I hope nobody takes offense – but a good market qualifies as one of my holy places.
Now, I’m not talking about the overwhelming stupor that besets people in the aisles at Whole Foods and causes them to block traffic with their cart as they cast their eyes toward heaven, possibly for guidance… or maybe they’re experiencing The Rapture… who can say?
I’m talking about the bounty, and the possibility of beautiful meals, and the quiet amid the crowd where you can see your course/menu set out before you.
Of course, I’m talking about the middle-aged woman’s experience. But, I do remember the Mayfair market at the base of the Hollywood Hills on Franklin where I swear people wandered around looking for that indefinable something… or a one night stand. (That phrase predates “hook-up” – anyone know what the current term is for a… brief encounter?) For high-end victuals there was the Chalet Gourmet on Sunset… where you’d shop for delicacies and hear the occasional pick-up line from… you know, I better be discreet, but just think movie stars of the eighties (Warren Beatty).
I don’t see much social activity at the grocery store these days, maybe I’m not looking, or maybe I’m pondering what to do with a purple cauliflower.
