The Lure of a Traditional Market, Taiwan

The beauty of a market place has always been that it is a window into a country’s culture.  When I use the word market, I am not referring to your local supermarket. I am referring to farmer’s markets and traditional markets, where local producers passionate about their product, whether it be produce or livestock, are there to sell you all that the season has to offer.

As a child, I was often reluctantly in tow behind my grandmother as she shopped through the traditional markets on my annual visit to Taiwan. Often times, the result was my refusal to eat chicken or pork for the remainder of the summer after the cruel reminder of the realities of where meat comes from. 

Even so, there is a beauty about a traditional marketplace that I’ve learned to appreciate over the years. The culture, the energy, the people who once worked as young vendor watching children run by, but as their hairs grey the once children return as adults with their own family to buy weekly produce from a familiar face. 

There is an array of meat to choose from, generally non-refrigerated, and sitting on the countertop amidst the warm summer breeze. Not quite what North Americans may be used to, but the animals are generally slaughtered just hours before you point out which portion you'd like to take home. For the best cuts of meat, housewives arrive at the morning market early as supply is generally limited to the number of animals slaughtered per day per vendor. A nose to tail dining concept is definitely not lacking in Taiwan, you will find every imaginable part of a pig being sold by the local vendors. 

As Taiwan is known for its abundance of fresh seafood, the traditional marketplace definitely showcases the best of the day's catch. From the fish that are still moving with livelihood, to the glistening eyes, and firmness to the touch, all the signs of fresh seafood are readily visible.

There is also always a way to reduce waste, and it is noticeable especially when this next cart was pushed past me. The contents you ask? The left overs from gutting fish, which are then made into fish by products (not for human consumption of course). More on this later.

And of course, the market it never lacking of a great variety of ready to eat foods. Anything is available from fresh spring rolls, pineapples, to a refreshing bowl of shaved ice. The infinite selection combined with the warm personality of the local Taiwanese vendors, has for me created the lure of the traditional marketplace.

A small catch, better luck tomorrow.

Prior to industrialized production of aquaculture and fisheries, having fish on the dinner table was not quite as easy as a drive to the local supermarket. Driving down to the most southern tip of the beautiful island of Taiwan, we stopped at the boardwalk to soak in some sun and take in a bit of the warm sea breeze.

Silently listening as the rolling waves washed ashore, I enjoyed the soothing tranquility of the moment. That is, until I caught a little old man geared up in a wet suit in the corner of my eye. Excitement took over as I ran down the pebbly beach to get a closer look. This little old man was not plunging himself in still frigid waters for an afternoon swim, he was out to catch himself dinner.

I watched as he slowly swam down the line checking the net he had laid out for fish. This is no easy task amongst the rough waves. When he reached the shore again, I ran up to see the catch of the day.

“Rough waters” he said, “only a little one. Better luck tomorrow”.

There is still beauty in the way things were done traditionally. Although not always worth the effort when viewed from a modern day efficiency perspective, it kept the environment in balance by preventing over fishing. The old man disappeared quietly into the distance once again, as he took with him his only catch of the day. 

Inspired... The first of many to come.

Not quite realizing it at the moment, but this would be the inspiration that began my search for the provenance of food.

Returning to Taiwan earlier this year, I was put in contact with a young chef who is dedicated to organic whole foods. Meeting with her for the first time, she offered to take me to a local organic farm which she maintained a close working relationship with. Not quite realizing it at the moment, but this would be the inspiration that began my search for the provenance of food.

On that rainy spring morning in Taipei, I began my 45-minute train ride into the outskirts of Taipei. A half hour drive up winding mountain roads later, we arrived at a traditionally built old home where the walls were lined with firewood inside a u-shaped courtyard. Here, we were met by a young farmer who looked no older than 30. Getting out of the car, he swiftly handed us rain boots stating that it would be a muddy hike as it had been raining all morning. I pulled them on, and we started out on my first journey through an organic farm.

As we began our trek down the slippery slope, the clouds began to clear and the sun peaked through, sending crisp green rays through the bamboo forest. I was instantly awestruck by the beauty of my surroundings. I silently followed as the farmer led us deeper into the woods.

We soon approached a clearing, and the young man began to explain to me his concepts on sustainability and organic farming. Being the first to pursue organic bamboo farming in this region, his practices were met with skepticism as well as challenges.

One of the biggest challenges he faced starting out, was the pests (aphids: small sap-sucking insects) that took refuge in his crop as the surrounding farms were still using pesticides. While faced with the potential risks and losses as a result, he insisted on pressing on. Just as his confidence began to waver, nature took its course, bringing in ladybugs (the natural predators of aphids) and saved his crop.

As the local species of wildlife began to diversify, he began recreating natural habitats to promote sustainable ecological growth in the area. This effort included manually digging a pond in order to stimulate the reproduction of rare frogs.

With our trip drawing to an end, the young farmer generously harvested the fruits of his labour for us to take. While he cleaned and husked the bamboo shoots, I began to feel the fatigue setting in from hiking up and down the mountains under the sun in 30 plus degree weather. It was then, that I realized the scope of labour required to produce such a crop. Unlike, wheat, corn, or any other produce produced on flat land, bamboo farming is heavily reliant on manual labour. The bamboo survives best on elevated soil, therefore rendering machine harvesting impossible.

I left that evening touched by the passion this young man possessed in regards to using the limited resources that he had in order to create a positive impact on the local environment. I left hoping that I would one day be fortunate enough to revisit this stunningly beautiful landscape.