Walk in and you're somewhere else. Smoke and spice and something frying down the row. A crowd that came here to eat.

In one visit I had Cantonese handmade dumplings, Polish pierogies, empanadas from a kitchen run by someone originally from Buenos Aires, and a Turkish Coffee Dark Chocolate bar from a Cincinnati bean-to-bar chocolate maker. Four countries in a single afternoon, all of it made fresh, all of it made by someone who does one thing and does it well.

Whole Foods has a hot bar. But there's a difference between one kitchen making everything and a Polish pierogi maker working next to a Cantonese dumpling maker working next to a guy from Buenos Aires making empanadas.

Central markets like this were the supply chain. Every growing American city built them — because before refrigeration, before trucks, this was the only way to get food to the people. Cincinnati built nine. Public market houses, scattered across the city, each one doing the same job.

Findlay is the only one left.

The building is cast and wrought iron — one of the first structures in the United States built that way. The construction methods were new enough that contractors ran into problems they didn't know how to solve. It went up in 1852 and didn't open until 1855. It has been open ever since.

Inside, the meat case has filet mignon, chuck roast, and ribeye — labeled, priced, cut to order.

Down the counter, four glass jars sit on stainless steel. Hot. Dill. Kosher. Sour. Handwritten labels on masking tape.

The people change. The products change. The method doesn't.

And that is the story behind the place.