pork chop

union square park is a small but active park in the middle of the lower part of manhattan. it sits on top of a collection of most of the trains in the city and is surrounded by tall buildings from a variety of eras and architectural passions. within the park, abraham lincoln stands near the northern end near a restaurant of confusing hours and focus. gandhi with his walking stick strides through the southern end of the park, often draped with flowers. the southern end of this park, near gandhi, facing whole foods market and filene's basement and dsw is where demonstrations and protests of all kinds flower. in warm weather folks sit along wide steps and drum circles appear out of nowhere. union square park is the home, north of lincoln and the restaurant, of a vast (for manhattan) paved expanse where the farm market lives. under the feet of market patrons someone has painted two huge vines, separate from one another, curling in large snailing circles. they are for running around, according to the instructions. i don't really know.

but right now the vines are ruptured and the farm market scooted toward the side of the park while construction is going on. nobody seems to know what on earth might be happening on a stretch of flat, paved ground the size of a small parking lot, but the fences are up and large machines are living inside. it will probably take all winter to find out. the farm market doesn't seem to mind being squeezed over. the strawberry vendors and flower vendors and tomato folks are all gone back to their farms anyway leaving only honey people and wine people and cheese people and the guys selling fir trees and wreaths.

the sweetie and i were in the park last week, wandering aimlessly through the holiday market, a seasonal open air market made up of aisles of red and white striped tents full of arts and crafts and other mysterious necessities. you can find handmade soaps, candles and bags. there are stalls where any item in the world can be plastered with the empire state building or the brooklyn bridge. lots of folks sell handmade jewelry and there are hats and scarves of every imaginable shape and kind. unusual toys are sprinkled in there- chirping frogs. marionettes. boxing nuns. it is a bit like going to a mall for hippies. hippies with trust funds. but the things are pretty and unusual so we try to stop by once a year and smile at the vendors and ask questions about items made entirely from recycled soda bottles or bamboo.

the sweetie and i finally staggered from the brightly lit circus into the dingy streetlight at evening grayness of the rest of the park. out of the shadows stepped a man in a hooded jacket with one outstretched hand waving toward passers-by. he was not begging or mugging or any of the other things folks leaping out of the darkness with waving arms are generally planning. he was offering samples. he stood near a sign promising some mighty fine bacon and his bare hand was draped with a white paper towel. sitting on top of the paper towel were small squares completely indecipherable in the dark. "pork chop?" he said as he held out his hand. nobody took any. my own belly was feeling a little off so i declined as well. later, though, i regretted it. because it is a good idea to collect stories like that. when else will i get the chance to say "some stranger in a park gave me a piece of pork chop he was carrying around in his hand and i ate it. it was good"? that sort of thing only comes along every so often. i will have to go back this week and see if i can find him. a good pork chop in new york city is a rare sort of gift.