22

I woke up at 5:30 to check on the storm, and to see whether or not there would be a market in Union Square.  At that point, we had about five inches of snow, and it was forecasted to come 2-3 inches per hour until noon, and then more following for an indeterminate amount of time.  By 6:30 I had talked to my farmers–who are on a well deserved vacation in Puerto Rico–a couple of times, and decided it was too stupid to risk try to get to market only to find 1) no customers, 2) a plaza full of unplowed snow, 3) 40mph winds, 4) something worse.  I am glad that we made that decision–at 8:00am the market had been officially cancelled.

I went out to George’s diner on Coney Island Avenue and got egg sandwiches for me and Kip, over-tipping the waiter who looked like he had been at work for many, many hours.  There was only one other person inside, a woman eating toast with grape jelly.  He kept refilling her coffee while I waited.

The first idea we had was to go get in the cancellation line for Hamilton–the entirety of Broadway ultimately cancelled their performances, of course.  I texted Prairie and Christina and after deciding to “Stay local” and not venture up to Park Slope for brunch at Talde via the B62, which I had seen valiantly making its route when I went out the first time–we ended up at Lea, a delightful Italian-centric place that we love love love.  French toast, mushroom pizza, a butternut squash toast with poached eggs–and a Campari spritzer.  So grateful for surprise times with the friend-family.  We all mentioned how happy we are that we live so close to one another.

Kip and I had a long nap at home and then we roasted a chicken with potatoes and carrots.  Kip made Stove-Top Stuffing from a box, which holds a certain sentimental place for him.  It’s pretty great, actually.  We made a simple pan gravy and that we sauced over everything.

We’re watching Chelsea Handler’s new series for Netflix, which is charming and wonderful.

I’m confused about what day it is–tomorrow is Sunday, I know that.  But not having a market today really confused my body clock, and all I can think about, even after the chicken and the brunch and the Campari and the Manhattan that I made myself to go with dinner–is biscuits and sausage gravy that maybe I’ll make for breakfast tomorrow.  Biscuits and gravy followed by a giant nap.

 

 

 



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