D.O.P.-T.

[weofodthignen]

On the spur of the moment, we took the slow drive down El Camino to The Milk Pail in Mountain View. (It's not really open air any more; it occupies a winding shack not unlike the permanent tent where I used to buy veggies in Hell's Kitchen; and it's not very European. What it is is very good.) The developers who put an apartment building where the Bevmo and clothing store used to be refused to make up for the loss of the parking the store used to rent, and what parking lot it has is all set about with construction work; there's a long, winding wheelchair ramp serving as the only access to the store. The parking lot was like a game of Tetris, and the store a controlled madhouse; people continue to determinedly shop there. We scored tiny black grapes, cheese, bread, frozen pasta for the housemate, mango and pepper sauce and fava beans for me ...