There’s just something soothing about some places. Pulling up to one of the adjacent paid parking spots, I see those early bird shoppers in their warm-ups and capri yoga pants trucking into the building with armfuls of reusable shopping bags. I hear the sound of a busker blowing some indistinguishable tune on a tenor sax.
His instrument box looks sad as it is barren of any dollars being so early. The guys who have the first booth are barking at each other as they unload the many rolls of converted carpet remnants and assorted rugs. I hear my first passing conversation (as I’m walking past them). “…So, I said to the guy I never said you were the biggest son of a bitch I’d ever met. I said you were the biggest son of a bitch in the state [laughing]. I don’t think he thought I was serious and he…”
There are two ways I like to shop. The first is wearing headphones and playing a soundtrack. When I’m using this method, I am on a mission. I have goals and milestones. The other way is more casual. It’s like I’m meandering. And I love in this second version to have my ears open – no headphones. I like walking past conversations and picking up snippets of each. Weaving them together can be quite hilarious. Sometimes you hear people’s pain. Many times, you hear their joy. You hear love, jokes, endearments, sports predictions, bickering, breakups, make-ups, and all other sort of topics.
There is no better place to practice either method than Soulard Market in St. Louis. Next conversation comes in range, “nah, I’m just saying a beignet is inflated French toast with no nutritional value.” “So, you don’t want any? Move along.” “Nah, I ain’t say that. I’ll take 2.”
There’s the T-shirt man who cannot possibly have licensing rights for his wares. But he’s there like clockwork every week. $15 shirts or 2 for $25. He rocks the “Drunk as Hull” shirts and the 314 apparel.
The sunglasses vendors, the soap makers (whom I stock up from), the incense people, the lady who sells her knitted items plus resells cheap jewelry and cool hats, all predictably in place. I think if I went there and one of them was missing it would feel like the world was a Jenga game and the last supporting piece was just pulled.
The mini donut man is making his odd creations and the flavored nut guy is patiently filling his cone-shaped baggies across the way. Soulard is shaped like a giant letter H. The vertical parts represent the 4 wings which have both walled and simply roofed sections. The horizontal of the H represents the center core, if you will.
This is the only part that is fully enclosed and conditioned (heat only). The minute you enter the center core, the smell of sandwiches, breads, and spices hits your nostrils like a wall. There is no other place I have encountered this combination of things to create that smell. When I cook breakfast at home and use the “Soulard Grill” seasoning salt from Schmitz’s Spice Shop in the Soulard Market core, I can almost hear the bustle of the market
Tradition dictates that at this point I stop and get an egg sandwich and a Hurricane. It is 8:13 AM. But that is how Soulard rolls – I don’t make the rules. “You want the 16 or the 32oz?” I ponder the question. “The 16 is probably fine.” She does the math in her head. “Okay, that will be $8.” EIGHT dollars for a made-to-order breakfast sandwich and a 16oz Hurricane. Glorious. I make sure to pay following their posted rules which include cash only, no boob money, and no sock money. While I sip my rocket fuel and wait on my sandwich to be done and older guy walks up to the counter to order a tiny coffee and hit on the window server. “I do love them boots. Just when I think you can’t get any prettier.” She couldn’t show less interest if she tried. I get the impression she is around 35 to 40 and has probably worked at this stand for her family since she was 15 or younger. I would also wager she has been over old dudes hitting on her at work since then too. But this is Soulard. She’s not putting on a fake grin to garner more tips, she is who she is. Your available service options are: good price, great quality, and service with a smile (sorry, sold out of the third one). “Here’s your coffee, Hank. Have a day.” There is a distinct possibility that Hank was Drunk as Hull, but I was unable to verify.
Then there’s the guys that look like the road crew for an Everlast tour. They have the central meat shop open and are cutting andouille for someone making gumbo out of season. I now have my sandwich and turn to enter the second wing of my tour (SE). First, I encounter the record stand. I always tell myself I’m not going to look. I smile at that habit as I walk away with a copy of Amy Winehouse’s “Back to Black” and Steve Miller Band’s “Fly Like an Eagle.” This stand is one of the more bougie additions in recent years. They sell vinyl records but have a prominent tipping option with suggested amounts on their checkout screen. Tipping for you to check me out? Weird. I tip but with a pensive look on my face.
Behind me I hear the tender voice of an adult man asking every passerby, “would you like to taste my sauce I made?” He is a BBQ sauce maker. Many prominently displayed bottles surround the sterno’d cauldron from where he is distributing samples. I respect his ambition and I am sure his sauce is a good St Louis sweet and smoky style worthy of purchase. However, my heart (and palate) belong to another. That would be the man in Wing 4 who sells his “Sauce So Good” brand and he’s on my day’s itinerary. I’ve bought from him for 4 years now. I even order it shipped to Philly if I run short. His mild is flavorful and his spicy has a solid kick. While he makes a pretty significant quantity, he still makes it in his home in North St Louis. And yes, he has a Health Department approval.
Next, I am passing the Vietnamese family stand where the kabobs and Café Sua Da are made. Have to stop here. While I am waiting on the assembly of my order, I note that the other significant apparel seller at the market, who happens to be across from the kabob stand, is continuing their descent in to full-curmudgeon boomer. New signs have been added for sale that say things like “We don’t call 911,” “Asshole’s Garage,” and “Stand for the Flag / Kneel for the Cross.” He has many versions of American Flag cowboy hats for sale. He represents the 4% of market vendors who voted for Trump and were excited to do so since they couldn’t vote for Pat Buchanon or Strom Thurmond.
