The driver of our ‘petit taxi’ is constantly pressing his horn, as if by magic it will make the melee in front of us vanish. It appears they drive on the right hand side in Marrakech but that is not always clear to see; the middle of the road seems more favoured by our taxi driver. When we arrive the owner of Riad Dar Tayib, Vincent, opens the door and we are immediately transported to another world of tranquillity, harnessed by the North-African decor and French style.
When returning home to Cork I always like to go for a leisurely stroll through the English Market. Whether I am buying produce or not I am perpetually drawn to those victual-laden passages; I do not feel as if I am home until I have fulfilled this ritual. This could be due to the fact that it has been around since 1788 – a constant part of Corkonian life, surviving famine, revolution, fire and all the other events we have had to endure in our enthralling history – or just because I like good food. I am often asked where the name comes from; a question I cannot answer. It has had various names over the centuries, from Princes Street Market to Root Market; however the origin of the current name is lost in history.
I often come to the English Market on a Saturday in pursuit of ingredients for our family’s traditional Sunday fry up. I always begin at Landon’s, who specialise in bacon and have more varieties than one would think possible. It is a hard choice to decide the type of bacon you will want the following day, but one I enjoy making. It would make sense to get the eggs next, seeing as they are in the next stall, but I never do. There is no purpose in the direction I take, I walk aimlessly stopping when I please – perhaps this is why I find the market so relaxing.
