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They’re here. 100% recycled cotton, hardy, oversize Table on Ten grocery bags, sporting the REFICITE bookplate. A trembling buck gleans sustenance from a tiny oasis in the middle of nowhere. Metaphors. Gotta love ’em. Modeled on turn-of-the-century Dutch woodcuts, appropriated and adapted by near-legendary Mark Ohe, big enough to tote every library book you’ll ever tote, every root vegetable you root. The limited-edition first pressing is purring on the shelves, ink still glistening. $20.
Come and get ’em. Or email us; we’ll shuffle across the tundra to Bloomville post office, freezer-burned tongues will lick stamps and ship packages to warmer climes. Proud parents, we’d love to hear what they get up to once they arrive. Send snaps. Our first functional message in a bottle, forgive us if we get a bit teary. Already spotted barreling down the Thruway bearing Tilsit and Pure Mountain Honey, we’ve assigned them global ambassadorial duties. Next stop Pyongyang. Go, Diego, Go!
Winter threatens. There’s snow on the tops and the wind’s slapping the clapboard like a gloved hand on a baby’s bottom. Pulling on our woolly sweater the other day, we encountered that moment of reflection that comes when your head’s inside the tunnel, one arm’s up a sleeve and the other’s groping about blindly for its hole. As the moment lengthens to a phrase, you’re confronted with a dilemma: freak out, hurl yourself onto the rug and start flapping about like a spastic burrito: or stay calm, ruminate on the task at hand and calmly move forward. The other arm-hole will be found. You are not in possession of the world’s only one-armed sweater.
It’s been a heady year. The summer was like surfing the Zambezi. Wobbly knees, borrowed shorts and an implicit understanding that falling off might mean never being seen again. The confidently anticipated Fall slowdown somehow got lost in a flurry of Condé Nast Traveler, The New York Times, Nowness, Pines Dinner, Refinery 29. Suddenly November is upon us and we find ourselves panting a little bit, running to stand still. And there’s lots coming up – the holiday season, a litany of menu ideas as yet uncooked, unique dinners, Thanksgiving, the annual burgeoning of the microshop, sprucing, tweaking, exploring, experimenting.
As a consequence – in order to nourish the spirit of ongoing adventure – we’ve decided to prune our winter hours. Wednesdays will find the doors closed and kitchen transformed into a laboratory. Thursdays we’ll spring from the burrow like March hares (in November), endeavouring to be all that we can be. Thursday through Sunday will look like it always did, with colour in its cheeks and soup on its chin. So. Until further notice, and with occasional publicized special exceptions, café hours will be as follows:
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday – closed
Thursday – 9 to 3
Friday – 9 to 3 and 6 to 9 (Pizza Night)
Saturday – 9 to 3 and 6 to 9 (Pizza Night)
Sunday – 9 to 3
As ever, watch this space, the Facebook and Instagram feeds, for further embroidery.