Give me a home where the jumbo shrimp roam

About a 10-minute walk from my apartment is the oldest outdoor urban wet market in Hong Kong. It's where I go every other day to buy fish, grapes, broccoli, mystery meat, and whatever else is in season because the price is cheaper than the chain grocery stores and the produce is better quality.

The meat sits outside for hours, even in the oppressive heat of summer, and might cause some to question its edibility, but I figure I've been eating melamine-poisoned Snickers bars for more than a year and I'm sure I ingested a fair share of Mad Cow Disease in the US, so how much damage can it do?

What differentiates a regular market from a wet market isn't what's being sold -- typically fresh produce, meat, herbs and seafood -- but that a wet market is regularly hosed down with water. It can get a bit messy, and many vendors have the good sense to wear rain boots. I learned rather early on that long skirts aren't the smartest fashion choice for shopping amidst assorted animal innards.

In existence since 1841, the Graham Street wet market faces possible extinction due to the Hong Kong government's infatuation with urban renewal. They love to knock down old, interesting shit and replace it with shiny, new shit. Because the increasingly diluted culture could use another mall, more high-rise apartments and, one hopes, at least 10 more 7-11s.

As an outsider, of course, it's easy to romanticize a culture that isn't one's own because it's exotic, but after spending the better part of my life buying my groceries in Acmes and ShopRites, I don't think I'm being one of those starry-eyed ex-pats when I say that I'd rather buy my meat and vegetables from ancient Chinese vendors that likely have owned their stalls for their entire lives. After a while, one starts to build a rapport with them, and there's something reassuring about knowing where one's meat is coming from -- even if PETA would disagree.