There's a sad little platial drama playing out in my town -- Kitchener, Ontario. We've had a farmer's market in the centre of town for well over a hundred years. In fact, Kitchener boasts one of the oldest continuing farmer's markets in the country. The market has resided in various locations through the city, but in my years of living here, it has been in only two places. First, in Kitchener Market Square -- a moribund downtown shopping centre that was built in 1973, mostly vacated by merchants over the years as commercial development migrated to the exurbs where operating costs were much lower because taxpayers were footing the bill for much of their infrastructure. More recently, beginning in 2004, the market moved to a new space right on Kitchener's main street (King Street) in a gigantic multi-level building that ended up costing a small fortune. The concept was that the traditional Saturday market would be supplemented by a retail and restaurant space that would operate every day, draw a good lunch crowd and possibly some daily food shoppers for gourmet items. When I read of this plan, it seemed to me like a no-brainer. The organic and locavore movement was just beginning to pick up some steam, the market was easily accessible and central, and to me the idea of being able to go grab a quick lunch and then maybe pick up some good coffee beans or some cheese to take home seemed like exactly the thing a growing city should offer. Yet in the five years of its existence, I've visited the Kitchener Market exactly twice at times other than Saturday morning. And my experience is not an isolated one. The market is just not doing well. Why?
Compared to our much larger market situated squarely in Mennonite country in St. Jacobs, the little urban market attracts a decent but much less impressive Saturday crowd. When I go, I actually like this because it's not as hard to move from aisle to aisle, find the things I need, and even to stake out a little spot to stand and eat something delicious on offer from one of the few restaurant stalls that operates on the main market floor. I have no idea whether the main market space is doing better or worse than in its old location, but I do know that the upper floor, housing the permanent restaurants and stores, is foundering. It seems like such a good idea until you arrive at the site. First, the opening to the market building is a large, empty piazza. It's just not an inviting space that reels me in and makes me want to linger. But more importantly, for all of the efforts that were made to make the upper space cheery, inviting, and in keeping with a market atmosphere, it just seems to make the space act like one that I want to rush out of rather than cling to. The large, vaulted skylit ceiling and the wrap-around windows seem to take away any semblance of coziness or refuge. The exposed surfaces, almost all consisting of concrete and metal, don't help. The food is actually quite good and there is good variety, but having purchased a delicious order of jerk chicken or some rib-sticking Croatian fare, when I get to my table, I just want to gulp it down and flee. It's very much the same feeling as having lunch at a food court in a shopping mall. These are not spaces that are designed to encourage us to linger and relax so much as to bolt down some sustenance and to go back into the shopping fray.
Now there's a
new manager for the market, who says that she's going to try to figure out how to make the upper retail and restaurant space more compelling. She says she is going to "warm it up and make it very comfortable to be there." Encouraging that she seems to have put her finger on the problem exactly. But how to fix? Can shuffling the purpose of the space, filling it with cooking demonstrations, community group meetings, and a mini-market accomplish this, or does the configuration of the space itself need some more radical surgery? It's a fascinating problem and one I hope finds a solution. I'm a firm believer in urban markets and local foods, and I know I'm far from alone. I want to want to go there, but right now I don't.
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