10 Wet Markets Worth Getting Up Early For

If you’ve read anything about Shanghai’s wet markets, you’ve seen Wuzhong. It went through a renovation a few years back and came out looking almost too good — green tiles, neat signage, produce arranged like a still-life. But once you start shopping, you realise it works. The egg lady knows her stock. The fish counter smells like the sea. It’s the market I send people to when they tell me wet markets make them nervous.

Tianshan is what I think of when someone says “wet market” without adjectives. Big, loud, doesn’t care whether you think it’s picturesque. People come with lists and leave with bags. The aisles are narrow enough that you’ll bump shoulders with someone carrying a live chicken.

Caoyang is in one of the older parts of Putuo, and you can feel it. The vendors and regulars have been there for decades. When I first started going, a tofu seller asked me where I was from — and then remembered, every time after, that I was “the one from England who likes the soft tofu.” That’s Caoyang.

Wukang is the market that matches its street — refined, heritage buildings, good cafés. It’s small, but the produce is chosen with care and the layout makes sense. I come here when I want to enjoy the shopping, not just get through it.

Changning is the easy one — spacious, organised, and you can push a stroller through it without wanting to cry. That sounds small, but if you’ve tried navigating a crowded market with a toddler, you know it isn’t. I come here when I want the produce without the drama.

Xianxia sits in a part of Changning with a big Japanese community, and you can see it in the market — salmon next to carp, shimeji next to shiitake, a small section of Japanese condiments I didn’t expect. It’s the one I go to when I’m cooking something that doesn’t know what country it’s from.

Wuning got a facelift recently — brighter, cleaner, easier to navigate. But the thing that makes it worth the trip is the halal section. There’s a significant Muslim community here, and the market reflects it: properly hand-slaughtered lamb and fresh lāmiàn noodles pulled in front of you.

Hongqiao is small — you can walk through it in five minutes if you’re not shopping. But the poultry is good, the fruit is good, and the leafy greens are some of the freshest I’ve seen at that price. Not a destination market — a neighbourhood one, and that’s what makes it good.

Tilanqiao is in Hongkou, in what used to be the old Jewish quarter, and it still has a slightly old-world feel. This is the market for preserved things — pickles, fermented vegetables, dried fish — the ingredients that make Chinese home cooking taste like Chinese home cooking. I come here to stock a pantry, not just a fridge.

Lancun Road is in Pudong — the market I’d send someone to if they lived over there and didn’t want to cross the river. A mix of locals and expat families; you’ll hear English, Mandarin, sometimes French in the same aisle. Not glamorous, but honest, and the kind of market that makes a neighbourhood feel like one.