Market Frenzy

Like many food tourists, I’m driven to seek out local markets—public, farmers, indoor, outdoor—everywhere I travel. Invariably, I end up wandering the aisles awash with both wonder and jealousy. In Vancouver, the booths and stands crowded into the Granville Island Public Market nearly bring me to tears with their spectacular selection of fresh fish and cheeses. The San Francisco Ferry Building Marketplace is so chock-full of local food artisans and champions of the sustainable food movement that leaving that place is like breaking up with a soul mate. Pike’s Place in Seattle, La Boqueria in Barcelona, and Chatuchak in Bangkok have all left me coveting a great market here at home.

This year my wishes have been granted. The past couple of months have already seen a flurry of activity on the Twin Cities market scene. The opening of the Midtown Global Market in June was a Twin Cities milestone: Finally we have an indoor public market—home to produce, interesting dry goods, and prepared foods, restaurants, and arts and crafts from around the world. The St. Paul Farmers Market finally began construction on Market Hall, which will provide year-round indoor accommodations right next door to its outdoor market in Lowertown. Back in Minneapolis, nestled between the Mill City Museum and the new Guthrie Theater, the Mill City Farmers Market is supplied by local organic growers and geared in part to local chefs (its driving force is Brenda Langton, the chef and owner of Café

Brenda). Add to this the success of neighborhood markets—the Midtown Public Market (not to be confused with the Midtown Global Market), an outdoor seasonal market just off the light rail transit line on Lake Street, or the suburban Maple Grove Market that jams a community center parking lot—and it seems that markets in Minnesota are far more than a fad. Certainly this market frenzy is exciting, but I still wonder if, given the history of struggling markets here, we can make it all work.

The Twin Cities’ first public market opened in 1853 on the corner of Seventh and Wabasha in St. Paul. In 1876, Minneapolis established a fruit and vegetable market on First and Hennepin. During those times when little produce was being shipped in from other cities, the crops of local farmers were in such high demand from city dwellers that under-the-table deals often depleted the goods before the market even officially opened.

By 1881, St. Paul had built a massive, block-long great hall for its public market; and by 1916, Minneapolis claimed to be one of the top three fruit distribution centers in the country. In order to handle the nearly five million dollars’ worth of produce that passed through the city each season, Minneapolis built a permanent market structure in the 1930s at Glenwood and Lyndale Avenues, which is still in use. These days some 240 vendors rotate among just 170 stalls, but at its height, it boasted more than four hundred vendors.

What happened to these centers of food and commerce? For starters, after World War II Americans fell in love with convenience. Fleets of refrigerated trucks bringing avocados from California and oranges from Florida to smartly lit supermarkets indicated the beginning of the end for many farmers markets; as the number of local market buyers dwindled, farmers found outlets with giant distribution centers and brokers who did the selling for them. Then the 60s and 70s brought more and more women into the workforce; it became easier, faster, and more necessary to buy frozen peas from the grocery store instead of strolling through a distant market to pick through a fresh bushel. The more Americans consumed processed food, the less they cared how it was grown and who grew it. As a result, in 1981, the St. Paul market moved to Lowertown and downsized from 682 stalls to 168. Just when it seemed like our country was made of Cheez Whiz, a generation of chefs, restaurateurs, and growers began banding together to re-establish the connection between food and farm. People now crowd farmers markets, waiting in line to chat with the farmer behind the cabbage stand, seeking the historical origins of their heirloom tomatoes, and supporting the use of organic and sustainable farming methods. It seems that this desire to connect with both our food and our local communities has driven the renaissance of the public market, not just here but nationwide—thanks to 111 percent growth between 1994 and 2004, there are more than 3,700 markets across the country today.

Yet a passion for fresh food is not enough to make a market successful. The Uptown neighborhood flirted briefly with a farmers market in the Calhoun Square parking lot, but they couldn’t attract enough vendors or customers. The chefs at Auriga tried to launch an organic market, much like Brenda Langton has done with the Mill City market, but couldn’t keep it going. A good market is more than just a bright idea from a neighborhood association—it requires the right location, the right mix of vendors, smart management, and, of course, local support.

Then, of course, there’s the question of competition. If the local market in Excelsior is successful, will fewer shoppers drive to the big-city markets? Small producers must decide on the best place to spend the lucrative Saturday morning, or whether they can stretch their business to cover more than one market. And what of the struggling Midtown Public Market just down the block from the Midtown Global Market? Will they help or hurt each other? Add to all this competition from the sophisticated grocery industry, which is among the nation’s leaders in innovation. Shoppers today need not suffer the grungy Pick-n-Saves of the world; we have a strong network of co-ops that have been championing local and organic products for decades, not to mention the more-recent efforts of Kowalski’s and Byerly’s/Lunds. Then there’s Whole Foods, and the newest game in town, Trader Joe’s.

Given such abundance, it’s easy to see how even health nuts might put on some pounds. What will it take to make this newest generation of public markets thrive? Good old Midwestern commitment—to the farmers markets, to small producers, to local artisans—is the best way to keep the local food culture growing.