Alameda Marketplace

So to further this theme of "making the best out of the culinary asshole in which my office is located" I went with a few friends to the Alameda Marketplace for lunch yesterday. It's pretty nuts to have this gourmet market in Alameda, which has always seemed to me to be a sleepy little midwestern sort of small town america thing, accidentally misplaced in the geographic center of the wacky bay area. My first impression of the place was formed on an 8th grade field trip to the now defunct naval base, to tour the USS Enterprise, a real life aircraft carrier. I remember my teacher suggested I call the base to ask about arranging the trip, and I told the woman who answered that my eight grade class wanted to tour the Starship Enterprise. Dammit.

I spent the bulk of the trip with Terry Barrios, making ding-dong sounds under our breath whenever a bell-bottomed sailor would saunter past. It was HILARIOUS. Terry was (had?) this figure that loomed large in my life in junior high, and then we lost touch in high school and I didn't see her for a few years. Then at some point we ran into each other again in college, and somehow in the course of conversation it came up that she had never heard of the band Green Day. Which seemed crazy to me, because Dookie was all over the radio and arguing about whether this was a serious, punishable betrayal or merely the inevitable selling out of anything that captures the teenage imagination sufficiently was an extremely frequent topic amongst my friends. It would come up sometimes three or four times a day. Was she living under a rock?

Anyway, I went with C, E and Z. They all seemed pretty happy with pizza slices from the bakery. I went to the deli counter next to it and got a roast beef sandwich. Apparently they do the beef roasting on the premises, and it was delicious. They make it with a mild bleu cheese, which works really well.

Also got mac&cheese on the side, which was voted Best in Alameda by somebody, but tasted just ok. It's always just ok, though. I can count on one finger the mac&cheese I've had that manages to transcend just ok. (Fred 62 in Los Feliz. Open all night long. Why isn't there a place like that in every neighborhood? Sigh.) I've got to stop eating like this, but I'm giving myself the rest of the month. And then it's primary colored sweat pants with running shorts over them and a headband and a foreigner song and only blended foods with raw egg, cause it's time to get in shape. Montage!