It's easy to see why the line leading to the smoothie man is so long. Although Gregory Jones moves with practiced motions developed from years of making smoothies for the throngs of people who frequent the Saturday Morning Market in downtown St. Pete, his setup is far from assembly-line quality.
The real slow-up isn't even the smoothies — it's the veggie burgers. Jones' organic, non-meat patties are legendary. Partner Andrea Walters plops spoonfuls of the patented blend — black-eyed peas, veggies, black beans and seasonings mixed to a thick batter — onto two well-used cast-iron skillets, three patties to a pan. She tends them with a spatula as they fry — a little too slowly for the dozen people in line, but the end result is spectacular. The surface is crisp and the interior is rich with pureed bean and dotted with chunky bits of corn and carrot. It's well worth the wait.
You can't blame Jones for the line, anyway. This is the second week of this year's Saturday Morning Market season and this sectioned-off block of Central Avenue is jammed with people. That's partly because it's the first beautiful weekend of autumn — but there's more to it than that.
"The honchos are doing their jobs," says Augie DiRusso, complimenting market management as he gingerly flips his mozza-pies on an expansive griddle. There's another long line here, which I've circumvented by dint of my press status. I catch some annoyed stares when I snatch up one of Augie's corn cakes laced with mozzarella and provolone. Crisp from the fry, these sweet and savory hockey pucks have a following — even with several dozen on the griddle at once, Augie can't keep up with demand.
According to Market Master (that's what he calls himself) and head honcho David Cellon, last year the market pulled 2,000 and 1,500 attendees the first two weeks of the season. This year, 4,000 and 5,000, respectively. "We've been working hard to get the word out, " he says, "and the results have been beyond our expectations."
The vendors may have been a tad under-prepared.
The rum cake booth is completely dry; Artisan Breads has moist tomato and cheese foccacia and a lot of empty baskets; and M-N-M BBQ is down to one of its last servings of pulled pork. I grab one and step back to enjoy the heavily smoked meat and delicately spiced sauce while I glance at its sale board. Everything's crossed out except burgers and pork. Oh wait, now it's just burgers.
Thankfully, I can step right across the street and get another fix of smoke and meat with a monstrous turkey leg from Brady Johnson — Mr. I Got 'Em — along with a cup of stewed greens scooped straight from an Igloo watercooler. Would construction workers get more or less done if a cooler of greens went on the back of every truck? The turkey, dripping luscious fat, is stained pink throughout by hardwood smoke, and the greens are dotted by shreds of meat. After I wipe my mouth, it's time for something sweet and the options are numerous.
Cellon tells me that the number of vendors grew from 60 to 90 in the past year, with applications still coming in. "We help new businesses springboard," he says. Compared to opening a shop or restaurant, the barrier to starting a farmers market store is easy to overcome. Thirty-five dollars a week for a booth and a little over $100 a year for the state license get you on the street selling your wares.
Anyone who has made a spectacular muffin or put together a truly momentous sandwich has had The Thought. You know, the "I could do this for a living" thought. Few of us take it as far as Abby Favali.
While working as a lawyer in New York and going to business school at night, Abby had The Thought. So she developed logos and marketing plans, tested prototype recipes and started talking to any company that would give her feedback. When she moved to the Bay area last year, she knew it was time for Sweeter Than Me Cookies. Saturday Morning Market was the place.
Thankfully, I catch her booth early and stock up on chewy oatmeal cookies studded with tiny chips of toffee; rich chocolate chunk models loaded with just enough walnuts to cut the sweet; and peanut butter numbers that make me yearn for a glass of milk. By 12:30 p.m., she's sold every one of the 30 dozen she brought.
Also available at the market: fresh sandwiches of crisp lettuce and good meat from Holway & Barnes; short order breakfast with a touch of political activism at Uhuru; miniature sweet potato pies that taste like Thanksgiving from Desserts By Milly; tough but tasty jerky from Grizzly's; that sun-dried tomato pesto rosso that I regularly crave from Primi Urban Café; and, of course, the granola lady.
When Margaret Guidicessi went to David Cellon last year and wanted to start a granola booth, he thought she was crazy. "He gave me a trial run and I sold 150 pounds of granola the first week," she says. Now she and Cellon are friends, which she sees as one of the best aspects of the market. "It's not just that you make money, there is this incredible sense of community," Margaret explains. "People really care about and support you."
Last year, after just a few months selling her incredible homemade granola — each mix packed with dozens of ingredients — at the market, she opened her own 4th Street Granola Bar in downtown St. Pete (230 Fourth St. N.). It's been a one-woman operation so far, but she's adding help now that the summer is over. "I guess I'm a success story."
OK, eating at the Saturday Morning Market isn't the cheapest way to dine, depending on your taste, but where else can you sit in the sun with a platter of smoked meat, a fresh smoothie and a couple of cookies, waving at passing friends and listening to live music, all while supporting locally owned bootstrap businesses?
According to devoted Market Master Cellon, "All great cities have great markets." He's doing his part to help St. Pete fit the bill.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. Creative Loafing food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in Oct 25-31, 2006.
