Having recently read Michael Pollan’s “Farmer in Chief,” I was excited to have the opportunity to visit one of the year-round indoor farmer’s markets he mentioned as a model for the nation: Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia. My friends were ready, willing, and able to indulge in the experience, and we were off. Well, almost. After all, one should never try to evaluate food on an empty stomach. For that reason, Jon, Sara, Rachel, and I decided to pay a visit to Sabrina’s to get fueled up before hitting the farmer’s market.

Sabrina’s is one of several such institutions we visited in Philadelphia: small, independent, with creative offerings that were well-prepared. One of the more captivating aspects of Sabrina’s is that the restaurant serves brunch–my favorite meal–all day long. Rachel got her personal favorite there, an omelet with Granny Smith apples and white cheddar. I had an egg white omelet with grilled Brussels sprouts, goat cheese, cherry tomatoes, and shiitake mushrooms. Both omelets came with a side of potatoes with carmelized onions. While the onions could have used some browning, both omelets were a success. The filling was mostly baked into the egg, which seemed to be piled in thin layers onto itself over and over again to create a tender omelet structure that mystified and intrigued both of us. I chose my omelet after our server recommended it, and I wasn’t disappointed. Frankly, I was surprised, as I had never yet truly enjoyed an omelet made only of egg whites. This one was surprisingly thick and held its structure better than I expected. And did I mention how wonderful the taste and texture combination of sprouts, shiitake, goat cheese, and tomatoes was?

Sara and Jon had the huevos rancheros, which were loaded onto a fried blue corn tortilla and smothered in red beans, chorizo, baked apples, crema, and guacamole. They loved them.

Sabrina’s is also located just around the corner from the 7th Street Italian Market. This was not a coincidence. This was, after all, the Philly Food Tour. After polishing off our generous servings, the four of us explored the outdoor fruit offerings (which were varied, but not significantly different from any supermarket produce section, except for one bin of fresh green olives and another of Italian plums) and peeked in the windows of store fronts to admire the occasional item of interest–like pigs’ feet.

Nothing against those who love pigs’ feet, but I found them a bit on the oogy-looking side. Something about the color and the whole toenail thing made them a little too close to severed human feet for my taste. It was ’round about the pigs’ feet episode, however, when Rachel grabbed my arm and steered me across the street to a small storefront called Di Bruno’s.

“You have to go here,” she said. When I walked in and the salty smell of olives and sharp cheese smacked me in the face, I knew why. The space was cramped, in the way that East Coast storefronts often are, and every possible space inside was put to use. Enormous cheeses dangled from the ceiling and towered on a table behind the front window, huge barrels of olives were snugged up to the counter, salami was piled high in a case beneath the counter, hundreds of bottles of wine and champagne trembled behind the counter as the employees rushed back and forth filling orders, and shelves upon shelves of olive oils, vinegars, tomatoes, honey, mustards, grains, and pasta lined the opposite wall. There was just enough space to squeeze past the other shoppers to grab a bottle of oil or request a taste of a particular cheese…or to roll a two hundred pound wheel of Parmesan in, which also happened in our brief stop.

It was an intoxicatingly fragrant, utterly claustrophobic experience. Rachel said we were awfully lucky to be there on a weekend when it wasn’t so busy. The concept that the bodies crammed into the narrow single walkway of the store represented a “slow day” was completely mind-boggling. Still, I toughed it out enough to scoop up an amazing Grueyere and a generous scoop of beautiful Cerignola olives. Sadly, even after trying a sample of a particular olive oil selling at $35 a bottle, I wasn’t able to justify it. It pains me to admit that I couldn’t notice a quality difference, though I did note a mild flavor difference from the $11 bottle I last bought for home use. Different didn’t equate better in this case, and I was forced to accept that neither I nor my palate are sophisticated enough to merit $35 bottles of olive oil. And let’s not even mention the sophistication of my pocketbook.

Finally, we headed to what I had considered the main attraction: Reading Terminal Market. Reading Terminal is a merging of two major outdoor markets from ye olden days in Philly, and it is now a thriving market open seven days a week for shoppers looking to find produce, preserves, baked goods, eggs, dairy, seafood, and meat. They also have candy, flowers, books, and all sorts of exciting things. Many items–though certainly not all–are either local, ethically raised/harvested, or both.

Not a bad deal at all. I bought some blue popcorn from an Amish booth and have plans to enjoy it soon. So, what makes this an asset to downtown Philadelphia? In addition to having a variety of vendors (100% of the Market space is leased out to some 80 different vendors) in a convenient location, Reading’s seven-day-a-week schedule makes it more accessible than a weekly farmer’s market for many people. I was impressed.  Minus the toilet paper and baking soda sort of essentials, Reading is big enough and open often enough that, unlike most farmer’s markets, it can realistically function as one-stop grocery shopping for busy people. I would definitely like to see more cities trying something like this. Not only does it serve the community, but it’s a wonderful tourist attraction as well. Reading features famous Philly pretzels and cheese steaks, offers guided tours, and also hosts classes with top Philadelphia chefs. Frankly, it makes me giddy to imagine such a place in Phoenix, featuring saguaro fruit ice cream, mesquite-grilling, and an enormous salsa bar.  Anyone with me?