last week, parker and i headed into the city. it seems we’re doing this at least once a month, often more, and it’s really a nice change of pace. parker and his friend lux are like ten (thirteen?) days apart and, you know, having other mom friends with babes the same age as yours are golden. not only are you in the trenches together but you’re in the very same trench. i have a few friends with kids very close in age to parker and so, we often get together. i call them playdates and my goodness does that feel so very mom of me. what’s next?? i’ll be shopping at talbots.
sometimes we meet somewhere, sometimes one of us hosts. so, this week it was just rachael and i and instead of having her make the trek out of the city, we made the trek in. parker is always game for a day trip. plus, a trip to the city always includes at least one or two firetruck sightings, a few distant sirens, and some good food. bonus if it includes jack, kack, lack, mack, nack, ouack, pack, and quack. (and bonus to you if you got the reference.) this day did not include his duck friends, but he’s forgiven me with the promise of a future sighting.
she suggested cambridge, harvard yard, dwelltime. i said yes. there you have it, the plan was hatched. we drove in and met at dwelltime. my advice: skip the broccoli rabe brioche but do get a latte or cappuccino or whatever hot caffeinated morning drink your heart desires. the other pastries looked delicious too. parker loved his blueberry scone.
then we headed over to harvard yard. from the distance i spotted a food truck parked there and i thought, “DONETHISWASAGOODPLAN.” (though, if i’m not mistaken, neither of us–certainly not me–were aware of the tuesday farmer’s market. a surprise encounter!) i love a good food truck. bon me didn’t disappoint. it really didn’t. rachael and i each got a noodle bowl. i chose soba noodles and rosemary chicken and toasted sesame sauce and it was so good. and so big! i saved some and brought it home where william happily scarfed it down when he came home from school (discovering real leftovers in the fridge upon returning home from school is, for a middle school boy, akin to christmas morning). there’s a huge handful of fresh cilantro in one corner, shredded carrots in another, sprouts and arugula in another still. i give their noodle bowls two thumbs up, since you asked. parker was weirded out by the color of the soba noodles (did he mistake them for worms?). more for me!
before we did that, though, we let the kids run wild at harvard yard, hiding amongst the hundreds of colored chairs there. what an odd thing, so many chairs, so many colors, all scattered haphazardly about the grounds. and what a spot to park yourself for the day, harvard students. grab your homework and pick a chair, any chair.
then i headed to the farmer’s market but only to grab a donut. i’ve had those union square donuts on my mind since spotting them on various instagrams and such. the cupcake craze i really could care less about but i have always loved a donut. i got the vanilla bean and it was really, really good folks. more doughy than dense (i don’t judge. i really like both.) and the icing had actual flecks of vanilla bean in it. nicely done, union square, nicely done.
so, the harvard farker’s market and/or a day in cambridge. farmer’s market every tuesday through the end of october. maybe you’ll check it out.
p.s. we did not try the churn ice cream truck this trip though as far as aesthetic goes, that food truck gets a ten. anyone else tried it??
stock. I have to. And yes, that italicized I have to is supposed to sound as neurotic as it may have in your head. The stock must be at least two bottles deep. Otherwise, I become incredibly anal that the colds and fevers are lurking–yes, around every dark corner indeed–with weapons at the ready and I will be forced to surrender with only a box of tissues, not even the soft, downy variety, as my only friend. Unarmed, completely ill-equipped for battle. Take me sore throat, green snot. Take me now. Unless! Unless, Congaplex. Congaplex is my weapon, my best winter weapon to be sure.
is one of them–both in the office and in my own kitchen–and so, I give myself a fist pump every time I see it. Now, I really ought to open my copy more often for me to be quite so proud of myself.) As I was saying, Wheat Belly was right there, at like spot number one. I’ve heard a lot about this book. My sister’s read it, my Mom’s mentioned it, even my hilarious uncle jokingly referred to his belly as a “wheat belly” this year at the Jersey shore. I haven’t read it and I probably won’t but the gist, if my assumptions are correct (based mostly on the title/subtitle), is that Americans eat too much wheat and wheat is weight and generally pretty bad for us. You get it. The woman sitting behind the desk is awesome and not only because she delivered my goods (the Congaplex, of course). She just knows a lot. She’s got recipes galore, and is super healthy, and just altogether impressive. So I sort of motioned at the book and said, “Can you explain something to me?” She’s really friendly and you almost feel like you should pay her for her knowledge because she’s delivering some pretty golden information to you. I was about to garner as much wisdom as I could in my allotted five minutes. “Sure,” she said with a smile. “How is it that Italians eat so much pasta and bread and yet they’re apparently so much healthier than Americans are?” I asked. (Obviously there are other factors outside of simply their diet, but let’s keep things brief here.) Because, I’ll be honest, this is something I’ve thought about. In fact, when I was in Italy a few years ago, by the end of the trip I had the most intense craving for a gigantic salad and I thought, “What?” I mean, how is it that I was in this country craving a salad? This country that is so much healthier than ours. She explained that we’re literally eating different pasta than they are. That our soil is so depleted, our flour is so depleted, we’ve over cultivated, overused, overhauled, overworked, over sprayed (I’m throwing out a lot of “over” words here, you get the point.) our soil to such a point that our pastas and breads and flours are no longer equal to theirs, are no longer good for us. I know I’m like scratching the surface here and barely know what I’m talking about but I do know that our crops are no longer as good for us as they once were. Leave it to us to go ruining something good! So I asked her, “So what pasta do you eat then?” She said, “Well, I gave up gluten and flour a few months ago because my body just doesn’t like it.” (Of course. Knowledgeable AND disciplined, I said to myself) But then she said 
and absolutely loving it. at times, it is all she wants to talk about. she’s growing like crazy too, and coming down for school in the mornings with different hairdos sometimes–a clip here, hair pulled back there. experimenting in the world of fashion and all that. growing up. it’s kind of crazy. where’d the last seven or eight years go? 
