Yesterday I went to the farmer’s market to get my second to last sausage sandwich before the market closes until spring. There was an Asian man with a nametag in line in front of me and I tried to see where he was from. I told him he was really lucky that someone turned him on to one of the best sausage sandwiches in the known universe and that they were really yummy.
He nodded and repeated sausage and yummy. He only spoke enough English to order the spicy spicy which is what I would have recommended.
I think this is an important service that all out of town visitors should be steered toward amazing food that they would never get to try anywhere else. This is what I expect when I’m an out of town visitor. I hate when you ask at the hotel and they send you to Pizza Hut like you couldn’t eat that at home.
Now I will reveal my deeply hidden sentimental side.
Yesterday was the most gorgeously perfect day at the market. If you were going to invent the most gorgeously perfect day, it was exactly what you would have created. The market is located on the park blocks which are filled with tall leafy trees. The sun shone through the yellow leaves. There was a busker playing the saxophone and a guy doing tai chi on the grass. Someone had raked up a small pile of leaves and the rake was leaning against a tree. People were buying apples and pumpkins. Every once in a while the breeze would stir the tops of the trees and leaves would rain down through the park. Amazing.