Usually, Henry goes to “the store” alone. I put “the store” in “quotes” because the inside joke is that he’s really “having an affair.” But the reality is that “going to the store” is literally Henry’s get-away. I imagine he just roams around the aisles in a daze, all zoned out to the adult contemporary tunes wafting from the rafters, a lone tear softly rolling down his weathered cheek.
I’m fine with this because I typically hate shopping of any kind, especially the grocery kind. But there was nothing else to do last weekend (Chooch was sick AGAIN! This sick-season has been terrible), so I gladly tagged along for the food-shopping adventures.
First! Saturday morning, we walked to Pitaland for, well, pita. Chooch wanted pita and hummus and when you live within walking distance from a legit Mediterranean market, you don’t very well go to Shop n Save for a tub of greasy Sabra.
You feel me?
I used to be terrified of Pitaland for years when I first moved to Brookline. I’m sure it made sense to me at the time because I’m such a rational flower blossom, but now I’m just like, ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE I WASTED ALL THAT TIME AVOIDING PITALAND.” Honestly, I would shield my face anytime I walked past it! Whaaaat was I thinking.
Now I like to go with Henry and sample the olive bar (it’s encouraged) and check to see if they have any weird fruit. (Sometimes that have persimmon but nothing much more crazy than that.) Henry has become friendly with one of the guys who works there, who is also a professor, so he thinks he’s really cool because the guy will always come out and shake Henry’s hand, and then Henry will quickly look around to make sure people were watching that. It’s so lame.
So yeah, we went to Pitaland and got pitabread, hummus, and two different kinds of olives because why the hell not. We’re adults!
Later that night, Henry had to go to “the real store.” I went with him because sometimes it’s fun to follow him around like a lemming and ask him questions about cleaning products and coupons. We went to Kuhn’s, which is a grocery store pretty close to us and the one Henry frequents the most if he just needs basic things, because it’s a pretty no-frill establishment. It’s actually surprising that they even sell Halo Top there, to be honest.
I had to laugh because now all of Henry’s cashier and bagger friends there know that he’s not a single dad. Henry, exposed!
I loudly scoffed at the produce section and asked, “ARE WE GOING TO THE ASIAN MARKET TOMORROW? I can’t eat this crap.”
P.S. the Asian market is the only one I enjoy going to.
I was really excited when we entered the bakery area but then some jackass walked past me and attempted to assassinate me with his disgusting drug store cologne. Thanks, guy. No bakery smells for me!
There’s an Indian market in the same shopping center as Kuhn’s, so I dragged Henry into it after he put the groceries in the car. I’m always on the look-out for new exotic candies to thrust upon my co-workers, but they had all of the same stuff I got at the last Indian market which is still sitting untouched in the Pumpkin of Confectionary Horrors. (It’s not that the pan pasand candy is BAD per se…it just tastes like you’re sucking on someone’s grandma’s recently-perfumed neck, that’s all.)
So instead, we bought some cookies that were just OK.
Sunday was more marketing! We went to two Asian markets in the Strip: Sam Bok because they have a wonderful fridge full of homemade banchan and I had been straight craving kkaennip. There were two women in the next aisle over talking and I understood like three words of their conversation…baby steps, lol.
Then we had to fight our way through the Sunday Daydrinkers to our favorite Asian market: WFH Oriental. In my head, I call it Work From Home because that’s the acronym we use on roll call at work when we’re working from home.
Riveting.
We got more jujubes! Honestly, if you have an Asian market in your town, go check out the produce! And don’t be afraid to ask someone if you don’t know what you’re looking at. We’ve added so many delicious staples to our meals that way, like baby taro. We eat so much baby taro, like savages, motherfucker.
Speaking of taro, I wanted bubble tea so we want to Pink Box in Squirrel Hill (not a market per se, but I’m including it) because they have delightful Asian baked goods so we stuffed our faces with milk bread and whatever.
Mmm, red bean.
All those different markets we went to, yet Henry had toast and Hot Fries for breakfast on Sunday. I mean, friendly reminder that when you’re a grown-up, you can eat whatever you want for breakfast. Jeffrey Dahmer even ate people — dare to dream!
Well, that concludes my totally boring story about how I tagged along when Henry performed his housewife duties at the market.