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Grocery Store Geek-Out
12 years ago
General
It's not just me, right? Everybody loves shopping for groceries, right? Like, really loves it? I mean, I know it's sort of a chore, and it's got to get done, and sometimes you're just there because you're in the middle of making cookies when suddenly you realize that you're completely out of organic pineapple-infused turbinado sugar (and your cookies are going to taste like burnt hockey pucks without it, dang it) so you rush out on an emergency sugar run, scowling impatiently the whole time... but most of the time, I absolutely adore going to the grocery store.
Why is that, anyway? It's probably weird. I find myself geeking out over heirloom carrots and lemon truffle oil the way some folks do at the old-timey record store when they stumble across a first edition pressing of Strawberry Alarm Clock's "Incense and Peppermints". I talk to myself, blurting out things like "Ooh, Tuscan kale!" and "Champagne grapes... local grown? Really? Awesome!" I come in just to pick up some tomatoes, and before long my basket is overflowing with pickling cucumbers, red leaf lettuce, a bottle of pinot, two frozen pizzas (they're on sale!), green onions, quail eggs, fresh chow mein noodles, three jars of marinara sauce and a bag of jalapeños. I can't help it.
I'm particularly fond of little hole-in-the-wall produce stands and local shops, the kind that sell farm-fresh fruits, veggies, nuts, honey and house-made jams and candies. It's one of the perks of living where I do in California, right on top of what used to be called the Valley of Heart's Delight (back in ye olden days when it was a lush Eden of orchards, farms, and ranches). It's true, we took some of the best farm land in the world and, perversely, plowed most of it under to make room for Silicon Valley, but there are still plenty of local growers around, tilling what's left of the rich soil to produce apricots, cherries, apples, oranges, lemons, Brussels sprouts, broccoli, artichokes, garlic, walnuts, onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, peppers and just about anything else you can think of. There's almost always something or other in season, and you can usually get it dirt cheap when you buy directly from the grower.
Yesterday, I made a pit stop at one of these little open-air stores, just to see what they had. Within minutes, I had a basket overstuffed with fat, ripe, juicy purple and yellow heirloom tomatoes, onions so fresh-pulled they still had moist little crumbles of dirt tangled in their roots, a medley of multicolored chili peppers, a huge head of red leaf butter lettuce and a perfumey-ripe Sharlyn melon. I'm not sure, but I think I was smiling to myself the whole time... I know I was on the drive home, which I spent daydreaming about the huge batch of fresh tomato and pepper salsa I was planning to make (I did, and it turned out delicious).
I suppose a lot of this has to do with the fact that I love to cook. For me, there's always been a special alchemy to home cooking... it's not just about the finished meal, it's also about the process, the way you can take fresh raw ingredients and transform them with knives, peelers, graters and presses, applying fire and spices, mashing and stirring and whipping until that head of cauliflower has become a rich, creamy bisque, or until that simple slab of raw salmon is now a picture-perfect, char-grilled fish steak sprinkled with lemon, garlic and minced red chilies. There's nostalgia, too... memories of my little kid-self standing in the kitchen, peeling garlic cloves and passing them to my dad so I could watch him crush them into a delicious-smelling cauldron of bubbling stew, or helping to sprinkle nutmeg and brown sugar onto a split, oven-bound acorn squash. I remember tagging along to the store, where I would contentedly watch the cart fill up with zucchinis and plums, cartons of cream and cans of chicken stock, bottles of sherry and sprigs of fresh tarragon, my imagination working overtime as I wondered what dish they were going to end up becoming.
No matter where I am, no matter how far from home I've found myself, I feel like I can always find a little bit of comfort at a grocery store. In the end, maybe that's an even better deal than simply scoring a pepperoni Tombstone pizza for half price, or finding a spread of artisanal goat cheeses and chocolates, or even a jar of real Moroccan preserved lemons... of course, I'll be happily putting those in my basket, too.
