Baltimore's Lexington Market

Four African-American youth lean against a dirty ceramic wall. "Hey, Britney Spears! Keep walking, Britney," they yell at my blonde girlfriend. I'm unwilling to make eye contact, fearing its encouraging influence. The boys' heckling gives me that feeling of uncertainty, as if I've crossed an invisible barrier into the other Baltimore, the one where I am not accepted.The boys are chilling at Lexington Market, one of Baltimore's six operational food markets, vestiges of pre-supermarket shopping. Located on the corner of Lexington Avenue, between Greene and Paca streets, the market is an odd combination of independent stalls, most selling pre-cooked foods, with a few raw meat and fish dealers, fresh vegetables stands, and baked goods vendors thrown in. Nowadays, Lexington Market sells mostly prepared foods, like lunch sandwiches, fried chicken, and boardwalk fries. It once was the original super-market, with more than a hundred stalls selling fresh poultry, produce, seafood, and meat. Lexington Market has followed Baltimore's residential and commercial shifts. As the middle-class fled the city and larger supermarkets entered urban neighborhoods, it evolved into a fast food, lunch time haven, mostly for local residents. The businessmen, doctors, and other professionals who inhabit nearby office buildings, medical centers, and universities trickle into Lexington Market, but lack the sheer numerical force of the locals.My encounter reminds me of how I appear to the outside world. I'm a white, middle-class college student dressed in a Calvin Klein sweater and Perry Ellis pants. My eastern European Jewish heritage shows through in my stocky build and wavy, dirty blond hair. A short, overweight, curly-haired Jew and his short, slightly overweight, blonde girlfriend walking among the booths of Lexington Market, in search of lunch along with hundreds of others, are unusual enough sight to elicit a response in 2002. Three quarters of a century ago, no one would have given us a second thought.