Cover Grocery store tourism is on the rise
Grocery store tourism is on the rise
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A trip to a grocery store or market is one of most universal of human rituals—and now, it’s also one of the biggest travel trends
Distinguished by passport, united in the produce aisle. More travellers are swapping the out-there and extraordinary for the mundane. Treating grocery shops, local markets and convenience stores as a kind of voyeuristic, living museum in which to observe an honest glimpse of local life.
There’s the obvious differences—the fonts on a milk carton, the specific scent of the spice aisle, the local obsession with a particular brand of biscuit. And then there’s the universal scenes: a young couple shopping for snacks to enjoy a date night at home; parents bribing their toddler in the confectionery aisle; a tattooed chef poring over heirloom vegetables and punnets of ruby-hued berries.
Here are some of our favourite food-shopping experiences around the world, and a handful of must-buys if you get the chance to visit them.
See also: Love food and travel? Here are 16 of the world’s most famous food markets
Hong Kong wet markets
If you want to feel the pulse of everyday life in Hong Kong, look for the red plastic lampshades, a signature of the city’s many wet markets. It's pure sensory overload: the thwack of a cleaver against a wooden chopping block, scents that shift every few steps, and the piercing, high-decibel negotiations between stall owners and shoppers.
Here, the catch of the day is still splashing, and that infamous chicken scene in 2001 comedy Rush Hour 2? Not an exaggerated stereotype—the produce really is that fresh.
But what looks chaotic on the surface is, in fact, a choreographed routine. Each family has its designated go-to vendors for their staples: which stall sells the crispest choi sum, which butcher will give them the best cut for their slow-cooked brisket, where to go for handmade fishballs and tofu puffs for hotpot at home.
The evolution of these markets is a classic Hong Kong tale of adaptation. Historically, markets and dai pai dong, or open-air food stalls, were vibrant fixtures on the city’s streets. But as Hong Kong modernised in the 1970s and ’80s, the government made moves to clear the congestion by introducing municipal services buildings: multi-storey hubs that became vertical villages.
Typically, the first two floors keep the “wet” in wet market—dedicated to live seafood and poultry, fruits, vegetables and pantry staples—while the upper floors preserve the soul of the streets with cooked food centres. Moving the dai pai dong indoors might have traded the grit of the alleyway for industrial fans and tiled floors, but it saved the culinary heritage, and today, sitting on a plastic stool under fluorescent lights with a cold Blue Girl beerk, sharing wok-fired dishes with loved ones, is as quintessential Hong Kong as it gets.
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Japanese konbini
For those who grew up or live in western countries, buying a meal from a convenience store is considered a grim last resort. In Japan, konbini are 24-hour life-support systems. A 7-Eleven, FamilyMart or Lawson store is never more than a stone’s throw away, and you can find anything from salmon onigiri freshly made that morning to fish cakes and radish simmering in an umami oden pot to fridges full of colourful bento boxes.
It’s so characteristically Japanese in that even in a hurry, quality is never compromised. A far cry from the rolling, day-old hot dogs at your local petrol station, Japan’s konbini have become an international phenomenon. Limited-edition sakura lattes, fluffy egg sando and FamilyMart’s signature boneless fried chicken, Fami-Chiki (a personal favourite of mine), are just a handful of konbini staples that have become cult favourites among visitors.
Viral snacks aside, konbini keeps everyday life going for locals. It’s where people can pay their utility bills, ship items across the country, and even pick up a fresh pair of socks, underwear or a shirt after a long night of nomikai—a mandatory part of Japanese work culture, where heavy drinking with colleagues is used to bond and build trust. And after a particularly big night out, the glow of konbini marks a safe haven where you can attempt to sober up with steamy bowl of instant ramen and a bottle of Ukon no Chikara, a turmeric drink that's considered a godsend for hangovers.
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Australian farmers' markets
I'm originally from Melbourne, and every time I visit home, a visit to the market with my brother, a chef, is a non-negotiable. We peruse the aisles for fresh produce, stopping every now and then for snacks: freshly shucked oysters, spicy kransky and lamb-filled gozleme are a few personal favourites.
The Australian farmers’ market is a love letter to a prehistoric past, kept alive by some of the strictest biosecurity laws on the planet. You’ll find Indigenous “bush tucker” ingredients unique to the country that have thrived for thousands of years. We’re talking finger limes, nature’s citrus caviar, and foraged aromatic herbs and spices like saltbush, lemon myrtle and wattleseed.
Because the country is shielded from so many global pests—this is why the banana or apple you brought on the plane over gets confiscated and dumped on arrival—farmers can lean into rare heirloom varieties and regenerative practices that would be a gamble elsewhere. It’s where you’ll find a dozen varieties of organic mangoes, and honey produced by bees that have spent their lives intoxicated on the nectar of Eucalyptus blossoms. Australian produce is a bounteous, sun-kissed example of what happens when you protect an ecosystem with fierce, obsessive pride, and these markets celebrate just that.
They also serve as vibrant cultural crossroads for Australia’s immigrant diasporas. You’ll find stalls run by Italian families selling fresh pasta and jars of homemade sauces; Greek delis with vibrant displays of marinated olives, pickled seafood and blocks of fresh feta; and Korean stalls selling homemade kimchi, banchan and mandu.
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New York City bodegas
Part convenience store and part community hub, bodegas are the gritty, neon-lit soul of New York’s five boroughs. It’s where you get your US$5 egg-and-cheese roll—the city’s mayor Zohran Mamdani adds jalapenos to his—a loosies and a scratch card at 3am, and perhaps a judgmental side-eye from the resident bodega cat, lounging atop its throne of cardboard boxes.
At its heart, bodega culture is a story of migration and the American Dream in New York City. The term comes from the Spanish word for “storeroom” or “wine cellar” and is rooted in the influx of Puerto Rican and Dominican entrepreneurs in the mid-20th century. Today, that legacy continues with Yemeni and Palestinian families often behind the counter. Hubs where languages blur and flavours collide, bodegas represent a foot in the door for immigrant families, providing a level of warmth that big-box retailers simply can’t—like credit on a handshake or knowing exactly how you take your coffee.
It’s also the ultimate equaliser, where you’re likely to see a hedge fund manager in a tailored suit waiting in line behind a construction worker, both there for a coffee and a bag of Zapp’s potato chips.
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Coco Marett is a writer and editor who grew up between Hong Kong and Melbourne. She currently heads the travel section for Tatler Asia, and manages the Tatler Travel account on Instagram. She is known for her features on unique, under-the-radar properties and destinations. She's also known for her in-depth interviews that paint a refreshingly candid portrait of influential figures across various industries —from artists to political figures, CEOs to celebrity chefs. Follow her on Instagram @cocomarett
