An Ode to the Supermarket
Parting is such sweet sorrow
Grocery shopping as relaxation
I used to love grocery shopping.
Sure — it was a “chore” if one wanted to get technical about it, but it was a chore that I enjoyed.
Choosing the items that my family required for their sustenance provided me with contentment in more ways than one.
It wasn’t just the actual choosing of items that made me happy. It was the ritual involved, as well as the almost meditative quality that occurred as I scanned the various brands of cereal and peanut butter, comparison shopping as I went.
The spice aisle was always interesting, as I’d languidly peruse the potential flavours that my family might enjoy. I’d never used saffron in any meal I’d made over the years, but heck! One day I would. I’d just need to Google a recipe. Easy Peasy.
And the “International Foods” aisle was always enticing. Now, coming from Toronto — one of the most diverse countries in the world — I wasn’t easily surprised by what others may view as “exotic” foods, but there were still some items that piqued my curiosity. What were those strange-looking things that were labelled in that brightly-coloured, foreign script? Did it really matter?
