Piac.

This word means market. In Szeged particular the Mars Téri Piac. This wonderful indoor / outdoor marketplace or “pih-ahtz” is a must see.

Now there is something different about Hungarian markets. Markets in North America are a novelty. And at these markets you can buy increasingly more veggies, eggs and organic fare. Such options were not readily available just years ago. Nor did many open air markets abound. At least not in my neighbourhood.

In Hungary there is a piac in every town. Even Budapest has great one: Budapest Central Market. You get your eggs, meat, cheese, veggies–all daily goods–at these piac. Maybe even clothing, mushrooms, honey or lángos. Ah, “Lahn-gosh.” Have you heard of the thing? It is definitely a market food. Magyaros lángos. Plain lángos. Too many kinds. It is a simple food. A staple.

Yeast dough worked, rested and fried in splattering, golden oil. One Hungarian comment on the snack suggests that lángos is a ‘way of life that touches everyone; there is no way around it.’ So true. On market day in Szeged, we too couldn’t avoid it.

Wandering through the gates of the Márs Téri Piac, we walked into the bustling outdoor market. People were buying deep maroon plums. Walnuts for sale over here. Braided stalks of garlic over there. Root vegetables, tomatoes, squash, cabbage. Sunlight filtering through coloured overhead canopies added a carnival feel. Sounds, smells, sights surprised and delighted. People were buying and selling tasty fare left and right.

We pressed ahead. Now people will contest where to find the best lángos. ‘The best is in old Dugonics street,’ one might say. ‘You’re crazy! Best at the market for sure,’ another insists.

To each their own.

This day we followed the line up. At the back of the indoor market hall past a vendor selling neatly organised eggs we found lángos.

We waited, and waited. People say line ups are a good sign. I think line ups are a good thing if you can stand them. I enjoy seeing how people wait–and what they do when they get to the register. I like to study how the locals order.

One thing for sure, if on market day if you’re ordering lángos and you’re next at the register with a lineup behind, you’d better know what you want.

Tejfolos sajtos lángos, fokhagymával. “One lángos with heavy sour cream and smothered with shredded cheese. Oh, and bathed in garlic oil, please”. Three hundred and fifty Hungarian forint. Add on a mensza hot fruit tea and you’ve got breakfast.

The dough has already rested and is portioned. Cooked to order, these pale, innocent hand stretched bits of dough are dropped into a purgatory of sputtering oil where they are cleansed and fried golden. Dressed to perfection.

About the dimension of a crispy, fluffy crêpe still glistening when handed to you all you have to do is bite, bite, bite. The proper lángos will have just the right colour, texture and chew and you won’t be able to stop eating it. Bless it with a few grains of salt.

Heaven.

One of the finest sights this market day while waiting to order mine? A grandmother seated on her walker holding a fresh lángos eating bite by bite. When it comes to good food age doesn’t matter. And neither does etiquette. Just eat.

Sigh. Oh, the rest of the piac, you ask? Well, whether wild mushrooms sold by an exclusive vendor whose heavy glasses keep sliding down his nose while he studies each piece like a precious book, or the butchers selling fresh calf’s liver and smoked Hungarian sausage standing with crossed arms and rosy cheeks or the sauerkraut vendors, flower vendors, vendors young and old smiling, talking, yelling, laughing bartering–how can one do the scene justice?

Sometimes you just have to stand back. Put away your camera and watch. Other times you might fuss about trying to buy the right shade of Hungarian paprika. Or maybe you hold a piping hot lángos and munch away while watching the market unfold before you in all its glory.

Either way you’ll be fed, stocked up, or sold on something you never expected.

See you Saturday at the Szegedi Márs Téri Piac.

Doors open at 4 a.m.