What does this have to do with food... well nothing... but it does sort of echo the feeling that washed over me when I walked into Cabaggetown Market today. No, not the freaky feeling, the nostalgic one. The one that brought my friend J (not the same as boyfriend J), sitting pretty above, to utter "this is like places we have back home"! Back home being Florence, Alabama, a small southern town with a big city name. I instantly thought that I'd like this Florence, Alabama. :)
Lisa, the co-owner of the place, greeted us with a big smile from the kitchen. She, radiant in pink, fit the place as perfectly as the neat things she had stocked the place with. I was drawn to the sandwich board immediately and settled rather quickly on the hot turkey sandwich with melted provolone cheese and a side of fries. For some reason, the hotter the weather got, the more I craved greasier food. J was even faster. Apparently, she always kept an eye out for fried pickles, which were on a part of the menu board I totally didn't see. She ordered those before I could even finish reading the list of sandwiches. She also got a burger, so maybe it's not just me that caught the greasy bug.
While the food was cooking, we browsed the shelves. ohh... butter cookies! Ha, marshmallows! It certainly was an interesting and eclectic mix they had on the shelves. I settled on some seed crackers and sparkling water in an old time glass bottle.
Food took awhile, but not an uncomfortably long while. Time slowed in that place as we leisurely flipped through the old cabaggetown postcards thoughtfully left on the counter.
My sandwich was big. I could only eat half of it. It wasn't the sandwich to end all sandwiches. But it was a competent sammie made more competent by the pile of fresh fries sleeping next to it. I was a happy girl right then and there, sitting in front of a sunny counter with my legs dangling from the stool (sadly, this always happens no matter where I am) and a cheesy sammie in my hands. I am pretty sure J was in agreement with me at that moment. She killed her burger and fried pickles (that were apparently cut the right way) despite knowledge of an impending steak dinner.I bought a lemon bar for the road, which made my afternoon at around 3 pm, and promised Lisa that I'd be back. I figured that it was safe to make a promise that I'd be sure to keep.