I left early a few days ago to catch a train to Hangzhou, a city about 100 miles from Shanghai. Just outside our apartment complex’s gate, beside the usual guys selling vegetables from the back of tricycle carts, I came across a woman selling live chickens. While most of the chickens were in wooden cages held together by wire, one of her roosters was walking around like a neighborhood watch patrolman, unaware that local residents took his heroics as a sign that he’d make for a great dinner.
Our sidewalk-cum-farmer’s market isn’t like one you would find in LA, with young farmers, organic fare, and hipster customers. In front of our building we have the old school kind of farmer’s market that has been around for centuries, where the salespeople are one step away from the farmers and the customers are local residents who often hang out in the old person’s park and senior center during the day.
