The Segals don't farm. We shop. We eat out. We order in. We don't even cook, really. Well, one of us cooks and when the Old Wildcat chef and I checked out Singh Farms today, it wasn't even the cookable stuff that was the most impressive. It was the jaw-dropping, Emerald City-likeness of the place. A true sanctuary. The canopy of trees. The clean air. The log cabin market. When you grow up in Phoenix, even back in Old Wildcat's running-around-barefoot-in-the-summer days, there weren't a lot of sanctuaries. The Phoenix Zoo had its moments. I remember a long-lost place called The Tropical Garden Zoo that had a certain coolness to it. And, not that Old Wildcat knew Abraham Lincoln personally, he told me about a D.C. sanctuary where, back in the day, Honest Abe was just a horseback ride away to a house in the hills, away from the hot, argumentative city where he could stretch out, cool off and breathe a little easier. Just like at Singh Farm.
Top it off with a burrito at the
Blind Pig and you've got a not bad kind of Arizona day.
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