Shopping at Mercato di Sant'Ambrogio

by Melinda Gallo published on August 26, 2008

The Mercato di Sant'Ambrogio is an outdoor food market in a residential area of Florence near the Santa Croce church. Almost every morning of the week locals browse the bancarelle (stands) to see what produce is in season, look for the best deals, and buy food for their families. I love everything about the mercato: the voices of the merchants announcing their daily specials, the rustling of the customers making their way through the crowded aisles, the smells of the different items on display, and the colorful and appetizing presentations enticing us to look and -- hopefully -- buy.

Ever since I went to the Mercato di Sant'Ambrogio the first time after moving to Florence in 2004, I was hooked. Initially, I was smitten with all the colors, sounds, and smells of the mercato, which seemed to continually change depending on the season. When I walked past all the bancarelle that first summer, I noticed the plump green fichi (figs) about to burst, shiny red ciliegie (cherries), bright yellow fiori di zucca (zucchini flowers) and fragrant poponi (melons). Later in the autumn, the ortolani (greengrocers) were selling dark green carciofi (artichokes) on long stalks, and in the winter months I admired the mountains of plump arancie (oranges) and piles of leafy green vegetables on the tables, ready to be weighed and taken away.

After only a few trips to the mercato, I found myself visiting the same vendors: a mother and daughter ortolani, a kind white-haired macellaio (butcher), a husband and wife who own the alimentari (grocery store), a daughter and her parents' gastronomia (a shop that sells cheese, cold cuts, olives, and fresh pasta), and a salumeria (cold cuts and cheese shop) run by two brothers and a sister. Initially, a few of them were a bit standoffish with me; they were polite with the usual formalities of greeting me when I arrived and once I had paid and was walking away. The day the most aloof vendor recognized me in the crowd and smiled, I felt like I had achieved a new status: I was no longer a turista (tourist) in their eyes, but a residente (resident).

On this late August day, I ride my bicicletta (bicycle) through the shady one-way streets and park it across the street from the mercato. I always start at the same end where the contadini (farmers) show off their produce in dirty plastic crates on rickety tables. The contadino greets me as he sees me eyeing his produce. Today the cases are filled with seasonal vegetables and fruits harvested recently: bunches of tiny green and purple uva (grapes); fiorentini (Florentine tomatoes) of all different sizes; misshaped red, orange, and green peperoni (bell peppers); long fagioli (green beans) held together by a rubber band like a bunch of flowers; and a zucca gialla cut in half, showing its seeds and stringy center. The contadino notices that I'm staring at the zucca gialla and tells me that it is early for the season, but already ripe enough to eat.

The contadino isn't busy helping anyone else, so I ask him when the spinaci (spinach) will be harvested. He tells me that it's sprouting now and maybe in two weeks he'll have some to sell. He smiles when he speaks and makes me feel comfortable enough to talk even more with him. "Ora è la stagione dei peperoni. It's the season of the peppers now," he says as he walks over to the crate on the other side of the table to show them off to me. He picks one up and says, "Questo è perfetto. Puoi aggiungerlo alla panzanella o friggerlo. This one is perfect. You can add it to Panzanella, a Tuscan salad made with bread, or fry them."

I thank him, but tell him that we're taking off for a few days, so I can't buy a lot of food right now. Because I'm a little indecisive when I first arrive at the mercato, I decide to first walk around to see what is available before committing to anything. "Ci penso un attimo e ci torno dopo. I'll think about it and be back later," I say before walking away.

I stroll down the center aisle where the bancarelle are lined up on each side. At this time of year, the mercato is quiet and there are very few customers. This time next week, the mercato will be packed with people as they'll be coming back from vacanze (vacation) right before school starts in September.

I go to another bancarella where I generally buy some of my produce. The three guys who work there are always friendly to me. I usually go straight to their bancarella after a partita di calcio (soccer match) so we can discuss it together. They are so pleased that I'm a tifosa Viola (fan of the Florentine team, known as the "Fiorentina") that they can't help but tell all the customers that come to their bancarella when I'm there.

I see that they have friggitelli (a sweet green pepper that is short and thin). "Come si fa per cuocerli? How do you cook those," I ask. The one man who works there tells me, "Basta friggerli in padella con un po' d'aglio in un po' d'olio. All you have to do is fry them in a pan with a little bit of garlic in some olive oil." I consider buying some because I remember eating them last year and loving them, but decide to wait until next time as I can't buy much today.

Instead I buy a riccia (frisée/curly endive) that is white and leafy. It's not the right season, but the ortolano assures me that it's good. I pick up an appealing grappolo d'uva (bunch of grapes) after I remember that my husband had mentioned he would like some. The ortolano hands me a busta (bag) to place them in and then weighs them for me. Before I leave their bancarella and say good-bye, I say, "In bocca al lupo! (An Italian expression meaning) good luck!" The three ortolani know that I'm referring to the Fiorentina's first partita of the season. "Crepi," they shout back to me. The response literally means "may the wolf die." It is said in response to the expression In bocca al lupo, which means "In the mouth of the wolf."

I go inside the building and purchase some meat. I look for my macellaio, but he isn't there. Another friendly macellaio spots me and greets me. "Sei tornato ora? Did you just get back," I ask him. He smiles and says he was on vacation. "Si vede...sei tutto abbronzato! I can tell...you're tan!" He smiles and asks me if I was able to go away yet. I tell him that I haven't yet, but I will soon. I stuff my bag of milanesi (breaded beef cutlets) into my larger bag and say, "Buona giornata! Have a nice day!"

As soon as it's my turn, one of the brothers at the salumeria greets me and asks me what I'd like. I tell him that I need a small piece of parmiggiano (parmesan cheese) grattugiato (grated). He hands me a chunk of it before he grates the rest and we talk about how quiet the mercato is today. "Aspetta la settimana prossima. Non ci lamentiamo. Wait until next week. We're not complaining," he says.

I walk back out to the contadino and decide to buy a romana (Romaine lettuce). He talks to me about the small, round melanzane (eggplant) that I am contemplating while he wraps up my romana. He tells me how sweet they are and my mouth begins to water. Before I tell him that I can't buy any he says, "Quando torni, ne compri. When you get back, you can buy some."

As he's handing me my change and thanking me, he begins to help another woman who has asked to buy some of the fagioli. As soon as I turn to walk away, I hear him say, "Buona vacanza! Have a good vacation!" I realize he's talking to me, so I turn back around with a big smile on my face and say, "Grazie! A presto! Thanks! See you soon!"

I put all my plastic bags into my one nylon bag and place it carefully in my cestino (bike basket). I ride my bicicletta on a different set of one-way streets to get home. I pass in front of the Santa Croce church, dodging the tourists who are taking photos and walking quickly to get out of the sun. I ring my bell a few times as a warning to make my presence known to those who aren't necessarily expecting a bicicletta to be whizzing past the steps of the church. I get home and lug the bag up three flights of stairs to our apartment. I unpack and nibble on a few chicchi d'uva (grapes).

Shopping at the mercato has become such a joy for me that the two times I've moved apartments in Florence, I have chosen to stay nearby. I'm certain that if my husband wanted to move, I'd still try to pick a place near my mercato. Not only is the food exceptional, but the people are so simpatici (nice) and friendly. They make me feel as if I am a part of the life of the mercato, as well as a part of theirs.

Keywords: Mercato (Market), Cucina (Cooking) Topic: Daily Life

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Shopping at Mercato di Sant'Ambrogio

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