Salivating street food

"So how can you tell me you're lonely, 

And say for you that the sun don't shine? 

Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London 

I'll show you something to make you change your mind" 

Sunday is normally a day of rest, but not for us this day.  We'd seen local markets touted on banners the day before, so with these as our goal, we set off briskly, pulling our anorak rainhats over our heads to avoid the occasional fat drops of rain.  This became our modus operandi  for much of the day as the sky attempted to glower overcast and grey,  but frequent bursts of bright patches of golden sunlight instantly affected everyone's mood, too: like a tap turning on smiles, grins, and cheery chatter.

Londoners love the sun.  We had been warned that they would not talk to you.  Not so today. Though the rain stayed patchy.  We didn't even bother to take our umbrellas with us.

Walking to our first market in Bishop's Park, we again passed the Bishop's Palace and noticed a billboard promising a taster lecture in the Great Hall at two o'clock.   We resolved to try to get back for that if time permitted after our market jaunts.

Street food stalls.  That was our first impression as we came to a cluster of market umbrellas arranged in a neat walking circle at this neighbourhood gourmet market.  Cuts of local farmed meats in some stalls were beautifully measured, packaged, labelled and arranged-- albeit horrendously expensive still, to our eyes in these early days.    A man from the Far East in another canopied space had a table of simple jars of orange, yellow and brown pastes, his wife's home made spice blends; the only one I really recognised was a masaman mix, but in the months to come I am sure we will try many of them.  His open samples wafted in the breeze with the distinct smell of the east.   It took her eighteen months, he told us, to master making the pastes that offered a shelf life longer than a year, rather than just the few days that a typical homemade paste of ground spices usually lasts. They were popular; regulars were coming back for more.

There was a French stall where a young couple were ladling batter onto a curved bilig, creating large buckwheat galettes with expert strokes of a spreading trowel to keep the batter even, offering the filling of your choice.   I wanted wild mushroom and raclette: folded in crisp quarters with a paddle: a feast tucked into a white paper napkin.

But our most exciting find were the arepa in a jazzy looking street stall touting Columbian fare. We will return for these every Sunday while we are here for sure.   I doubt we will be able to resist them.  And we're not the only ones: regulars walked from their residences through the park to the market on the waterfront just to queue for their regular Sunday handful of mulata and arepa.  

The mulata are empanadas.  The arepa look a little like a filled English muffin, before they are cooked.  Imagine splitting one side of a flat muffin and adding your choice of filling: that idea is everywhere -- then griddling it.    But this South American version is special.  It is not an ordinary  muffin.  It is almost white, and the bun is made of corn.  And not just any corn. This is cooked corn, or hominy grains, that have come from cobs soaked in lime water to leach out impurities, then washed, then hulled: a process called nixtamilization.  When it is ground, corn leached this way is called masa; only then is the masa, when mixed with water, able to be formed as a dough.  And it is this dough that is shaped into the little round white cornbreads ready for our fillings. 

Fillings are ladled into the bun cavity, then topped with grated cheese, and laid out on a flat griddle where more cheese is sprinkled over the filling, oozing out of it, beyond the bun, right on and over the hot grill plate.  The whole thing heats and browns in under a minute.  The cheese that was loose, grated and deliberately placed onto the griddle turns golden and meshes together at the end of the bun;  then, as the bun is lifted so, too, does this little semicircle of cheese, which is then rolled over the open slit of the bun, just like a gauzy cheese veil, secreting the filling beneath. 

Placed then into a hand-wrapped paper cone. Then into your mouth.  It is to die for. 

In another stall I saw this great idea for a frilled pastry decoration, guessed how to do it, so was able to take a photo.   I want to try this edging at home, it is so dramatic.

Columbian market stall 

White corn arepas 

Cheese rolled over to close arepas

Decorative pastry frill