Summer Daze

The Rochester Public Market has been operating continuously downtown at the same location since 1905. A gem for the city of Rochester and roots of powerful childhood memories. The connection for me began with my uncle Carmen. He owned and operated a small fruit and vegetable store at the corner of Lyell and Saratoga avenues in the 70’s and 80’s. A vibrant neighborhood full of Italian bakeries and restaurants. He supplied them all; lettuce, tomatoes, onions, mushrooms and whatever they needed to fill tasty subs and top delicious pizzas. This was the age which Veltri’s, Petrillo’s, Roncone’s, D’Andrea’s,  Martusciello’s, Romeo’s Diner, Al’s Stand and others all thrived within the same few city blocks. L&D Produce lie plunk in the middle of this area affectionately known as the “Italian Triangle.” Lunch from any of these spots was a much anticipated treat. A slice of Roman pizza from the coal fired oven at Veltri’s or a sausage, pepper and onion sandwich from Al’s Stand among my favorites.

It is with Uncle Carm I had first contact with the public market. The trek downtown to fill his Chevy cargo van with produce would begin ungodly early on warm summer Saturday mornings. My uncle behind the wheel puffing a Lucky Strike and me bleary eyed and half awake in the shotgun seat. My uncle had the only baby blue van I have ever seen in my life. Notoriously “frugal” I am quite sure he got the deal of the century on it. Informed by his thrifty nature his interactions with the purveyors were always contentious. But isn’t this is the way of the market? The bartering is expected if not required and always goes something much like the tree purchase scene in Christmas Story. I’ve omitted the colorful language from this typical exchange.

“These oranges are awful do you have anything else?” my uncle protests as he exhales the smoke of an unfiltered cigarette from his nostrils.

“They’re fine, you’re crazy. That’s all we got” the vendor responds, clenching a plastic tipped cheap cigar in his teeth.

“They’re too expensive!” my uncle would counter in disgust throwing his hands in the air. Lots of Italians around the market. Lots of talking with the hands.

“That’s the price,” the vendor holds firm turning his back and addressing the next customer.

The vacillation continued on until a marginally lower price was agreed upon. Then we’d move on to the next stall to repeat the entire process. As long as I can remember summer “vacation” meant time to work. These were the lazy days of summer for me.

It was many years later before I returned to the Public Market. In early 2010 I walked the original location of Flour City Bread. By the end of that year, renovations largely complete, we were open and operating our little bakery in this historic building. It felt extremely right for me to choose this location; or had it chosen me? I felt as if I had come full circle and there are still folks around that remember my uncle and his quietly humorous and dry personality.

These early experiences help shaped who’d I become as an adult. These traits include  a modest work ethic, the ability to rise early, disdain for negotiations and the rudimentary vocabulary of a pirate. 

“Little pitchers” as they say.