Living the vida local in Jacaranda City

A crew led by the formidably fabulous Jacaranda City jazz diva Demisemiquaver hits the Hazel Food Market at the Greenlyn Village Centre, corner Thomas Edison and Mackenzie streets, Menlo Park.

Demisemiquaver sets the tone for the early-morning raid, stepping out on a strident tour of her favourite stalls and stallholders, stocking up as she goes for the week ahead. German sausage, Polish sausage, cheese, fine-looking baguettes.

While the beautiful Distraction keeps a sharp eye on the breakfast options, the Bandit shops for an early-evening braai.

At Lamtiti, proud purveyors of "lamb and more", friendly butcher Erna van Staden extols the virtues of the locally produced lamb on offer - tender, sweet and succulent, the Bandit is glad to confirm.

The boerewors, made to her father's recipe, is excellent - coarsely ground beef unadulterated by MSG-laden spices. The earthy muscle of coriander quietly dominates - just as it ought to.

The Distraction's keen nose is led by coffee roaster Just's fragrant, dark-roast Tanzanian coffee beans. Just the ticket if, like Eartha Kitt, you "wanna be evil . and wake up with that dark brown taste".

The Bandit doesn't even bother trying to resist the temptation of a wedge of renowned Rustenburg cheesemaker Goat Peter's smooth, simultaneously creamy and tangy pecorino.

Not a single visitor to the Hazel Food Market gets past Dave "Motormouth" Moss at the Elbows Up Deli stand.

The deli's "that's not nearly all, have you got a couple of hours?" range of boldly flavoured, almost explosively tasty dressings, sauces, virgin olive oils, pomegranate syrups, chutneys, marinades and dips is seemingly endless.

And if the entertainment value of Moss's rapid-fire rap is taken into account - and don't forget the cool squeeze bottles - the steepish prices are just about bearable. By the time he gets to the price you've long since entered into an unspoken yet unshakeable deal anyway.

Having led the crew on her regular Saturday-morning shopping round, Demisemiquaver begins a second lap of the market in search of breakfast.

Before the Bandit can even say do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do, an order for three breakfasts has been placed with a chap who, judging by the chef's togs and the way he relishes pronouncing the word, knows that rosti is not necessarily a pompous British novelist with a fatwa hanging over his head.

Potato rosti topped with salmon (you see Salman, it really isn't always all about you), two soft- fried eggs, creme fraiche and chives.

The breakfast, though a steal at R35, is not without fault.

Precooked, the rosti has that slightly stale tang of yesterday's roast potato. And the frazzled whites of the admittedly soft-fried eggs suggest that they have been cracked into a pan that is more than a touch too hot. The dish, by no means a disaster, would be far better served by poached eggs.

While the Distraction and Demisemiquaver do the catch up on the family thing, the Bandit attempts a surreptitious sidle, yeah sure, past the nearby stall at which mince jaffles are being sold. Well not past exactly.

The first mouthful of piping hot, lightly curried, generously chutneyed mince, sealed between two slices of toasted white bread instantly evokes fond memories of Boy Scout camps, sports days and church fetes in winter.

By 9.30am the market is pumping with local consumers out in support of local producers.

The most pleasant raid ends on the highest of notes with a glass of bubbly back at chez Demisemiquaver, just down the road.

THE SCORE

Lamtiti's lamb chops: ****

Salmon rosti: Not quite the Booker prize

Demisemiquaver: Quite the songstress we keep telling her