Market forces

Odesa’s fresh food markets are a riot of colour and beautiful produce. There is simply nowhere quite like them.

It is not even the best market in Odesa, but Privoz is a chaotic wonderland of incredible fresh produce, piles of gleaming tomatoes and huge watermelons, towers of grapes spilling over each other, sacks of potatoes and onions, the freshest bunches of herbs. 

There is a whole room dedicated to dairy: mounds of fresh curd cheese, some dry, some creamy, some made from caramelised milk. There are many types of brinza, made from sheep or cow or goat milk, and all the ladies behind the counter are imploring you to try. There is a large display of eggs near the entrance, graded according to some mysterious system, I have no idea what the difference between them is. On the steps outside, and in a space behind the wholesale section, there are pensioners who have come from nearby villages with a few bags of produce,  jars of honey and jam, old pop bottles filled with sunflower oil or fruit drinks of some kind. They are spread out neatly on tablecloths, cash only, everything home grown and home made. 

Dairy heaven

There are pickles too, and ferments, yards and yards of them in a riot of colours. Many of the stalls are Korean, with spicy cabbage and stuffed aubergines, green tomatoes gently collapsing in on themselves, fat and glossy black plums swimming in their vinegary bath. 

It is busiest in the morning, when there are crowds of shoppers leaning into the displays to prod at fruit, the better to check its ripeness. Sometimes the stall holder will bring out a penknife and slice off pieces of apple or plum for you to try. Beware the melon sellers, because you will taste a chunk of sweet fruit, juice dripping down your hands and be so enthralled that you will emerge with a giant melon, which you will then have to carry around for the rest of the morning. It will also be a balancing act to stop the giant melon crushing the delicate package of curd cheese which you have also bought. And you will remember, days later, that there is a packet of golden raisins somewhere in your bag, and some prunes stuffed with walnuts which taste of sweet wine mixed with smoke.

Egg mystery

It is impossible for an outsider to know which stalls are the best, or the freshest, or the most reliable, so it is always better to go there with a local. My friend Maria shops markets like the expert she is, making a beeline for her favourite stalls, carefully searching for the most perfect fronds of dill, the biggest radishes, the creamiest cheese. She lets me buy a large wedge of poppyseed roll, so heavy with poppy seeds that it is almost impossible to hold. The lady who sells it only comes on Sundays, and you have to get there early to make sure of getting some. It is impossible to resist a zapekanka cheesecake studded with golden raisins, wrapped quickly in a plastic bag with minimum fuss. On another trip, we fall for a honey cake layered with rich cream and sour cherries. In the smaller Noviy Rynok across town, there is a lady selling pies, and we point at one, then stand at the counter to tear into the long pastry, warm and flaky, which turns out to be filled with cherries. We are offered a paper towel, our hands stained with butter and cherry juice. 

The best poppyseed roll

There is so much I miss about Odesa, each time I leave: and there is nothing quite like this market, with all its delicious produce. It is the bounty of the Ukrainian land and the optimism of the farmers who plough their fields and plant their crops in the midst of war, the ladies who put on their patterned dresses and pristine aprons fringed with white lace, the wholesalers sitting wearily in the back of lorries: masters of all they purvey.