The Rialto market is almost a thousand years old. Fish has been sold here since 1097; in eleven centuries the coins, the languages, the doges have all changed, but not the timetable: Tuesday to Saturday at dawn, never on Sunday, never on Monday. It is our first stop every working day, well before the tourist city wakes up. At six in the morning, when we arrive with our baskets, the fishermen are still unloading crates of ice from the boats moored along the Riva del Vin.
What do we look for, exactly? It depends on the season. In spring, moeche — the small lagoon crabs during their moulting week, fried whole and eaten in one bite: a dish that lasts only a few weeks a year. In summer, canoce (mantis shrimp), vongole veraci from Chioggia, sardines for saor, sea bass caught overnight. In autumn the oily fish gets fatter and cuttlefish become perfect for their ink. In winter, razor clams, scallops, eel.
The golden rule, both for us and for the curious visitor, is one: look at the eyes. Fresh fish has a rounded, glossy, almost living eye. If it is dull or sunken, walk away. The gills must be bright red, not brown. The body must feel firm, not soft. You can trust the market — Rialto's fishmongers do not cheat, because they have worked with the same customers for three generations — but learning to read fish yourself is a small pleasure that, once acquired, never leaves you.
If you want to visit Rialto as a tourist — meaning without buying anything, just to really understand Venice — come on a Tuesday or Wednesday morning between seven and nine. There is no other monument in the city that tells you the real Venetian soul like this one: the dialect shouted across the stalls, the ice melting on the counters, the stacked blue plastic crates, the strong smell of the sea a few steps from the Grand Canal. Then cross the Rialto Bridge and stop by us on the Riva del Vin: what you saw unloaded at dawn, at one o'clock you find on the plate.
