Monday, January 7, 2013

Out to Lunch: Orlando Farmers' Market

The Family Es, as designed by God, consists of eight individuals.  Not individuals as in the simple definition meaning a single person, but like, the fourth definition of the word that means "set apart for being different."  It makes our family life...individual, I guess, and sometimes not very easy.  

One of the only successful offshoots of this state of being is our "Out to Lunch" pact. We attend mass many, many miles from our home, and therefore, in the midst of civilization.  It makes for a long drive, but also for endless opportunities to experience something different for once.  So each Sunday after mass, before heading back into the boondocks, we take turns choosing where to go Out to Lunch.  

The Pact Part Comes with These Rules:

  •  all turns are in order from oldest to youngest repeating
  •  you may not complain about someone else's pick or even attempt to sway them be it with flattery or gut punches 
  • all must eat at the place of choosing 
  • if you in any way fail these requirements, yeah, we cold-heartedly skip you
Isaac gets no turn because his choice would be "nurn, nurn" where we all sit there staring at him say "turn" in baby talk. That will fill no-one. Which means that you get your pick once every seven weeks. Ouch? No, a great opportunity to learn patience and the even greater virtue called "putting up with each other."

just let me show you some love, my black swan
Yesterday was my turn, and if they sold a product on QVC called "That Great Day You Had" in a bottle, I would be dialing 1-800 with my credit card handy right now. Orlando Farmers' Market on Lake Eola. Oh yes we did.

mommy, please don't let
me be mauled by that
pedestrian family in
target clothes
Home of the homeless (don't be fooled by their backpacks and beards and fragrance, they aren't homeless, they live on Lake Eola for crying out loud), swans of every variety (well, just five, but come on, FIVE!), trendy young professionals no one is actually interested in, old hippies that mistakenly think they are suddenly back in, and more tiny fur children than your local PUPPIES PUPPIES PUPPIES strip mall vendor.

Yeah, anyway, just about the widest variety of beautiful humanity is there, and it is glorious for those of us who live with the curse of Stare at Everyone You Meet.  Cause nobody will notice, and they are all fascinating.  

Like this lady: see her beautiful hair, her beautiful makeup, her beautiful everything?  See her stylish Toms, her stylish leggings, her stylish diaper bag and her stylish fanny pack? What?  Her stylish what? If she rocks a fanny pack, let no one tell me they are not the Next Big Thing. 

i don't do fashion,
i am fashion

Beautiful weather (January in the Sunshine State is a copy off of Actual Heaven,) (don't ask about July), curious art:

can i interest you in my consciousness-expanding goat,
it would go great in your kitchen
and yes, stop holding your breath, we also ate lunch. The dumb kids actually ate their entire meals from the booth called "funnel cakes." They are exotic, I know, but it was just overpriced hamburgers and fries and yuck. The abundant choices were wasted on them, I mean what kid wouldn't want organic wheat grass and flax seed smoothies? Whatever.

i didn't know cheese fries grew on a farm

But the reason I really picked the spot, despite all the other wonderfulness abounding, was to finally have a meal at the Jamaican stand.  Totally worth feeding the kids blech for.  Obi and I got the jerk chicken dinner, prepared in completeness (well, probably not the rice) right on the premises.  Oh my wonderfullness.  That was the kind of meal that will live in your memory like an old friend. If you have old chickeny-like friends with carrot slaw that are absolutely delicious.


If I knew it was that good I would have eaten there sooner, but I needed to pay a debt of gratitude to the beautiful Jamaican man who made it. 

I was taking in his booth's free smells way back in the Depressing When, when he looked at Baby Isaac the Irritating in his stroller and told me, in what this mommy believes was absolute prophet honesty, complete with giant smile and rich Jamaican flare, "Oh, those are blessed eyes!"  That would ingratiate any mom to anyone: take note all those of you who would like to be ingratiated into moms' hearts. But my heart, at that moment? That was so nice. Thank you, jerk chicken man, cause Isaac mostly still looks like this:

i WILL get down and run amuck
If he is not looking like this:

whatever you give me,
it's not enough lady

Babyhood and on, that boy has always been like that. Difficult, but with blessed eyes. Yesterday, my day of so much mirth, no different. But the good thing about the Family Es is that there are so many of us, somebody is always unhappy or uncomfortable or unsomething. And you deal with it and move on. There is always so much more happiness and delight than there are whines. No bad portion weighs down the good. 

Even AnneMarie, who has an agonizing toe situation and couldn't walk around much still enjoyed herself. So much. There was a moment like this:

and all the rest of the moments like this:
we are the 25%
By the way, have you ever noticed that about a fourth of the Famiy Es is unbelievably beautiful? Not a bad proportion. 

So, listened to live music, ate, sadly skipped the ten dollar all you can drink mimosas, (reason to go back) and drove alllllll the way home.  

Moral of the story: Mom should always pick.

why the heck are you taking a picture of this


  1. I think there was a little more than chicken in those free smells.


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