I saw such a sign on the way to school one day in a cute little strip mall on the way to Princeton a few days ago. In smaller print it said: Thursday * Friday * Saturday.

Well, it was Thursday when I first saw it, so I made a point of visiting the next day.

While I was expecting open air stalls or one big area with various tables a la Your Dekalb Farmer's Market, it was slightly different. There are automatic doors; a meat counter—two actually: one for poultry, one for other meat—lots of candies; a kiosk in the middle with a griddle, deep fryer, and oven; preserves, jams pickles, and various jarred sundries; there's even a section for furniture! And behind all of these sections are smiling Amish folk who commute from Lancaster County every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.

I decided to have dinner there, opting for the cheesesteak. Really, who wouldn't want a Pennsylvania Dutch Cheesesteak made by a strapping young lad or young woman with a lovely accent?

And it was delicious; oh, it was a remarkable culinary fête, only surpassed by the hearty peach milkshake with free pretzel.

Ah the pretzel! It was crispy-crunchy on the outside, almost fried in the oven, with butter . . . the best pretzel I have ever had. All others will henceforth live in its wake.

The milkshake was not as sweet as I expected; in fact, it had a tartness to it (most likely the milk used), that was wonderfully countered by the sweetness of the peaches. I called it hearty before—it well and truly was. I somehow managed to finish the thing over the course of an hour and a half with a brief respite in the refrigerator.

All of the areas were cash or check (except the first meat counter which had a $10 credit card minimum, conspicuously run by "the English"), and to help people with this there was an ATM in the front of the store. I sat at the 1970's-era industrial "you-are-eating" table-benches, watching Amish men eating good ol' home cookin', which had been prepared in a stainless steel industrial kitchen, in the air-conditioned comfort of a Luddite sect's storefront.

Truly a surreal moment.

There should be a new word: "surrebral." I'll let you puzzle out the details.

Pennsylvania Dutch Farmer's Market.

There's more . . .


. . . later.