Rome diary: To market, to market

An extravaganza of taste and colour was ours during our time in Rome. This major farmers' market, open six days a week, was a five-minute walk away.

We suspected cooks from the many restaurants in our area took advantage of the market; seafood was often on the menu.

Pork roast with spiced flavouring in the middle was still warm from the oven when we bought it. You order how much you want, and voila!

To North American foodies, it would be a dream come true. Walk three blocks up the street, and every single day (except Sunday), shop at a big farmers’ market of the best Italy has to offer.

 Strawberries, ripe through and through, in April. All kinds of sea life, so fresh and glistening you could envision it being pulled into the boat. Spiced pork roast still warm from the morning oven, ready to be sliced to order.  That much? This big?  Crusty bread, buns, cookies and tarts. Cheeses sold by people who know them; probably even make them. Piquante, please. A sea of green beans, artichokes, lettuces and spinach, dotted with flashes of carrots, tomatoes, and peppers. Itinerant garlic sellers, offering big globes from their hands. Fruits of all colours and shapes, arrayed with the Italian eye for design. Nuts, all types. Olives, all colours. Flower stalls glowing with lilies, lilacs, roses and peonies, with hanging baskets and potted plants for good measure

Besides its convenience and freshness, the best thing about our market -- the Mercato San Giovanni di Dio, just across from the tram stop -- was that it was real. The stalls were a warren of elderly cages, all closed up like an old warehouse by mid-afternoon. The merchants were Italians who grew, made or were connected with what they sold. The customers were our working-class neighbours, and probably the cooks from the area’s many restaurants, basing that night’s menu on the best from the morning market. No flash, no glitz. Not a tourist in sight.

The downside was my lack of Italian in a setting where that’s all most people spoke. But when beautiful food is concerned, it’s amazing what you can do by pointing.

My friend Mariken, who could make herself understood in Italian, did most of the shopping. Here, she looks on as a merchant pares artichokes.

If you're not going to get the freshly cooked pork, there are many other choices.

Beans, greens and fruits -- it's hard not to make a beautiful display when everything is so colourful.

The fruit counter.

Ah, decisions, decisions.

Mariken with greens.

The ground display of potted plants at the flower stall. Many Italians keep flowers on their balconies, so there is probably a good business in selling plants that will last for the summer.

These extremely large lemons drew my eye.

There are always clothes for sale on the street in Rome. Our local market had its own section for clothes, but we didn't indulge.

All done. When the market closes up in the early afternoon, it's a far different scene -- you could shoot a bleak movie in a setting like this. But at 7 a.m. the next day, it will explode back into colour and life.