It was a classic chia eating, kombucha drinking new age cafe scene. The type that makes you feel like the cool pill was passed around right when you got up to take a piss so you missed out.
We sat around a wooden table made out of repurposed barn, and painted with what I can only imagine was paint made from beetroot and used veggie oil. I never got confirmation on the paint, but I'd be willing to bet a couple ounces of raw cacao nibs that I nailed it.
Our table was outside on the patio, amongst hammocks, kokopelli memorabilia, a stack of hoola hoops for those wanting to partake in some hip action, and get this, a wooden structure equipped with aerial silks.
The people who use aerial silks are the same cool people who do fire dancing and just roam the earth with nothing but a water canteen, a dream catcher and six pack abs. Their world and my world don't see much overlap. Apart from that one time in Hawaii, but that was a fluke.
Just beyond the A-frame structure that held the silks, there was a rustic wooden fence, which was probably constructed by Jesus or someone who looked like Jesus that encapsulated the magical, womb-like patio where I could feel a group Kumbaya coming on at any moment.
If you looked just over the Jesus fence, you could see the famous red cliffs that line Sedona, AZ.
Sedona.
Are things starting to make sense?
Do I even have to tell you that Tibetan prayer flags were strewn about like the New Age Superstore down the street had a massive fire sale? (oh yes, such a business exists in Sedona, I saw it with my own two eyes).
As I was eating my Sunshine Radiant Alive Prana dish (which I came to the uncertain conclusion was a salad) and sipping my green smoothie with Hunza Mulberries (can someone explain?), I couldn't help but pick up bits of conversations happening around me. Coconut oil was the topic of more than one conversation within earshot.
"If my coconut oil is organic, virgin and fair trade, does it absolutely have to be certified non-gmo?" The jury was still out on that one when I got distracted by another conundrum.
I couldn't make out the problem exactly, given the live traveling flute music that was getting closer and closer to our table, but it was something about a $25.00 package of goji berries and some spoiled maca powder. It sounded pretty dramatic, so I nonchalantly tilted my head closer but the flautists were at our table now, making it impossible for me to eavesdrop.
After the flautists moved on, I considered giving the goji maca table a hot tip about the plentiful supply of goji berries at any Asian market for under $2.00, but decided against it after seeing they were in head to toe Lululemon.
And not the thrift store Lululemon like I wear, buying it just because it's Lululemon, and disregarding the fact that the pants are high waters and the jacket can't zip up all the way because of my boobs. These ladies clearly chose their Lulu based on the color, size and style of their liking. The choice between $25.00 goji berries and slumming it at the Asian market was already made up for them in my mind.
I stopped analyzing the goji maca Lulu clan to have one last spoonful of raw stone ground almond butter and ask for the check. I took a deep breath, let my surroundings soak in, and wondered if I would ever be cool enough to eat at a place like this without having a deep desire to make fun of it.
When my server brought my check, along with a chocolate Buddha, I had my answer.