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Saturday morning from the ninth floor

I’ve been feeling unusually giddy lately. My husband and I are a few weeks away from celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary. So last Friday night I kidnapped the man and turned him into my love slave. The next morning I released him so we could share an enjoyable breakfast and a stroll through the Saturday farmer’s market together.

Our hideout for the night was a ninth-floor lookout at The Grove Hotel in downtown Boise. My request for a room with a view was answered with a quiet end unit that, in one direction, looked down Eighth Street toward the foothills. We left the drapes on the plate glass window open throughout the evening, using the downtown skyline as our personal night light.

The next morning, under cloudy springtime skies we could see the farmer’s market vendors setting up their tables and portable canopies along the Eighth Street corridor.

After checking out of the hotel we stowed our bags in our car. Locking them up, we stepped into brisk morning air and opted to bypass the perpetual crowd waiting outside of Goldy’s Breakfast Bistro for a table. Instead we walked two blocks north to an under-the-radar gem, the terrific Le Café De Paris.

A pair of strong cappuccinos and a chocolate-almond croissant were barely touched before our breakfast arrived. Hardly a word was spoken as we savored dishes that were impossibly light yet unquestionably satisfying.

Thick Kurobuta ham slices in the perfectly poached duck eggs Benedict had my husband in throes of food ecstasy. I relished every heavenly bite of pain perdu (French toast) made from the French bistro’s tender, handmade brioche. Eating it was almost dreamlike, its texture so light and delicate that I wondered whether I’d really eaten it at all.

Adequately refueled, we headed west one block to the Capitol City Farmer’s Market, where we met up with my friend and usual farmer’s market companion, Susan. Bunches of bok choy and turnips, a couple of sweet winter carrots and a bag of fresh morel mushrooms were among the locally grown produce that made their way into my shopping bag.

“I feel like I’ve had a mini-vacation,” my husband told other friends we bumped into while strolling past the vendors lined up along the four-block stretch of Eighth Street. As warm spring sunshine gently eased the morning chill my honey and I headed home, looking forward to enjoying our official anniversary getaway.