The-Fuck-it-Market!


Any other night would be a great night to head out to The Grove on Fairfax and have something nice to eat at the Farmers Market… But tonight… not so much!  Little Miss what looking to do some shopping catch some dinner at the farmers market. We arrived and mingled through the different shops, checkin’ out this, and, a, that, and, this, and, ah… You know what I’m saying. Ladies shoppin’.

The vibe at The Grove is very nostalgic, between the music and the people, it's like your in every Christmas movie before the romantic scene.  It gives me the butterflies… especially around Christmas time (Yup! All warm and fuzzy!).

Now I haven’t eaten in a few hours and neither has she, so my ass is hungry. I look at her and I say, “Hey, how about this.. I’m tired and hungry, and my ass wants to sit down and get served… like… by a server. I don’t’ wana have to hunt for my food… Sound good?”.  Wish granted!

As we cross street to The Grove I notice the Marmalade Cafe – Google pin dropped and we are in. The hosts’ are very nice as we enter into their Halloween themed lair. It feels like The Haunted Mansion. It’s pretty cool lookin’. We slip into our high arching booths and are handed menus. The menu looks great… and the service… the service… the…

Yea we fucking left...


It was about 12 to 15 minutes and no server. Screw that, I’m hungry. No one even looked at us as we walked out. Oh well… may be next time. At this point our blood sugar levels were dropping' like it was hot.. We headed over to the farmers market with spears and daggers in hand hunting for a place too eat. Practically clawing at each other, we finally decide on Phil’s Deli. It looked like your classic diner setting with a counter.


We scan the menu. She goes French toast with sausage, and I go the safe, double bacon cheeseburger route. Can’t possibly screw that up… Right! They don’t serve regular sodas… so I settle for the diet Dr. Pepper – Don’t worry – I’ll be ok. It’s a Friday night and the people are a-buzzing. It is not too packed and where we were eating there were only 2 other people (should have been a sign).  The only other 2 popular restaurants there had packed lines of people at them: one Mexican restaurant, and a Brazilian BBQ place that always has a line. At this point there was no way we were going to wait for food. In the words of my girlfriend's father Randy, “If it’s not busy, it’s probably not worth waiting for!”. Right Again!


We get our food; it was so bad I couldn’t even take pictures. I mean, it looked like we expected it to look… like diner food. Staving and tired, she digs in… I dig in… She loves it! I… am confused. It had happened… someone fucked up a double bacon cheeseburger.  Her French toast was perfect. It laid on her plate like 4 pillows on top of a bed. Sprinkled with powdered sugar in a way that makes you want to drizzle syrup over it – In slow motion. Mine: like hand picked frozen Costco hamburger patties – over cooked and as tasteless as a piece of paper. The bacon… couldn’t taste it. The cheese… who knows. The fries… survivable, but I still couldn’t finish any of it. I didn’t even take the rest home for the dog. I love my dog, I wouldn’t do that to him. At this point I am looking around for another place to hopefully salvage the rest of my evening.


There was a place that I remembered that had good New Orleans style food called the Gumbo Pot. They always had the best gumbo and jambalaya. So how could I go wrong? I’ll show you.

I got there and decided to get creative.  The girlfriend was getting tried so the food was ordered to go. I got the hush puppies, the soft shell crab po’boy sandwich and a side of seafood gumbo. That ordered, we got to listen to the lovely (yikes) karaoke they had in the open area. The atmosphere was great; too bad, I had to go. After 10 minutes of watching beautiful desserts going out and singers destroy classic rock tunes, my food was bagged and ready to go.


On the way out we hit Bennett’s ice cream parlor and had a scoop of chocolate junkie ice cream in a waffle cone. This was my only win for the evening and it was delicious! This was just what I needed.


15 minutes later we arrived home and I have-at the rest of my meal. I open it up… and I’m ready for my reward. I dig in to the hush puppies and they are… crunchy as all hell. I am by no means a food expert. I recorded the taste as being something my mouth didn’t want to have in it. So, moving on... Next, the side of gumbo. As always, it was great… not amazing, but just want I wanted. Now, time for the sandwich. It visually looked like something was wrong. I took a bite and it started out great, but then the taste of lemon started to crumple my face like a piece of foil.


Inside were slices of lemon, with the peal, just like a tomato. WHAT? A LEMON!!! It made my whole face cringe the second I tasted it. The first thing that jumped into my head was Gordon Ramsay on Hell’s Kitchen throwing in on the floor and saying, “What the SHIT is that! Are you trying to fucking kill me?!”


“Fuck it! My mouth and I give up!”


I threw in the towel. So I only ate the rest of the gumbo, which I knew was a safe bet. It seems the lovely karaoke from the farmers market got in to my po’boy sandwich, leaving me to deal with the out come.

Every time I‘ve been to The Grove and the Farmers Market I have had a great time. Please don’t let me spoil any future plans. Go, and have fun. I was there and ate at the Mexican restaurant 2 weeks ago. It was great. Thus proving my theory that horrible reviews comes from bad experiences. It is not always about bad food.

Or… Maybe it was my fault for getting creative with the ordering, and not just sticking with the stuff I knew was good. Low blood sugar can make you order horrible things.

If there was anything I could have learned from this experience it was to, trust your instincts.

 And in my case, especially since mine is bigger than my brain, “Go With Your Gut!” 


Remember no guts no glory! MEAT ME!






Thank you,
Sean Rice