With the exception of Gay Pride, summer weekends in the West Village are very quiet. Especially the mornings. I took a stroll to the Saturday Greenmarket at Abingdon Square to acquire some provisions for the week, and along the way I took a bunch of pictures with my iPhone like a goddamn tourist. I was thinking you might enjoy them.

I went past Philip Marie where I stopped to chat with Jim the manager, who was setting up the outdoor tables for brunch. I asked him if they were open yet so I could sip a pre-Greenmarket mimosa—they make them with fresh squeezed orange juice, very dry champagne and a splash of vodka omg yum—but Jim told me I would have to wait TWENTY WHOLE MINUTES. Um, no.

Then I passed Hudson Hound, which does not even open for brunch until 10:30. This fucking one horse town, I tell ya. But they did sort of make up for it with the flyer on the door.

WE’LL SEE YOU
SUNDAY JUNE 26
FOR A PINT OF
GAYNESS.

Hahaha. They won’t see me on Gay Pride Sunday. Queer people who live in the West Village call it “Gay Hide” for a reason: crowds flock here from around the globe to converge on our little neighborhood, and the streets and shops and bars and restaurants are not our own. Which is fine for one day a year (okay two, including Halloween). The police presence alone is enormous and ridiculously overbearing (think packed throngs funneled like cattle into interlinked metal barricades with cops at every intersection saying “no you can’t cross here, you have to walk thirteen blocks up to 14th Street and cross there, then you can come back down on the other side”…but I live right over there officer! “14th Street.”). NYPD is expected to go even bigger this year, in light of current events.

Haven’t decided yet whether we’ll stock up on food and wine and hole up at home for a Netflix marathon, or just skip town for the weekend. The problem isn’t getting out—it’s getting back into the neighborhood on Sunday night.  :|

Aah. At last we come to the Greenmarket.

SO MANY NOMS. More on that later.

The market stalls ring Abingdon Square Park, which like many “squares” in this city is not a square at all. No matter the season I always take a little detour through when I pass nearby, but on summer weekend mornings it is especially cool, lush and quiet.

As you leave the Greenmarket, you can see the Freedom Tower Penis looming in the distance, at the World Trade Center site. Visible from most of the North-South roads in the neighborhood, it always seems close, but it’s almost two miles away.

Instead of getting smashed on Jim’s mimosas I decided to grab a quick breakfast at Hudson Diner, which took me by the Church of St. Luke in the Fields. From what I gather it’s an Episcopalian Hippy-Jeezus dealio, with a grade school and a garden that’s open to the public. Right out front was a sign, prominently displayed.

A Message to Our Beloved Community
St. Luke’s is here for you.

In this traumatic time we want to offer sanctuary
for people of all faiths and none.
•
If you seek a place to pray, an oasis of calm,
peace, and beauty to restore your soul,
our serene space is open for you.
•
No pressure, no proselytizing, no agenda
and no ambush.
•
No hate speech of any kind. Just an open
invitation, and open doors.

I’m glad they’re being supportive and reaching out to the community. I still don’t trust them, though it makes me despise them considerably less. And so does their garden.

Soon I was home and happy with today’s haul.

L-R: -mixed lettuces, sunflower sprouts, baby arugula;
-grape tomatoes, zucchini, purple cauliflower, broccoli;
-sugar snap peas;
-onions, Fuji apple, garlic.

I’m a fan of NYC’s Greenmarkets for many reasons, not least of which is that the produce is the freshest to be found anywhere, really. Well, short of taking a bus tour day trip to some pick-your-own farm “experience.” Which, let’s face it, I am never, EVER going to do. With the staples I keep on hand like rice and pasta, I’ve got enough for a few meals with salads, sides, and a pretty rocking stir-fry.

All in all a very fine summer morning.

With nary a squirrel in sight.