Mister and I did not celebrate Mother’s Day. I forgot to buy cards for my mother and step-mother. And, though we’re 15 weeks along, it seems premature to celebrate Mother’s Day until the Lentil is kicking and screaming in our arms.
We celebrated my birthday, though, with a day of not much that was perfect. After a lazy morning of reading in bed (I finished yet another Drizzt Do’Urden book … what a D&D dork), we headed to the Berkeley Farmers’ Market. I love getting there when it opens and the farm stands are still setting up. You can feel the hum of spring and approaching summer as peaches (yes! from Blossom Bluff, tiny but flavorful) and strawberry flats are unloaded. The owner of Piazziolo on Telegraph was making the rounds for the restaurant (he even picked up a flat of cherries — yes! cherries! $5 a basket but sweet and uplifting). The line for Fatted Calf wound halfway up the market. Wow. First stop was, as always, for vegan flautas from Flaco’s. I cross Milvia and head straight for the tent. Every weekend. Without fail.
Strawberry lovers take note: Tastings 5/24 at the downtown market. Oohhhhh yeah!
We picked up a mix of mushrooms from Solano Mushrooms and spinach (I can picture the stand in my tiny head) that I used along with some green garlic from County Line in egg scrambles we served to the Madley’s the next day. Lovely! I sliced strawberries to go with Mister’s crepes (he says mine are better. Hee hee)
After the market, I we ran oddball errands, including getting me, finally!, a bathing suit so I can attend the YMCA’s prenatal yoga class. Then I went to a prenatal yoga class.
Why prenatal? First, it’s really nice to hang out with people whose bellies are also hanging out. Second, the classes are adjusted to aches, pains, pee-breaks, and other body changes. I’m digging the yoga class — I should go more than once a week.
After almost three years without, we had dinner at PIzzetta 211 in San Francisco. Ah, it was like coming home. I love Dopo, but I love Pizzetta’s crust more. It is thin, so crisp at the edges, and they have plucked from the field toppings. It felt good just to be in one of our old haunts for the night. San Francisco calls to us, even when it’s foggy.