Paulie and Viv are at the races all day, I already have two loads of laundry done and the sun is shining. Time to go to the farmers market, just Charlie and me. Or, because he has a boppie and is totally ignorable four feet ahead of me in the double stroller, mentally just me. Ahhh.
The Shorewood Farmers Market is packed. Packed with strollers, coffee drinkers, shoppers, a band. A band? A full honest god electric set up band. And there's the Shasta trailer selling waffles, the other trailer selling egg breakfasts, and new this year a vintage Ford truck retrofitted with taps to serve small batch brews. It is, of course, clad with horizontal reclaimed wood boards. A Tommy Haverford lookalike inspects the boulangerie's mobile wood fired oven, at least four booths have locally roasted coffee. Is someone roasting beans right here? There's Kambucha, empanadas, gluten-free ready to bake dough...it's endless, and not much of it is produce. There are more vehicles than veggie vendors, you wouldn't be crazy for thinking it's a food truck lot. If I didn't have the experience to know where to find the egg lady, and that a cartoon of her fresh brown eggs was worth elbowing through all that overpriced spandex for, I would have turned around.
Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy this outing, especially the chocolate croissants. But let's call this what it really is: Portland 2005.
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