The Bergen Farmers’ Market

We woke up early on Saturday morning in Bergen. Our entire Norway itinerary had been shaped around getting my daughter to the weekend family art workshops in the Children’s Art Museum at KODE. But first, we had to find breakfast. And in Bergen, that turned out to be harder than we expected, but in the search, we discovered another Bergen treasure, the Farmers’ Market.

Searching for Breakfast

Norway doesn’t have much of a restaurant culture. Their thrifty history means that most Norwegians eat at home most of the time, and if they do eat out, it’s usually for a special dinner. That means a serious lack of diners serving breakfast. We discovered too late that if you want your eggs and potatoes in Bergen, you need to stay in a hotel that serves breakfast or plan ahead and visit a grocery store. We did neither of those things. So we wandered around a good bit.

One coffee shop near our hostel was open, but they only served the kind of meaty sandwiches Americans associate with lunch. I got a latte and my daughter got a cocoa to tide us over and the search continued.

The Farmers’ Market

By the time we had walked all the way to the waterfront, it was after nine and we were beginning to feel desperate. People were beginning to set up tents along the harbor for the farmers’ market. At the time we didn’t know it, but the market doesn’t happen every weekend. We had just lucked out and happened to be in town for one of the two days each month that the market is held. Since it was still early (the official ours are 10-4) and we wanted to get to the museum by 10 to have time for the workshop, we didn’t get to see the full market.

But what we did see was so Norwegian. You’d think a farmers’ market would be the same everywhere, especially in temperate regions. And they did have a lot of the same things I’m used to from Seattle’s markets. There was fish and bread and some early vegetables. But there were a lot more finished foods, and those foods were particularly Norwegian. The jams were made with different berries, there were eggs and homemade butter. Best of all, there were pancakes.

Pancakes with a View

Right on the corner as we approached the market was a pancake stand. The ladies working there poured batter out on a griddle and stacked the pancakes at the end of the stall, where customers could pick the one they wanted. They had jam and cream for toppings, and paper towels for plates. There was no flatware, so the easiest way to eat was to roll up the pancake like a tube.

We each ordered a pancake, slathered it in jam, added a dollop of cream, and then walked to a bench on the waterfront. Little birds – the same ones that beg for French fries at American restaurants – kept us company.

Juggling pancakes and a latte with no plate was tricky, and we needed all the extra napkins we grabbed. The pancakes were something in between fluffy American flapjacks and chewy Swedish pancakes, and they were delicious – made even more so by extreme hunger and fresh air. And the view was lovely.

Reindeer Jerky

Once we had filled our bellies and wiped our sticky fingers, we didn’t have much time left before the museum opened. But we didn’t want to waste the opportunity to explore the market, which was still coming to life. So we made a quick pass up and down the row of tents, and made one more purchase – reindeer jerky.

I’m a vegetarian, and my daughter is a little squeamish about most meat. But her big sister back home is as likely to wonder how an animal tastes as whether she can pet it. So when we saw wild-caught reindeer meat, it seemed like an obvious souvenir. So I bought a vacuum sealed package of reindeer meat.

Later that day, my travel companion would dedicate her art to the reindeer who died. And a week or so later, my husband and older daughter would fry up a few rounds of reindeer meat. They declared it nearly inedible. They said it just tasted like fat, and decided maybe it would be better in a stew or sauce than by itself. We put the rest of it in the freezer, where today, a year later, I think a few pieces still remain.