“And then he told me we should just try it. But I am not into it. Next thing he storms out and grabs the wrong coat….”
Two young ladies sell me some Gooey Butter cake and banana bread (it travels well). I pass a few plant stands (do not travel well) and then a few vacant booths since summer busy season has passed. Now to swing from Wing 2 to Wing 3. I walk past the henna vendor, another street sax player (predictably playing “When the Saints Go Marching In”), and the ranch-dusted pork rind stand.
We are now entering the northwest corner of the market. More flower vendors but these sell the cash n carry bouquets (don’t really need those these days). I am also passing a crystal vendor (there’s always a few) working hard to sell their weird white-hippie cures. On the right we come up on the meat stand that has landjager. Normally that one is a go-to but I have to consider travel refrigeration and suitcase space. Pass this time. On my left is the fish stand. The guy who looks like Jet-Li never puts his lit cigarette down. I watch him bagging frozen prawns for someone while cycle-breathing the smoke in his mouth and out his nose. He also minds the cage full of live chickens just past the fish stand.
“I mean look. He gonna get beat. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But that shit went to his head. Can’t be strutting around like you some kind of…”
Coming up on the first of many large produce stands in this wing. The north wings have lots of produce. This one isn’t one of the family farms. This is one where they buy seconds at produce row to resell here. The stuff is fine but you have about 12-16 hours to eat it before it goes overripe. Candy stands ahead on the right. I bought from there once and made myself sick. I look at it every time but no longer pull the trigger. We now enter a more enclosed section of the wing. The guy who sells Fazio’s bread is in this one. I love Fazio’s bread. Fazio’s bread would not survive my suitcase. But to be fair, I’d probably just eat an entire loaf like a muffin if I got one.
“Oooooooooh I don’t think I’ve tasted anything like that.” “Then you eat da strawberry, and it tastes like a smoothie.” “Oh my God it does. That is so weird.”
The freshly made pasta lady is here on the left. The homemade pork cracklins are in this space. Marmalades and jams, more fruit, a fresh-squeezed lemonade vendor, and one of those vendors who is convinced her make of soap makes you live longer because she uses flacamacahaca root. Seems suspect to me but I’m not starting trouble. I see the area where in the summer are sold watermelons larger than a toddler. Sadly, none today. I don’t care for the heat of St Louis summers, but the watermelons are pretty fantastic.
And here’s the door that leads us back into the center cross of the “H,” one more wing to go. Crossing this section is starting to get tricky as the crowds are showing up. On my right a couple older gentlemen are sitting awkwardly on a news stand. “I don’t have to say it! She knows I can’t be standing on this gotdamned foot! But she has to be playing and saying I be back real quick. She’s never shopped real quick in her gotdamned life. So, here I am bout to lose my foot! She don’t get it cause she got good feet.”
Coming into the NW wing, I find myself a bit melancholy. I know my visit is coming to its natural conclusion. The booth to my left sells what they call “Mexican Street Corn.” It’s not for my taste, but some people may like it. I couldn’t finish it. Next come the rows of produce and nuts. 5lbs strawberries for $2. Red apples 10lbs for $8. Walnuts (in shell) 10lbs for $6. The corn on the cob is so cheap it feels free. I see my sauce man. 2 bottles mild and 1 bottle spicy. He remembers me. “You’re the man bringing flavor to Philly.” “Trying. I’m trying.” The sauce isn’t cheap but most things worth the work aren’t.
Then passing the other beignet stand, the Mennonite cheese stand, about 5 more produce stands, and finally the Amish jam stand. The guy who runs it isn’t Amish, he’s a reseller. I would buy some, but I’ve had so much Amish apple butter the last few years, I’m sure I’m good. Exiting this wing, I encounter another busker. This fellow is dressed to the 9’s and shredding some Delta-style on a dobro. God, I love this place. Take my money, sir.
A left turn and I’m headed back to the car. I swear I could do another lap. My old neighborhood doesn’t feel like home. Not like it used to. It has become so damned gentrified it is almost hard to visit. But Soulard Market, that felt like I was home. It is little changed over my lifetime. The vendors change but the vibe remains the same. There have been many plans to modernize the market. I hope they never succeed. It feels so St. Louis.
As I finish out my exit walk, I see the carpet guys still grousing about something. Further up I encounter the sax busker I had seen an hour ago. He has some green in his box now but not enough. I pitch in my part. It is about 9:15 now and the market is starting to crowd. As I get to my car someone has already tracked my movement and has positioned their car to take my spot immediately upon vacancy. Some things never change.
Taking the time to realize and enjoy the quirkiness and variety of this life is deliciously cathartic. While there are times I know I need to put my head down, elbows up, and plow forward, that is not always an effective recipe for mental success. I struggle with stopping and smelling the flowers as it seems I always have something I need to do or somewhere I need to be. But I’ll never wear headphones at Soulard.
Note: I don’t remove credit from photos. Some of these are mine and some are publicly sourced. If I posted one of yours from public domain and it wasn’t marked, please let me know. If you’d like it taken down, I can do that also.
Beta Testing Adulthood 