After Chicago we flew to Philly to visit friends Sarah and Colin. On day one we visited a cheese shop where we got fixins for a picnic, and then hastened to The Forbidden Drive, which is part of a 9200 acre city park (called Fairmount Park) that meanders through lovely Wissahickon valley. Here are Sarah and Sawyer relaxing post-feast.


















On day two we headed into town. As ashamed as I am to say it, I didn't see the Liberty Bell because the line was too long; and when I saw a sketch of it on a sign, I said, 'Good enough, I've seen it.' I guess that's one of many reasons why I'll never be nominated for the patriot award. Things change with a wee one, though--my mother's instincts told me he would never put up with queueing in the sun for who knows how long. We had every intention of returning a few hours later for the Independence Hall tour, but, alas, we were so busy looking at cute clothes at the H&M that we never made it back to learn about the pivotal moments in American history that took place there.
Later we visited the Italian market, which actually has morphed over the years into the Latino market (mostly, save the butcher shops with whole skinned
goats hanging in the windows), where Sarah posed in front of the overwrought occasion cakes. On our way back to the station we saw the imposing 19th century city hall.


























Before catching the train home we stopped by the most fabulous Reading Terminal Market (see Sarah holding $.99 bunches of asparagus). I have to admit this depressed me a little. It's been a long time since I lived near a place where I could get such cheap, fresh produce--the Boulder Farmers Market tends to disappoint, as it's more about gourmet foods and hippy handicraft than produce, and it's the opposite of cheap. I guess the dense urban centers that exist in the east support this kind of market, and it's just one of the advantages of living in a big city (if you can stand the traffic, pollution, etc). But it is one thing to regret about our peaceful setting here in the plains: I actually paid $4.95 for a head of cauliflower yesterday. Don't tell Chris.







At this same market we saw a crab variety show. They were all on their backs on a big tray, practicing the cancan, I think.


Back in Conshohocken, where they live, two happy lesbians named Sarah were finally able to adopt a baby of their own.














On Sunday we went to Sarah and Colin's ward: Valley Forge 1st. It's a strange thing to hear names so associated with the mythical anecdotes of American history attached to modernity and, well, the quotidian. For someone like me who's never really been east, this is demystification to say the least.

Sarah and I are culinary friends (and more); therefore it goes without saying that we did some experimenting during my visit. For the sake of our collective pride, I will omit retelling the catastrophe that attended our first attempt at making croissants. I think we both intend to restore our reputations in our separate domestic spheres by showing French pastry who is boss, which hopefully will be posted on our food blog in the making: "Gastronomy with Sarahs G." We did, however, create something very successful: imagine, if you will, a mini corn muffin. Now imagine that you've hollowed it out with a melon baller or similar tool. Now imagine that you've filled it with something luscious: our first atttempt included cream cheese, italian sausage, sauteed peppers and mushrooms, carmelized onions and a little melted cheese. Now, in your mind, put the tiny muffin lid back on, and bite into the deliciousness. Over the next few weeks, imagine what other succulent combinations of fillings might drive you wild.