and beef, artisan beers, ciders, fruit wines and cordials, bread, and the sign that excited me the most: cheese.


Sure, we had cheese at home. But it wasn’t farm-made. I got some traditional Warwickshire Truckley, smoked. It’s great, even if the smoke is unnecessary: pungent and chalky, just a touch flaky. I’m only sad that I didn’t buy the walnut bread to go with it.
I also got some spring cabbage, the closest-looking thing to collards. Hopefully since they’re both Brassicas, the flavour will be similar. And a giant smoked ham hock. I’m going somewhere with this, in case you haven’t picked up on it, and I’m trying to convince myself that it’s not worth going back for some of that artisan beer or cider. And next time, I’m trying the blue cheese.
I picked up a flier too, which seeks to convince the customer of the special nature of the products: all are produced within 30 miles, unless they’re a value-added product like honey, cider, bread or sausage: then the producers can come from up to 50 miles away. A producer (farmer, butcher, cider-maker or brewer) has to staff the booth to answer customers’ questions.
I don’t often write about the actual argument for local food: Honey and I debate it regularly, and it comes down to finding value in products that are grown or made near to you, in being able to talk to a farmer about his or her practices and products, and in believing that the symbolic statement of buying at a market like this outweighs the economic statement of buying from a chain supermarket.
I obviously find value in these points. An item’s place of production affects its flavour. It’s why I’ve bought Spanish olive oil for years, why I like South American wines, and why, after years of buying local Southern produce, I got really interested in Southern food.
Now that I’m somewhere unfamiliar, I seek to understand it through the food. I think that if I eat enough of these emulsified sausages, grassy onions, soft breads and sharp cheeses, I’ll come to understand what makes West Midlanders feel comforted and at home, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll come to have the same sentiments.