🎪 Pastry, Pavement & Perseverance: My Life at Local Markets

There’s something romantic about setting up a stall under the trees, trays of warm brownies beside you, and the smell of coffee floating through the morning air. Kids run past with sticky hands, dogs pull their owners toward the food stalls, and you’re surrounded by chatter, music, and the hum of possibility.

Markets can be magical - until they’re not.

From Constantia, and Observatory in the Southern Suburbs, to Durbanville and Bellville in the Northern Suburbs, I’ve lugged my tables, gazebo, and baked goods across Cape Town’s market circuit. Some days I leave with an empty table and a full heart. Other days… well, let’s talk about those too.

The Highs - Why I Keep Coming Back

One of my favourite moments is when someone makes a small purchase, maybe a slice of quiche, and then 30 minutes later, they’re back at my table buying more. There’s something magical about a complete stranger enjoying something you made so much that they have to have seconds.

Most of my loyal customers so far are friends and family. Sometimes I know they’re coming, sometimes they pop up out of nowhere. Either way, it’s always a little boost to see a familiar face.

Then there’s the feedback, the honest kind you need to grow. My partner is my best critic; he’s never afraid to tell me when something doesn’t look right or needs tweaking. And sometimes feedback comes from unexpected places: like the restaurant owner who bought a brownie to “try out” and ended up ordering full trays for his menu.

The other thing I love is the sense of community between vendors. Other stallholders become friends. They’re quick to give advice, share tips, or point you toward a market better suited to your products. Some of those friendships will stick with me far beyond market days.

The Lows - The Other Side of the Table

Here’s the less romantic side: markets aren’t always busy. Some weekends, you spend R300–R600 just to book a stall and make R400 total. You plan your menu all week, bake everything, load the car, set up in the morning, stand there all day, only to just barely make your table fee back.

Weather is another constant battle. Wind is a menace if you’re a food vendor without a truck. You need covers to keep dust and leaves off your products, but covers also make it harder for people to see your bakes. So you end up in this constant ballet of lifting, lowering, and shifting covers while serving customers.

And then there’s the mental toll of slow days. Smiling at people who walk past without stopping wears you down. You start wondering if you should just quit and go back to a 9–5. Those moments are the hardest.

The Emotional Loop

Market life has its own emotional rhythm:
Doubt → Hope → Planning → Excitement → Disappointment → Grit → Repeat.

On the rough days, my partner is the one who keeps me grounded. He reminds me of why I started, suggests new angles, and helps me see beyond one bad market. And then, just when you’re questioning everything, one good day or one kind comment flips the switch back to hope.

Why I Keep Showing Up

Because I believe in my bakes.
Because each market teaches me something new about resilience, sales, and adaptability.
Because even in a gale-force wind, I can sell a chocolate chip cookie with a smile.

Markets have taught me humility, patience, and the value of a damn good pair of shoes. And while I’m not swimming in regulars yet, I know those connections come with time, just like everything else worth building.