Just outside the market.
The really nice eateries are upstairs. The ones that get written up in the Sunday papers. I mean the ones that serve squirrel and pigs cheeks and truffels.
The decent but cheaper ones are part of the market itself.

The traders outside are more like shops than stalls.

A bound haunch of something.
And they sell anchioves too apparently.

Second pic is very sweet Spanish man who sold me mulled cider.
Mum didn't like it, so I had two.
Didn't tell her he let me have two-for-one for a kiss! On the cheek of course - no cider is worth tongue down throat.

His ploy worked though. An empty market stall looks unsavoury. By the time I left there was a queue of Japanese girls behind me.

Much healthier than mulled cider.
But damned expensive.

And the menu for the demonstration kitchen, which we missed. But you gotta love the Welsh. Well I do, anyway.
Tatws Pum Manud? It's bacon and veg!

Paella.
Mum's lunch.

No, not all of it, just this lickle bit.

Happy Mum.

Champignons.

And rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb (supposedly said by extras on stage to simulate normal speech petterns.).

Moar mushrooms.

And a real chef, buying chillies for a real restaurant.
I know because I earwigged.

Carrots! Apparently. 'Cept for those that obviously aren't.
Gosh I'd have liked to buy the purple ones. Imagine them roasted in honey and mustard, eh?

And chervil.
Looking like monkey knackers.

Peggs and peppers.
Nothing to be said.
(Larkin poem, actually)

Citrus.

And busy stall despite distressing prices.

FISH!
Fish, fish and moar fish, until I tell you otherwise.

Gosh I'm craving fish now

This little piggy went to market...
This little piggy never came home.

Oh, sorry.

And The Shard and me and that's the lot.
Thanks if you waded through them all.

Great photos Sundae! I'll have to take back all that trash I talked about food in Britain.
That's also a gorgeous coat.