Organic consumption is booming: why are farmers here abandoning certification?
“Whenever I arrive in a foreign land, the first thing I do is ask the locals where the market is.”
In June this year, mirroring the experiences of food writer Han Liangyi in *Wandering Through the World’s Markets*, I embarked on a journey of markets in Barcelona, Spain. Of the many options, I was drawn not to the highly popular, trendy Boqueria and Sant Antoni markets, but to a small community market: the Barcelona Slow Food Market (Mercat de la Terra, literally ‘Market of the Earth’).
Despite studying at the University of Gastronomic Sciences in Italy—often regarded as the ‘stronghold’ of Slow Food—I always felt that the movement’s idealised concepts remained somewhat superficial and detached. Once outside the campus gates, I wondered: how many Europeans actually know of and embrace Slow Food?
I. The Necessity of the Market
Immediately adjacent to the Slow Food Market is one of Barcelona’s key centres for street art. The area features a large open space and a platform used for various celebrations and performances, as well as a dedicated play area for children. The atmosphere is lively and free-spirited, making it the perfect spot to pick up some food from the market and enjoy an impromptu picnic on one of the benches.
Around 11 am that day, the farmers began setting up their stalls with seasonal fruits and vegetables, organic sausages and meats, cheeses, artisanal bread, and olive oils. During a promotional event for speciality produce organised by the market, we tasted local varieties of white asparagus and tomatoes, and were just in time for a workshop on Garrotxa, a traditional Catalan goat’s cheese.
Garrotxa, a local goat’s cheese, almost went extinct in the 1980s, but was later revived through the efforts of young cheesemakers and goat-farming cooperatives. I had previously been quite averse to the strong, pungent tang typically associated with goat’s cheese, but Garrotxa is remarkably smooth and creamy; its rich aroma is entirely free of that characteristic “goaty” smell. Moreover, each of the cheesemakers at the market offered their own unique take on it.
The owner of Formatgeria De Clua in the market explained that they had experimented with numerous methods to achieve a softer cheese. Since soft cheeses are prone to mould, they decided not to fight against it; instead, they introduced a specific strain of mould for fermentation. The result is a cheese with a thin protective rind and a sweet, creamy interior.
The owner of Formatgeria de Tòrrec gave us a taste of their most popular lactic curd cheese, Blanch de Tòrrec, made from raw goat’s milk. It was incredibly smooth with a subtle hint of crème fraîche. According to the owner, this is thanks to their goats being of the Murcian breed, the finest in Spain. These goats produce approximately 500 litres of milk per year, with a fat content of 5.6% and a protein content of 3.6%.
I couldn’t help but feel that culinary study must be immersed in the market; sitting in a classroom is simply far too dull!
The owner told me he had previously worked as a barista in Australia before returning to Barcelona to open a café. After that venture failed, he started his coffee cart business, which has proven quite popular. People visiting the market gather around the small cart to enjoy their coffee and chat leisurely; it is part of their daily routine, and he has seamlessly integrated himself into it.
Why do I love wandering through markets? Perhaps it is because there are always “stories in progress” here. The market is a wonderful space, brimming with a raw, vivid sense of place, human warmth, and the authentic stories of its vendors. It allows me to rediscover, understand, and imagine the countless possibilities of how one might live.
II. There is nothing so special about “Organic”
As it turns out, the most special aspect of the Slow Food Market is that it carves out a space for small producers who have been excluded from the mainstream organic certification system.
Over the past few decades, as organic production and consumption have grown, an increasing number of third-party organic certification bodies have emerged to set standards and verify product compliance. However, organic certification standards focus solely on the compliance of the production process itself; they do not consider whether farm labour relations are fair, whether monoculture is restricted, or how local products are protected. Consequently, small producers who excel in these areas are barred by the threshold of certification.
The owner of the organic fruit stall, Apitintegral, told us that after three years of organic certification, he decided to stop. His reason? The cumbersome paperwork had made his operations inefficient.
“Organic labels don’t include the information we actually care about, such as whether products have been treated with artificial additives and chemical tricks, or what percentage of a company’s total output is actually organic. For small farmers like us, the cost in time and energy required to manage this ever-increasing paperwork is simply unsustainable.” Having experienced Italian bureaucracy first-hand, I empathised deeply.
Another vendor, Silenta, who sells sausages, also withdrew from organic certification due to the rigorous process and fees ranging from several hundred to thousands of euros. Silenta runs a small family slaughterhouse, sourcing meat locally and using traditional methods to make her sausages, adhering fully to the principles of Slow Food.
She feels that certifications and labels are “not that important”, arguing that whether it is organic certification or the Protected Geographical Indication (IGP), there are always regulations that small-scale producers simply cannot meet.
