Last Saturday
The Handmade Supermarket was pleasing mainly for the piquancy of hipsters crammed alongside discount kik yarns beneath the beautiful turquoise ironwork of the old Eisenbahnmarkthalle. I want to come back soon and eat in the garden cafe.
Afterwards, we pushed the pram through snowy streets to 3Schwester. After the crush of the market, the empty echoing hospital corridors and spacious, airy rooms of the Gewolbe were just what we wanted. Two little girls, perhaps the owners' children, colored at a table, then ran around in their tights, shrieking with laughter. A dalmatian let out a huge yawn and S giggled when David yawned too. Out the windows the grounds, deep in snow. Parents take note: their child's portion of Semmelknodel (3 EUR!) is delicious. The other things we ate were nothing special but it didn't matter, it was honest food and we were glad to be there. (More and more I realize I frequent cafes not to be blown away but to be peaceful.) Afterwards, we looked at the exhibit on Indonesian art and S chased me down the corridor, her footsteps echoing under the florescent lights.
The sky dipped in fog and the dusk closing in now. I'll make puff pastry for the Christmas tarte tatin, and wild mushroom stock for the gravy. Soon the steam on the windows will block the view.