Why is that, anyway? It's probably weird. I find myself geeking out over heirloom carrots and lemon truffle oil the way some folks do at the old-timey record store when they stumble across a first edition pressing of Strawberry Alarm Clock's "Incense and Peppermints". I talk to myself, blurting out things like "Ooh, Tuscan kale!" and "Champagne grapes... local grown? Really? Awesome!" I come in just to pick up some tomatoes, and before long my basket is overflowing with pickling cucumbers, red leaf lettuce, a bottle of pinot, two frozen pizzas (they're on sale!), green onions, quail eggs, fresh chow mein noodles, three jars of marinara sauce and a bag of jalapeños. I can't help it.
I'm particularly fond of little hole-in-the-wall produce stands and local shops, the kind that sell farm-fresh fruits, veggies, nuts, honey and house-made jams and candies. It's one of the perks of living where I do in California, right on top of what used to be called the Valley of Heart's Delight (back in ye olden days when it was a lush Eden of orchards, farms, and ranches). It's true, we took some of the best farm land in the world and, perversely, plowed most of it under to make room for Silicon Valley, but there are still plenty of local growers around, tilling what's left of the rich soil to produce apricots, cherries, apples, oranges, lemons, Brussels sprouts, broccoli, artichokes, garlic, walnuts, onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, peppers and just about anything else you can think of. There's almost always something or other in season, and you can usually get it dirt cheap when you buy directly from the grower.
Yesterday, I made a pit stop at one of these little open-air stores, just to see what they had. Within minutes, I had a basket overstuffed with fat, ripe, juicy purple and yellow heirloom tomatoes, onions so fresh-pulled they still had moist little crumbles of dirt tangled in their roots, a medley of multicolored chili peppers, a huge head of red leaf butter lettuce and a perfumey-ripe Sharlyn melon. I'm not sure, but I think I was smiling to myself the whole time... I know I was on the drive home, which I spent daydreaming about the huge batch of fresh tomato and pepper salsa I was planning to make (I did, and it turned out delicious).
I suppose a lot of this has to do with the fact that I love to cook. For me, there's always been a special alchemy to home cooking... it's not just about the finished meal, it's also about the process, the way you can take fresh raw ingredients and transform them with knives, peelers, graters and presses, applying fire and spices, mashing and stirring and whipping until that head of cauliflower has become a rich, creamy bisque, or until that simple slab of raw salmon is now a picture-perfect, char-grilled fish steak sprinkled with lemon, garlic and minced red chilies. There's nostalgia, too... memories of my little kid-self standing in the kitchen, peeling garlic cloves and passing them to my dad so I could watch him crush them into a delicious-smelling cauldron of bubbling stew, or helping to sprinkle nutmeg and brown sugar onto a split, oven-bound acorn squash. I remember tagging along to the store, where I would contentedly watch the cart fill up with zucchinis and plums, cartons of cream and cans of chicken stock, bottles of sherry and sprigs of fresh tarragon, my imagination working overtime as I wondered what dish they were going to end up becoming.
No matter where I am, no matter how far from home I've found myself, I feel like I can always find a little bit of comfort at a grocery store. In the end, maybe that's an even better deal than simply scoring a pepperoni Tombstone pizza for half price, or finding a spread of artisanal goat cheeses and chocolates, or even a jar of real Moroccan preserved lemons... of course, I'll be happily putting those in my basket, too.
Most of learning to cook is just trial and error. All you need are some recipe books, some spare time and the willingness to have stuff turn out not the way you intended (I can't even count the number of screw-ups and disasters I've created in the kitchen over the years, but the tradeoff is that sometimes it turns out exactly the way you wanted it to, or even better.) :3
See, I want to be a total foodie snob, living on nothing but pan-seared turbot in a raspberry/mustard reduction (served on a bed of watermelon, radish sprout and quinoa salad, natch)... but I can't get past my love of Twinkies, Spam and American cheese. Damn you, tastebuds!
Best tea I ever had was in Russia, actually. They serve it with raspberry jam. :3