Why Do Events Like the Underground Market Speak to Us?

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Why do we find meaning in this?

Party monsters: Cooking with the Single Guy's Ben checked out Saturday's third Underground Market, a mix of homestead kitchen treats and party-ology with a scent of San Francisco strong as the old-house reek of a rambling flat.

What is it about this city that seeks out events tagged "underground," even implicitly? From last summer's explosion of DIY street food (reprised, in a way, at Magic Curry and Crème Brûlée's one-year anniversary bash, which went down the same night as the Market) to the semi-pirate weekly cart lunch in South Park, we have a keen hunger for the off-the-grid, even when ― as Ben points out in his post ― "underground" isn't, strictly.

Probably it has to do with the reason so many of us found ourselves in San Francisco in the first place, that acutely etched sense of self-recognition in a throng of people committed to finding meaning in the anti-normal. The reason a (literally) balls-out event like Folsom can feel almost wholesome. Or, as Ben points out, "It seemed most people came not to buy but to consume, wandering the tables to munch on pulled pork sandwiches, quiches, and the popular pork belly buns."

That's us all over: Gladly enduring the queue, signing a release that acknowledges it's cool if we get sick from quiche made in someone's apartment ― a bonding ritual tinged with danger ― treating it all like a party where no one's the host.