Farmers markets are bountiful in Pittsburgh. There’s at least one every day, except Friday. My favorite is the Saturday Market in the Bloomfield neighborhood. If you aren’t very familiar with Pittsburgh’s many neighborhoods, Bloomfield is one that you might overlook for its wealthier and more popular nearby neighbors, Lawrenceville and Shadyside.
Bloomfield is a little rough around the edges, a beloved out-of-print book with a cracked spine and creased pages, oh and a coffee cup stain on the cover. A true city neighborhood, most of the houses sit shoulder to shoulder with occasional, narrow, shared-access walkways between. Tiny backyards are the only lawns for many residents since the houses abut the extensive, also rough-around-the-edges, sidewalks.
Like most city neighborhoods, treasures abound in Bloomfield. There are houses with beautiful front flower gardens using upcycled objects like old wicker chairs, shelving, tomato sauce cans as the pots. You can spot delightful artwork on some old storefronts but you have to be paying attention, which really requires a slow walking tour rather than a drive. I highly recommend the paintings of the boxers but I won’t be telling you where to find them. The fun is in the exploration, the treasure hunt.
So, you want ice cream and Millie’s is too far away? Scoops doesn’t make their own but they have probably 35 different flavors of popular brands and they make MALTS. Gryphon Teas has a store front and they attend the Saturday Market with coffee and a different shrub – here a nonalcoholic sugar, fruit and vinegar drink – every day (today’s was citrus rose). My favorite shrub is their strawberry lavender. It might sound weird but it’s delicious and refreshing.
White Whale Books does local author talks. If you’re looking to mix it up with some brilliant and eclectic people, the Big Idea Cooperative Bookstore is run by a bunch of liberal hippies – my people – who have weekend events and a wonderful food pantry outside that’s always accessible. Some of the folks there are anarchists and they’re great for a chat, if you’re looking for something to do on a weeknight. Even if they’re not open, reading the handwritten signs in the window is an experience.
If you’re a meat lover, Tessaro’s, in lower Bloomfield, grinds their own beef to make the most ridiculously good burgers you’ll ever have. It’s an old family restaurant whose matriarch, when she’s feeling up to it, works as the hostess. She’s terrifying, like you’d expect an elderly Italian restaurateur to be, plus she can’t possibly be more than 4’10”.
The weekend dinner wait at Tessaro’s is an absolute nightmare so you should visit on a weekday or have an early dinner. Trust me. We’ve waited on the curb for over an hour to get in. It’s worth the wait but if you plan well, you won’t have to.
In upper Bloomfield, there’s a business owner, Rocky, who runs at least two storefronts. Three or four days a week, he runs Rocky’s Cafe. If you’ve ever seen My Cousin Vinny, it’s a little like the diner in that movie with a slightly wider selection of breakfast items but no other options because it closes at noon. Those hours might be to allow him to hustle over to Rocky’s Tailor and Cleaners to open the doors.
Rocky is kind of famous in the neighborhood for being … abrasive is the most tactful label I can offer. The food’s pretty good. It’s cheap. And the chatter is quite an experience, especially if you sit at the counter.
There are several great boutiques, the kind with windows you stop to look at. My mom would have called it window dressing unironically. An early evening walk through Bloomfield is the best people watching if you want a weird mix of young and old – rich and poor. It’s humming with activity and all the grumpy old guys are out, sitting on their front stoeps to watch the world go by – and sometimes bitch at it.
Anyway, back to the Saturday Market. Tangy cherry season is over – and you have to be willing to throw hands if you want to get them while they’re in season. The crops are always small but worth selling at least a smidge of your soul to get a taste. I confessed my undying love to the Sturgis vendor when I got a quart but he’s in a relationship so I’ll have to stick to the cherries.
Today there was a barrio pop-up with a huge line so I didn’t eat but the smell was incredible. It was slightly down the way from today’s busker, a banjo player. He writes his own songs, which are much less stereotypical banjo than you’d expect, softer, gentler, a little melancholy.
The gyro vendor was throwing lamb scraps to the gazillion puppers. Like many of the vendors, he also keeps a bowl of water in the shade for his furry guests. One time, a huge mutt curled up under the table at his stand, probably because it was shady and smelled good. I’d have joined him there but I don’t actually like lamb.
There’s an Amish vendor, too, but the young women there can’t do simple math to make change. I refuse to spend my money there, in protest to their inadequate education. They have a right to their beliefs and I have a right to refuse to fund them.
Right across the way is a locally famous family business, Freedom Farms. They had a reality show in the 2010-ish timeframe. The nine sons are pretty well known but you shouldn’t google their show, Farm Kings, or their website – because objectifying people is wrong. I’ve provided the URLs informationally only. They, uh, put on a great corn festival in the fall. And the men work it. Just sayin’.
Much love.
