How to… spend a weekend in Eastern Market

After two whole weeks without it, I was finally reunited with my computer this weekend. And I am exhausted–and not by the digital overstimulation induced by having a 15″ screen again.

I had originally planned to go home to New York, however, I ended up having to work at Job #2 on Friday night and Saturday. In the interest of a Proustian detailing of the minutiae of my life, here is my weekend itinerary:

Despite a lot of work, I did manage to fit in a field trip to Eastern Market on Saturday morning, which is the farmer’s market in my hood.

I bought peaches, and then, after trying the nectarines at another stand, had to buy some of those as well. I was tempted by the legions of kale, but trusted the rational part of brain which protested that I had neither the time nor the patience to wash and prep kale without running the risk of it going bad. Nothing feels better than roaming around a market picking at samples (and so what if I did eat a free lunch in produce samples? Intern).

On Sunday, a friend of mine was crazy and sweet enough to accompany me to a spinning class at Biker Barre at 9:30 AM, which has become a weekend routine of mine. Biker Barre offers the opportunity for sweat and pain all for the low cost of $22.00 for 45 minutes–as if. But thanks to the major power outages last week, my dry cleaners were late in completing some work, and their way of apologizing was a free class. Having attended, of course I am hooked and may even have to pay the $15.00 student discounted rate to return.

Of course, after all that spinning, we were entitled to brunc$$. We headed for the place with the biggest crowd, because they had to be doing something right. It turned out to be a good call. The restaurant was Belga Cafe on 8th Street (SE) where I got a goat cheese waffle, my friend a delicious chorizo-y panini.

Yes. A Goat. Cheese. Waffle. And you know what? It was worth the not-small-amount of money I spent on it. Completely and totally worth it. You can check out their other tantalizing summer brunch dishes here).

After digesting, I went to another friend’s house to watch the fourth episode of The Newsroom, which I have given more of a chance than many television critics (because journalism), but after tonight’s episode, I really don’t feel like I can possibly defend it. Will I do a post on what Proust would say about Aaron Sorkin’s latest endeavor? Yes. I probably will. Nothing is safe from Proustification (Proustitution?).

 

 

 

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