Last weekend a friend and I went to the Marrickville food markets on Sunday (oddly, they were only open on Sunday). I hopped a train to Stanmore and sat and read at a nearby cafe for a bit before meeting her – (Little Mule, in case you were wondering. And I wasn’t very impressed).
I also realized how futile it was for me to actually buy a train ticket rather than using my quarterly zone 1 ticket I have, because, well, there was no turnstyle at Stanmore. Oh well. Hindsight is 20/20, right?
When we got to the markets it was busier, I think, than we both expected. There were a handful of food stalls at the front, then produce and market stalls. In the mix there was also a odd-things warehouse a little off to the side. You know, those places that sell random furniture, fabric scraps, and for some unknown reason have lots of mannequins? This was one of those places.
I kept talking about Philly cheesesteaks, and it made me crave something meaty in a bun (no, that is not what she said). So we meandered back to the entrance of the Farmers Market and I bought one of the lamb rolls for $7.50, which wasn’t a bad price for a gravy-slathered piece of goodness.
Karman got something Thai or Moroccan (I was paying too much attention to my own food, but whatever she got, it looked quite good, too). We sat at the kids playground off the back of the odd-things place, finished our food and chatted for a bit.
Then, of course, as this is a market, you eat at markets. And we needed more food. So we walked around for a bit more and decided to get popsicles. I got a lemonade/watermelon boutique ice pop (i.e. not cheap) that was quite refreshing.
We sat somewhere different, chatted a bit more about life, boys and all things food. Then we got up, bought some produce and found our way back to Darlinghurst.
And of course Darlinghurst meant a stop as Messina. I got blood orange and raspberry sherbet. Because you can’t get amazing ice cream without eating more than your stomach can handle and reveling in the food coma. Of course.