na bazarakh

I've been picking up munitions at the markets every day--half a kilo of mandarins, bundles of ramps, fresh eggs, rye bread and a bag of assorted cookies is my usual haul. Some days I add cured fish, sausage, pears or bananas. I'm always tempted by the khrin, jams and honey, but more often than not there's no room in my bag by the time I get to those stalls. Buying just what we need on a daily basis has been a quasi-daydream of mine, to live like the fabled Europeans, buying only as much as we need immediately, consuming only the freshest available.

The reality in a cold climate, where the streets alternate between mud and slush as the snow falls and melts, is not quite so dreamy, but also, not so bad either. I don't actually mind the limitations of a small bag and how much I can carry; most markets are about a 10-15 minute walk from our apartment, the selection is reasonably broad, and the prices are fairly low. Ramps, which are a delicacy where we live, are abundant here. Citrus, which is abundant at home, is nowhere near as affordable as here. So even though it's March and most market stalls sell carrots, beets, potatoes and cabbage, we're also finding hints of spring and summer at the market.

We haven't bought much meat here; at the Railway Station Market, an entire building is devoted to meat products. Open-air stalls in a cavernous concrete arcade display every imaginable part of pigs and cows, rabbits and chickens, dried, frozen, salted and live fish. We bought a hock of veal at one market, and Mychal transformed it with cranberry beans, tiny onions and a frying pan on an electric burner. But for the most part, even thought it is winter and not, thankfully, 85 degrees out, I'm a little cautious about buying meat from open air stalls. Perhaps I shouldn't be; the rabbits are pretty tempting.

Yesterday I needed to get us some more toilet paper. At a stall across from one of several egg vendors, I waited in a short line to get some. The toiletries vendor tossed back a shot with a customer, handed another customer some violet plastic bags (three for a hyrvnia) and turned to me. "Do you want nice apple-green rolls or white?" "White," I said. "That's right, white is nicer" he said, and I handed him ten hryvnia.