by H. Graciela Dyer

Created on: January 26, 2009   Last Updated: February 13, 2009

"First eat, then work" goes the old Basque proverb, but if the activity in Bilbao's imposing Mercado de la Ribera is a faithful indicator of Basque reality, work takes priority.

The homemakers of Bilbao, bent on their task of shopping for today's dinner converge on the entrance of what is reputed to be Spain's largest covered market. My travel companion and I are looking for cheese, but, descending the front steps that lead into a long basement hall lit by harsh fluorescent strips, we find slabs adorned with glistening fish of every description, arranged in tidy rows or clustered together in shallow bins.

The displays seem almost theatrical and a little surreal: a slimy tangle of Conger Eels cosies up to clusters of clams bundled by the dozen into nets; an octopus with its tentacles draped over the back of one stall, reminds me of the starfish brooch designed by Dali that I had admired at the Guggenheim the previous day. On one corner, a fish, caught in an open-mouthed gasp that displays a row of jagged teeth, stares as though in disagreeable contemplation of its circumstances. There's a clatter of metal against shell as one fishmonger shovels mussels into a bag, while her neighbour slices and guts a fish in one swift movement and slaps it onto a scale. Small clusters of sombrely dressed senoras throng around the stalls, chattering and pointing to indicate their preferences in the fishy tapestry of colours, shapes and textures. The price tags are a mix of Spanish and Basque: Rodaballo, Lubina, Txitxarro, but we can't detect any familiar Spanish words in the buzz of conversation and command. The chatter is punctuated by the occasional thwack! of a fishmonger's cleaver or the splash of cleansing water cascading down an empty slab.

Stallholders are constantly on the move, chopping, shovelling and sloshing water over their stalls to keep the fish market spotless and with barely a trace of fishy aroma. One fishmonger, who seems to be familiar with the ways of confused tourists, doesn't seem to mind our curiosity. "What's this?" we ask, pointing to his display. "Monkfish" he obliges in English. We learn from him that Txitxarro is scad, also, bewilderingly, known as horse mackerel. It's fascinating down here, but we decide to resume our quest for cheese, on the floor above. Halfway up the stairs is a balcony overlooking the river where periodic spasms of thrashing and gobbling return leftover fish to the food chain.

Meat - or to be more specific, pork - dominates the

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