The weather we had all weekend was entirely charming, so we did our best to take advantage of it—at least, we did on Saturday. After the gym in the morning we biked down several streets to a farmer’s market where they sell the most wonderful lamb stew meat for seven dollars a pound, which is not bad considering it’s organic and the lambs are happy (for a while, anyway), at least as far as we can tell from the poster of adorable smiling lambs in the midst of green green pastures that stands next to the stall, inspiring feelings of vague guilt. We also bought some Honeycrisps, which are sweet as—well.

Anyway, in the afternoon we went to listen to these guys perform inside the Robie House as part of the wonderful, and completely free, Hyde Park Jazz Festival, an event that is exactly as old as our residence in Chicago. Megan, I thought of you and wondered if you would have been able to translate some of their songs for me. On Saturday evening, we did something rather decadent: we had pizza twice. Once after making a pie in our oven, and again after walking down to 57th Street, where every year on one night in the fall the stores stay open late and there are greasy slices to be had for a dollar a pop. It was a beautiful night, pizza and all, but lord oh lord do undergraduates suffer from a lack of age.

Today contained nothing worth reporting besides work and a rather delicious dunking of ciabatta in a plate full of grassy olive oil, sweet balsamic vinegar, and red chili.

…I’m beginning to think that I need to declare a moratorium on mentioning what I eat. Even I’m not that interested in it.

Ha. Just kidding. I am. But maybe I’ll spare y’all for a little while.