For example, a friend of hers has a slaughterhouse on the border of two towns; his shop is in Town A, but the farm where he sources his meat is in Town B, a ten-minute drive away. Simply because the meat comes from a different town, his products cannot be certified as IGP or organic, even if they meet every other requirement.
Clark, an American classmate who accompanied me, told me that small farmers in the US face similar frustrations.
Clark once ran a small, certified organic farm in California. Although he only had to undergo a USDA inspection once a year, he was required to maintain meticulous daily records of everything from irrigation frequency to the time spent weeding. The more varieties of crops he grew, the more complex the paperwork became—and he already felt that diversifying his planting with over 100 different seed varieties was challenging enough.
III. Participatory Guarantee Systems
The Slow Food market has adopted the Participatory Guarantee System (PGS), an initiative started by the Slow Food association. As long as farmers adhere to this system—by avoiding chemical inputs such as fertilisers and pesticides during production and exclusively growing local, seasonal crops—they are welcome to promote their products at the Slow Food market.
The market organises regular farm visits, allowing consumers to understand food production at its source. Farmers with stalls at the market also welcome consumers to visit their farms in person to inspect cultivation methods, workflows, and the raw materials used in processing, as well as to check supplier lists and certificates for sourced materials.
Ultimately, however, their ability to establish long-term roots in the Slow Food market relies on the trust between the farmers and the consumers.
I was drawn to Cal Sileta, a stall specialising in olive oil, almonds and lamb, where numerous photographs of olive groves and olive oil production were on display. The owner told us with pride that their family manages olive trees passed down from ancestors a century ago. They continue to acquire derelict groves, as many young people, reluctant to take up farming, have migrated to the cities.
Their lambs are exclusively suckled by their mothers, and their daily fodder is sourced from the olive groves and almond orchards. They graze on wild grasses in the summer, and on the leaves and fruit of the almond and olive trees during spring and autumn. However, Catalonia suffered an exceptionally severe drought last winter, making it difficult to provide sufficient feed for the flock; hay had to be purchased from other pastures, and olive yields fell.
‘The wild boars are desperate; they only come to the orchard because they can’t find food in the forest. Do you realise the consequences of this drought?’ For a moment, I was at a loss for how to answer.
In Europe, where organic consumption is so prevalent, organic certification labels are easy to spot, but a label cannot convey the specific hardships farmers endure. Engaging face-to-face with producers at a Slow Food market is more than just a way to build trust; it is an opportunity for consumers to truly understand their food and educate themselves.
4. Giving Back to the Community
All stallholders have access to the Slow Food market’s communal kitchen for cooking and storage. One particularly delicious bakery bakes its bread right here; as the market is only a ten-minute walk away, transport costs are reduced and the bread’s fresh flavour is preserved.
Furthermore, the Slow Food market has achieved a zero-waste goal. Consumers bring their own containers and cloth bags, while organic waste from the stalls is collected and sent to the local AbonoKm0 association. There, members use it for vermicomposting, returning the finished compost to city residents for their balcony gardens.
With over 200 Slow Food restaurants in Barcelona, both the eateries and the market are part of the same movement, facilitating seamless cooperation and mutual support.
Regulations dictate that 40% of a Slow Food restaurant’s ingredients must be locally sourced (with the remaining 60% consisting of Slow Food-certified products), and they must procure from at least eight local producers. Naturally, produce from the Slow Food market is the first choice for these establishments.
Each of these restaurants has its own unique character. Restaurante Somorrostro, for instance, specialises in unconventional fish preparation; its menu changes weekly to reflect the seasonal harvest, with other ingredients sourced primarily from the Slow Food market or its own organic garden.
During our visit, we also stopped by spaimescladis. This Slow Food restaurant is dedicated to providing employment for immigrants and serves as a hub for *el convit/e*, a magazine exploring immigrant rights and the decolonisation of food.
Having left behind a life in Beijing—a world defined by the ubiquity of Meituan delivery and Hema supermarkets—I unexpectedly found a sense of home within these Slow Food markets and restaurants. From farms and artisanal workshops to the market, and onward to various consumers and eateries, this network weaves together diverse routes of distribution and human stories, brimming with fascinating variables.
Unlike the standardised logistics and sales of supermarkets or e-commerce, these small markets possess a certain elasticity—a blend of softness and resilience, much like a yoga practitioner constantly refining their breath.
From the seasonal ebb and flow of produce and the journey from humble beginnings to becoming a micro-community embedded in local life, to the exploration of eco-friendly models that transcend organic certification, the vendors of the Slow Food market innovate and adapt to sustain their vitality. This modest market has become a cradle for imagination and possibility, a lens through which we can gauge the inclusivity and progressiveness of a city.
Edited by Ze En