When I lived in Germany, the majority of stores and restaurants would close on Sundays. The streets were quiet and serene and would force us all to find respite in our families and homes, or in church if that’s where you like to go, or the local lovely bar which is where I like to go.
This Sunday I awoke after sleeping for almost twelve hours. Catching up from a week of late nights and big emotions, of disappointments and wide awakenings. I woke renewed and hopeful. I ran in the park, then I lured my friend, (who might also be my culinary soul mate) into brunch plans.
My last meal had been at 4 pm the day before. So my hunger at 10 am on Sunday was extraordinary. Healthy ravenous post-running hunger. We chose Stella, because its not too expensive for the quality, the coffee is exceptional, our waitress is adorable and there is usually never a wait.
Sherry mushrooms and poached eggs on toast. Enormous mugs of coffee. A shared salad to balance the butter intake. There might have been fries. I’ll never tell.
We meandered that day. Window-shopped, pined over shoes that rival my rent, let our fingers fondle mid-century furniture, drooled over eclectic soul compilations. I bought nothing except for a pile of books from Out of the Closet. Old plays I want to re-read and magazines I want in my possession for my lazy low attention span moments.
Window shopping is hunger inducing work. And we needed an afternoon sugar fix. So my brilliant friend suggested Proof, a new bakery in Atwater. Glass cases with potato tarts and precious cakes and lovely scones. A huge glass jar filled with breadsticks that were over a foot long. Tiny tarts with promises of pistachio.
We shared a chocolate caramel morsel and a lemon cream tart with berries. Not bad.
I might return. It’s definitely not its neighbor Sweets for the Soul, but what could ever top the brownies that come from there?
More window-shopping. Vintage clothes, snotty shop owners, overpriced items. More hunger. Or more, a thirst. A late afternoon glass of vino. Our favorite hangout, Little Dom's. And Dom’s at 3:30 on a Sunday is a glorious place to be.
The light is lovely, the bar is empty, the transition from brunch to dinner is happening but you can still get rice balls and order a bottle of organic/biodymanic wine from Sicily. And maybe we should have pizza too. Yeah, good idea. Anyway, it’s Sunday. And this is our church.I definitely use food to soothe, to decompress, to alter any heavy working load upon my shoulders and mind. But it’s not just the food. It’s the company who loves to eat as much as I. It’s the steady pace between each meal while you digest and emit the gratitude for living in such a crazy diverse city that shines bright and warm in the midst of February. We enjoyed every bite that day, I guarantee. We might have overdid it, but we might be trying to tip the scales away from the heavy weeks we lead, only to bring us back to the true pleasures of life.
