Perfect Sunday

I'm having the perfect Sunday. I told Hugh last night that I wanted to go to the farmers market, so at the crack of 8:06 this morning, he forced me out of bed. I might have been a bit cranky about this. I might even have called him an a**hole. But he's not an a**hole. He's a wonderful boyfriend who looks out for my best interests.

So on his way to work, Hugh dropped me off at the Adelaide Showgrounds Farmers Market, which runs every Sunday of the year! There was a coffee caravan in front of the entrance, so I started the morning off right with a mocha. Next to the entrance, a young guitar-and-violin duo played Disney's Greatest Hits. They started with "A Whole New World." Really, guys?

The market was nice. It was like Edinburgh's Saturday market, but bigger. There was lots of fresh food, and jams and chutneys and honeys. There was not a craft booth in sight. Sad, no wool for Kusems. But craft booths at farmers markets are usually crap anyway. I bought some sylvan berry cordial, a chunk of brie, and a pumpkin baguette. Sylvan berry is apparently a hybrid of raspberry and blackberry, according to the nice ladies who sold it to me. "Cordial" is the Australian word for squash, which is the British word for "syrup which you add to tap water to make it more palatable."

From there, I walked into town. On the way, an Aboriginal man wished me good morning. I'm pretty sure he only did it because I'm such a pretty young thing. *batting my eyelashes* But it got me thinking. I'd been at the farmers market just 20 min earlier, and I realized now what I hadn't realized then: there wasn't an Aboriginal-looking person in sight. Sure, farmers markets are havens of a narrow subsection of the middle-upper-middle class. But as a wannabe social scientist, I do feel like I should be paying more attention to places where certain population groups do or don't have a presence, and it can be a matter of a few hundred yards.

Outside a restaurant on Gouger St (pronouncer "goo-djer"). No idea what it is, but I like the green glass.

I decided to check out the South Australian Museum, cuz I haven't yet! It's basically a natural history museum. It's quite small, but very good. They have a great live insect and reptile room, with lots of fossils and animals preserved in jars. Next week is National Science Week, so they've put on all sorts of arty science-y projects for kids. In the foyer, there was a class for felting ocean scenes. Felting is so hot right now! and I have been curious to know how it works, so I passed by a few times as I explored the museum. It was fascinating! It looked like, after laying out bits of colored fluffy wool onto a base of white fluffy wool in the layout you want, you douse the whole thing in soapy water, then place bubble wrap! underneath and on top, and rub the bubble wrap! Genius! I gotta try it.


After that, I went to hang out in the library. Though just a tiny room in a larger building, the library on North Terrace has quickly become one of my favorite places in Adelaide. They have some great books for such a small library. I could happily hang out in there for hours...but I got hungry.

Reading the graphic novel about Burma, and having watched lots of food tourism shows lately, I wanted to find a cool little lunch joint or street food vendor. But my previous explorations of downtown Adelaide haven't uncovered any such gems. I could have walked back to the Central Market for hum bao, but that's quite a ways to go on an empty stomach. So I decided with dejection to go the food court in the mall across the road, where my choices would be stale noodles, expensive sushi, or chains like McDonald's and KFC. All of those options would cost at least $7, and after spending lots at the farmers market, I didn't really want to spend more than $5. It's hard to find a meal that cheap, though.

Attached to the stoplight, as I was about to cross the road, I saw this sign. I looked to my left to see an Asian man at a small table with a cafe umbrella overhead. As I approached, he was mincing pork and vegetables on a heat pad.

"Would you like to try?" he asked.

"Yes, please. How much is it?" I responded.

"Four dollars."

Score!! It was the perfect portion size, yummy, within my budget, and just what I needed and wanted. I will now coin the phrase "Sunday mojo."