








The ordinary and the beautiful surveyed through thick lenses and fading eyesight.











I didn't get a chance to write about this until today, but it's something that I had been thinking about off and on all week. I was really shocked to hear about the inside of the Eastern Market in Washington, DC, being destroyed in a fire earlier this week.
Actually, I don't remember too much about the building's historic exterior. My connection with the Eastern Market comes from my time in DC during the summer of 1999. At the time, I was doing a mostly unpaid internship with a magazine and then a small newspaper in Virginia. Being 20 years old, I didn't know how to do basic things like prepare food and cook for myself, other than using my overly -used Foreman grill or working from a recipe where I had all the exact ingredients. Cooking was more like a safe chemistry experiment for me rather than anything intuitive.
The Eastern Market was the one refuge in the neighborhood of the eastern side of Capitol Hill, of which there were some rougher parts. I remember one of the bitchers in the Market had the most delicious cold cuts, and I went there so often, that not only did I gain about ten pounds, but I remember a night of serious heartburn when I overdid it on some of the spicier salami. Eastern Market saved me with its more ready-to-eat food. I wish I could be back there now that I actually know how to cook and actually like eating vegetables and fruits.
I also remember how hot and humid it was in that summer of 1999, and how stepping into the cool and expansive Market made me forget about how hot it was, even if I couldn't find a use for most of the things inside. I hope Eastern Market comes back soon and better than before.
Blaze Guts Historic Eastern Market (washingtonpost.com)