One of my favorite things about San Francisco was the Ferry Plaza Farmers’ Market. On sunny Saturday mornings the Ferry Building and its outskirts were packed with stalls selling everything from local artisan cheeses and fresh crusty bread to warm crimson strawberries and brilliant orange tangerines.
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race!
Aboon them a’ yet tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’a grace
As lang’s my arm.
-“Address to a Haggis”, Robert Burns, 1786
Yesterday I took a day trip from London to Oxford to visit a friend that is studying there. It was my second trip to Oxford to see her (the last one being in the midst of a terrible snowstorm in 2003), so we had time to enjoy the town without feeling pressured to see and do everything.
When I was five years old my family took a trip to London. One day my mother decided to take my brother and me to the London Zoo, so we spent the morning at the grocery store getting picnic food together. We chose sandwiches, chips, and cookies, and then headed to the beverage aisle for sodas. I remember staring up at the tall wall of cans, which were arranged by flavor. For some reason none of them had labels, so we just guessed what they were by their color. My brother chose a purple can for ‘grape’ and I chose a brown can for ‘root beer.’