The Ferry Building, that long, tall landmark where Market Street meets the Embarcadero, is where they brought the injured after the great San Francisco quake of 1906. It's the hub that drew as many as 50,000 commuters daily across the bay before there were any big bridges here, then sent them back across the water at day's end. It's the monument that a freeway amputated from the rest of the city in the 1950s, its clock tower left to jut into the fog like a forgotten gravestone.

Now it lives to make people hungry. On a brilliant summer day, my wife, daughter and I step in and take seats at Mijita, one of several restaurants that now occupy the Ferry Building. But before we can dig in, a woman steps up, eyes my wife's plate and blurts a question.

"Is that the empanada with squash blossoms?"

"Yes," says Mary Frances. Then, a few minutes later, a white-haired man appears behind her shoulder. He too scrutinizes her plate, now nearly empty.

"Excuse me," he says. "What was that?"

"The best empanada in the world," says Mary Frances. He heads toward the counter.

Here are my questions. Why doesn't anybody care about my mushroom quesadilla? And who could have guessed that after spending much of the 20th century in the throes of a slow death, the heart of San Francisco would be reborn as its tongue?

Born in 1898 and reborn in 2003, the old, new Ferry Building has not only helped revive the art of aqua-commuting but also has established itself as a foodie haven like no place Southern California has ever seen. About 40 retailers and restaurants peddle all things organic, artisanal and upscale. One of the liveliest farmers markets in the West springs up here Tuesdays and Saturdays (and this summer, Thursdays as well), with about 80 farmers and 30 artisanal food-makers.

Every day, thousands of locals and tourists walk the Ferry Building's main hall -- technically, it's called the nave -- sniffing the oysters and apricots, inspecting the gelato and olive oil, browsing the Japanese deli, the Imperial Tea Court, the rarefied desserts at Recchiuti Confections.

This is elective spending of the first order -- 75 cents for a single vanilla bean marshmallow? -- yet many merchants say they're weathering the recession well. In late June, there was just one vacant space, which has since been filled by Il Cane Rosso, a rotisserie and sandwich shop offering local ingredients in southern Italian style.

Dave Stockdale, executive director of the Center for Urban Education About Sustainable Agriculture, which runs the farmers market, reports that sales in 2009 are "fairly close" to those for 2008.

Maybe you no longer have to reserve months ahead for a modern Vietnamese dinner at the Slanted Door, but when I stepped in at 6 p.m. on a Sunday, the big, loud dining room was nearly full. And for those who would rather not lay out $25 for an entree, it's just a few strides to the counter of the Acme Bread Co., where you can score a fresh baguette for $1.85. Or there's the Cowgirl Creamery, where you can pick up a hunk of fromage blanc ($12.50 per pound).

Spend big, spend little. Either way, you get to watch the ferries float in and the food fly out and speculate on who's local and who's just jetted in from Nanjing or Namibia, or what those two guys over there are saying to each other in sign language. Streetcars pause here (so you can sneak off to Fisherman's Wharf or the ballpark). Street musicians warble, strum and pound, and the Corte Madera, Calif., bookshop Book Passage has a satellite space here.

Inevitably, some San Francisco foodies and others make a show of scorning the Ferry Building and complaining about its high prices. In fact, Carlo Petrini, the Italian founder of the global Slow Food movement, seems to scoff at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market in his 2007 book "Slow Food Nation," pointing out that the farmers were "well-to-do college graduates" whose "wealthy or very wealthy" customers seemed to be mostly actresses showing off their peppers, marrows and apples like jewels. (Petrini later apologized for any offense and blamed a faulty translation from his original Italian.)

I didn't meet any actresses, though I did encounter one aspiring opera singer. Anyway, on a busy Saturday like the one I spent here in late June, 25,000 people pass through this building and the stalls outside. Here's how one of those days goes.

The morning call

At 8:15 a.m. by the front steps, a saxman takes a deep breath and launches into "Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin'." As farmers market vendors put last touches on their booths, a line forms and lengthens at the Blue Bottle Coffee Co. stand ("best cup of drip I've ever had," reckons one admirer on Yelp.com).

Since about 6, farmers have been setting up and delivering to their partner shops and restaurants -- Acme Bread to Mijita, Far West Fungi to Market Bar, Boccalone's salumi to the Ferry Plaza Wine Merchant, Blue Bottle Coffee to Boulettes Larder.

Outdoors on the bay side, somebody is peddling spring pearl nectarines for $3 a pound in the shadow of the Mohandas Gandhi sculpture. Steven Courchesne, 20, of Frog Hollow Farm, is set up with more than 600 pounds of golden sweet apricots, and the free samples are going fast.

Corey Pooley, owner of Core Elations raw food, is touting the wonders of his vegan sushi. (His secret ingredient: "an affirming and positive world view.") Javier Salmon, a bear of a man who looks as earthy as Pooley seems celestial, is manhandling products from Bodega Goat Ranch and Yerba Santa Goat Dairy.

In the aisle between Pooley and Salmon, another guy is handing out black mission figs and wearing a shirt that says, "Alabama: So many recipes, so few squirrels."

A little history

San Francisco's first ferry building, a wooden structure, went up in 1875. To pay for a bigger, better version -- the version that would become this building -- politicians in 1892 took the issue to voters statewide. They approved a $600,000 bond issue by a margin that only Al Franken could love -- 91,296 in favor, 90,430 against, according to Nancy Olmsted's book "The Ferry Building: Witness to a Century of Change."

Of course, the cost rose, to about $1 million. When the current building came together, it was a steel-framed Beaux-Arts symbol of the city's growing might, built upon a foundation of 5,117 pilings, decorated with a series of arches and Corinthian columns. The clock tower was modeled after the bell tower of the cathedral in Seville, Spain.

It could have been an even mightier building. Architect A. Page Brown at first wanted it to be 840 feet long, but budget concerns cut it back to 660. And then, in late 1895, the 34-year-old Brown was thrown from a horse. He died of his injuries while construction was in progress.

Fortunately for us, his building proved far more durable. Though most of the city fell or burned down in the 1906 quake, Brown's Ferry Building suffered only minor damage, its clock, running fast, frozen at 5:16 a.m. for the next year.

As the city recovered and ferry traffic multiplied, the building became the terminus loop for streetcars, selling ground for paperboys, protest zone for striking maritime workers and rallying point for parades. Where the 17-story Hyatt Regency San Francisco now stands, the Hotel Terminal once offered rooms for $1, or $1.50 with private bath. Christopher Reynolds