A diary post…

I guess since this is a blog, I’ll write a diary entry today. This could be boring to you guys, so I won’t be hurt if you skip it. Here goes nothing:

Brett, my freshman-year roommate, always talks about he would walk around the city alone sometimes. “Just exploring,” I think is what he called it. I never understood. First of all, I would be scared of walking around West Philly alone. Second of all, this city is boring.

Call me a europhile or whatever, but I can completely imagine (in fact I have done this, and I often drea of doing it forever) just wandering around aimlessly in some European city, town or village, whether it’s a cultural explosion like Paris or Florence or a sleepy little place off in the countryside somewhere. Something about the life there is just so fascinating to me. I’m sure it’s not like this, but I fantasize of waking up (gray skies are a must…I find Europe more romantic that way for some reason), hopping on my biciclette or bicicleta or whatever it may be, heading down to a bakery and just sitting around absorbing. Here I’d get shanked for lookin’ funny.

Today though, I had to go into Philadelphia alone. I was going to get some fresh produce at the farmer’s market in Reading Terminal Market (also known as “the amish market”) , and along the way I stopped in Hausbrandt, a café that my friend from work moonlights (weekendlights?) at. Between the cool 71º and the free subway ride I got (nobody was watching!), I was in a pretty good mood. After I talked to my friend (so that I can namedrop in the future, his name is Steve) and drank my Iced Tea, I walked to the market. It was really fascinating seeing peddling artists, music players, sidewalk cafés and (for some reason I noticed these for the first time) fascinating churches burried at random intersections. I’m not trying to say Philadelphia is the next Gruyère, but at least it’s not as barren as I thought it was. I should note that I was walking through the gay section of town (marked by rainbows below the street signs), which could explain the artsiness. Whatever.

So I finally got to Reading Terminal (henceforth RTM), and headed to the farmstands. Along the way (these are always in the back for some reason) I saw some of the best looking fish and meats I’ve seen in this city. If I had a car (I’m not going to carry an icebox full of meat through the subway past the groping hands of hungry homeless), I’d have gotten so much stuff. I saw truffles and lobster mushrooms for sale for the first time, I saw the purple potatoes I went for (but they were small and expensive, so I passed), I saw the bright red radishes I bought, and beautiful heirloom tomatoes (which were ridiculously expensive, so I passed here, too). Basically my catch was a bunch of radishes, some tarragon, some dill, and Fuji apples. There were no Kaffir Limes, no Meyer Lemons, no ridiculous things I’d heard of, really wanted, but never seen before. But maybe another time! I’m going to have to start paying attention to growing seasons a lot more now. I always appreciated flavors of seasons, but now specific produce is going to have to be on my mind. Oh and by the way, How I Met Your Mother got it 100% right. Farmer’s Markets are totally a couples thing. I felt sort of out of place there.

For lunch I got a roast pork sandwich. Some people say this should replace the cheesesteak as the philly sandwich. Having finally tried one, I wholeheartedly agree. It’s really juicy, slow roasted pork, garlicky and spicy broccoli rabe, and sharp provolone cheese. The flavors work well together, it’s a lot healthier, and it’s a lot less boring than cheesesteaks.

I walked down with my single bag of produce from 12th to 17th, where I stopped by Di Bruno Bros. Think of it as Trader Joe’s on steroids. Or Philly’s Dean and Deluca (for New Yorkers out there). This place is seriously amazing. The free samples today included aged goat gouda, romano cheese, a crab dip (meh), and, of all things, a $50 bottle of 20 year old Balsamic vinegar that was so unbelievably round tasting that I was almost tempted to buy it. Thank god I didn’t, I think my parents would have killed me. Instead I got Maldon Sea Salt (a flaky salt from England that not only tastes very clean, but adds a wonderful texture to proteins…chefs swear by it and now I can see why), and some Mirin (no reason, but they don’t sell it near me so I figured why not?).

I walked back to 15th and took the subway home and started cooking. We’ll always have Philly.

P.S. – I saw an asian guy with a mohawk today and he did NOT look like maddox! Baishi take note: the secret is in the thick, sick ’stache.