The first time I walked this market, I felt my shoulders drop.
No blaring music, no cart gridlock — just a slow braid of locals, crates of leafy greens, and the smell of herbs being washed in buckets. It rewards curiosity.
I still arrive with a loose plan—anchor vegetables for dinners, protein for quick lunches, and a sauce or two that turns leftovers into “meal again.”
Then I let the stalls edit me. Prices are posted, but vendors talk you through ripeness, storage, and what’s peaking this week. If I’m traveling, it doubles as a soft city tour; if I’m home, it resets my cooking without a cookbook.
My rule is simple: buy what I’ll cook within three days, plus one treat I’ll finish today.
Here’s the circuit I run most weekends, and the plant‑based staples I refill on repeat.
Peak produce that sets the week
I start where the color is loudest: greens, herbs, and whatever counts as the week’s anchor vegetable.
In summer, that’s tomatoes and cukes; in winter, it’s sweet potatoes, kabocha, or sturdy brassicas.
I buy two leafy things—usually lacinato kale and a tender green like spinach—because they solve lunches and side dishes without thought.
Herbs are non‑negotiable; a $3 bunch of basil, cilantro, or dill turns pantry pasta, rice bowls, and soups into meals that taste planned.
If I spot ugly‑pretty tomatoes, I grab seconds for sauce; if peppers are peaking, I roast a tray the minute I’m home.
My test is simple: can I make three different dinners from this pile with only beans, grains, and olive oil? If yes, it goes in the bag. The greens get washed, spun dry, and stored in a towel‑lined box.
Protein corner with real staying power
Next is the protein corner: the tofu maker with still‑warm blocks, a tempeh stall, and a table of heirloom beans.
I buy one firm tofu for stir‑fries and one silken for miso soup or pudding.
Tempeh comes home if I’m craving smoky crumbles for tacos or a fast maple‑soy glaze to eat over rice. If the bean farmer is pouring samples, I ask about cook times and pick one bag that cooks in under an hour—alubia blanca, crimson popping beans, or good old black turtle.
Red lentils are my insurance policy. They become 15‑minute dal when the week goes sideways.
I keep it realistic: two proteins total, max. Back home, tofu goes into a quick press between tea towels, beans get rinsed and soaked if needed, and I set a pot while I unpack the rest.
Sauce stall that saves dinner
There’s a tiny sauce stall I beeline for—a quiet lab of flavor that rescues weeknights.
I rotate between basil pesto, a sunflower‑seed “parm,” and a chili‑garlic oil that makes steamed greens taste like a decision.
If there’s cashew ricotta, I buy a small tub for toast or to dollop onto roasted vegetables. These aren’t cheap, so I treat them like concentrates: one spoon wakes up a pan of beans; two turn pasta and frozen peas into dinner.
I also watch for tahini made from freshly milled sesame — it’s silkier, less bitter, and blends into dressings without a fight. If I’m on budget patrol, I choose one sauce and make a counterpart at home.
Either way, a good sauce shrinks the gap between produce and plate, and it buys me energy on nights I almost order takeout.
Bread, fruit, and the snack helpers
Bread is my market luxury. One country loaf from the sourdough table anchors breakfasts and soup nights; a pack of flatbreads handles shawarma‑style wraps with roasted veg, tahini, and herbs.
If berries are dazzling, I buy a small punnet and eat them on the walk — joy counts as fuel. I scout the nut‑and‑seed vendors for bulk walnuts, almonds, or pumpkin seeds to roast at home; a jar on the counter turns salads into meals.
For snacks, I pick one: olive‑oil crackers, sesame sticks, or granola I’ll finish.
The point isn’t to assemble a picnic; it’s to stock tiny helpers that make vegetables effortless all week. If I’m stretched, I skip bread and grab two day‑old baguettes for garlic toasts; nobody complains.
A little sweetness comes from the vegan bakery stall—one cookie, shared before we reach the car.
Ferments and pantry refills that do the lifting
Before I leave, I cruise the ferments and pantry corner.
A pint of kimchi or curtido keeps tacos, grain bowls, and sandwiches awake all week. If there’s a pickle flight, I buy one funky thing—green beans, turmeric cauliflower—and one classic dill.
Miso from a regional maker is my workhorse; whisked with water, it becomes instant broth for noodles and greens, and a teaspoon in vinaigrette gives salads backbone.
I note bulk staples I’m low on—short‑grain rice, red lentils, farro, rolled oats—and refill one per visit so the pantry stays friendly without a huge bill.
Olive oil is the splurge — I choose a peppery bottle and save it for finishing.
The ordinary bottle at home handles sautéing. This last lap is about momentum: with ferments, grains, and good oil, everything upstream actually gets cooked instead of posing in the crisper.
How it all turns into dinner
What makes this market feel like a vegan’s weekend dream isn’t perfection — it’s friction removed.
I leave with produce that tastes like itself, two proteins I’ll actually cook, a sauce that rescues Wednesday, and small luxuries that don’t become clutter.
Back home, I do a twenty‑minute reset: greens washed and boxed, herbs rolled in a towel, beans cooking, bread sliced for the freezer, and one tray of vegetables roasting while I make coffee. That tiny burst protects the week.
Tuesday‑night me doesn’t have to think—there’s soup base, salad parts, and something bright to spoon on top. The money part works too: I’m buying fewer packaged mysteries and more ingredients with obvious next moves.
Markets aren’t everyone’s love language, but this one keeps me fed, calm, and curious.
That’s my measure: if I’m excited to cook tonight, I shopped right.
