A supermarket run is not for me. Occasionally, however, I go into one to keep abreast. I had located a particularly large one for my entertainment today. However, it seems to be a stressful event for me, judging by my response to all the wares stocked and stacked. I found myself muttering things under my breath, which really can’t be said out loud.
I had just spent a good five minutes comparing olive oils. They must be all the same, I conclude, one big marketing hoax, organic or not. Their origin might make a slight difference in flavour (Italian, Spanish, Greek) and there is one “monoculture” that interests me a bit, but the brand is relatively cheap and has so many different varieties I don’t trust the quality. That’s me missing out on value for money. There is also one that mixes countries: Italy, Spain, Tunesia. It’s where I draw the line. It is good for us to mingle, but I don’t think it works for olives. Blends are the norm, so I also hesitate at an organic one with its main ESP being a mix of varieties, as if that's special. Maybe these are an exclusive type of olive? My knowledge of the olive is limited to its workings in a Bach Remedy (good for trauma, as a strengthener). But I read the label carefully dipping my crust in to some new (musical) vocabulary: Leccino, Frantoio, Moraiolo.
Having browsed, by now, for a good ten minutes in total (I’ve moved on to vinegars, pastas and sauces) I am starting to grow weary of the excess amount of deceptive choice, so the final straw is a new brand of pesto.
That is when I mutter, I hope all vegans drop down dead, spotting a vegan Genovese pesto I wearily compare to a normal Genovese pesto. (There is also just pesto....and then they wouldn't need a vegan variety. But the art of being vegan is being very difficult wherever you can.) The difference lies in the soy (ovviamente) replacing the pecorino (sheep). The exploitation of sheep is a terrible thing. The mammary glands of bovine, oves and capraea are not made to service humans. And men are supposed to have beards: it’s natural! And women armpit hair, fuzzy legs, and even a moustache.
I feel the need to attone for my curse. I’m being a bull in a china shop. No wonder I have no friends. I am leaking slippery goo which tells me the oil-spill of disappointment has still not been dispersed enough by the tides rolling in and out as the days grow in number between all my words and none of hers. That slippery stuff of all the efforts made and none received and the little coccoons in the corners with false hope. They are tucked away like the egg sacks of spiders. A hundred little beasties could still crawl out to reinfest your feeble mind. You thought you had hoovered up all the arachnid in your heart that weaves webs where hearths are pointless. It would be foolish to believe I am allowed to forget my vegan colleague. So it’s back into the freezer. Maybe, I’ll try the fridge. Can’t keep things in there for as long.
I see my chance to pay up for my potty mouth. I force myself to think twice before I leap. I am always misunderstood. Will it be worth it? I wait for an assistant to walk by pushing a floor cleaning machine; she goes down the aisle, turns and then comes back up it, where I stop her in front of the washingmachine detergents. It’s the summer holiday, I appreciate, staff of the schoolboy/girl calibre might be harder to find, so I hope to be helpful by pointing out that this whole row of bottles in between all the other detergent bottles is multi-purpose floor cleaner, not for clothes. Its bottle looks just like the liquid detergent. A customer might easily pick it up by mistake.
The organic no-nonsense theme is carried out rather stingently over the entire line of products of this particular brand. I've noticed it before grabbing for the wrong bottle in my own kitchen cabinet. We depend on your ordered shelving to make our natural life easier. Perhaps, the harmless products are that multi-purpose they are perfectly interchangeable. Still, that’s not for you to decide, is it, and ruin their mulitplex sales strategy? (I don't say any of this, I just ask if this is also washing powder. She informs me it is not. I must take care not to pick up by mistake, she'll have somebody come and sort out the mix up.)
That debt paid off, I am reminded of how we used to be. Me and my Unbeliever co-worker (who prefers work to friends, which I tried very hard to respect. I still don’t think I deserve any of this.). We used to drink a cup of this brew that comes out of a machine with a pad, coffee I think they call it, but there’s so many new names for coffee. It was perfectly potable, even for a coffee snob. I didn’t really mind what you served. There were more pressing matters at hand, do you remember? Of course you do. There still are. All the more work for me then, yippee. (To be fair, you did say you were seeking early retirement. But to work at this solo? I must still be very young, not to see how that can be done.)
I learned to drink coffee as cortados, and then had a break during and after pregnancy. Now I travel the world by way of freshly ground fair-trade coffees from the roaster’s, prepared in a cafetière (French pess ) or a moka pot (boggles the mind how it works exactly), drunk black (and you don’t touch the stuff anymore – bad for migraines; or it’s not Raw enough).
Home Stratosphere explains 16 Types of Coffee Makers.
I don’t think everybody is peering at the labels like I am. A woman with a tot on her hip, asks another assistant with some panic in her voice, where the macchiatto has got to. It sometimes is there, and then all of a sudden they’re out of it. How can that be good stock keeping! The assistant tells her not to worry, it’s got to be somewhere; it is on special offer, so most of it is stacked in a more high-viz location. The shopper is not impressed, the baby is heavy and having to walk around the shop in search of powdered coffee is the last thing she wants to be doing. I am left bewildered overhearing this incomprehensible exchange. How can macchiatto be on a shelf, in a box??
I slide along the herbal teas and pick up a few to see it these have been able to avoid that eternal licorice (which drowns out all other flavours), which really should be avoided in excess if you want to take care of your blood pressure; (but how much would you have to ingest on what regular basis to get 140 over 90? There is no serving me a quiet cup of herbal tea.)
I saunter over to the instant coffees. I stand and gape. What are all these boxes containing? I have never ventured into this aisle before. It has a sixties space-age feel to it. There are sachets of Organic Latte Cacao Maca Magic, Instant Iced Vanilla Latte, Decaffeinated Cappuccino, Gold Salted Toffee Macadamia Mocha, Double Chocolate Mocha Coffee, and thank god, an Unsweetened Cappuccino; by now I have looked at the ingredients in the hope I can figure out how you can put a macchiatio in a sachet (milk in a box), which is bewildering to me. Don’t let the cows hear….
I fear I need new lenses, I can’t find coffee on the label … oh wait, 8%, after all the sugar and powdered milk and more glucose and oil. The Unsweetened one is not at all unsweetened! It’s main ingredient is sugar! Only “ *now less sugar compared with previous recipe. The coffee (can I really call it that?!) company of the latter product (which I shall leave unnamed) would like to call itself comprised of “Cofficionados “- since 1923. They give a definition of this term to refer exclusively to themselves as well as “a true coffee lover”. If we were in any doubt of the picture on the box they assure us: it makes for a creamy and frothy drink. Maybe, having this to offer your visitor is the first step to making a friend? Righty-O. One for the next shopping list, then.
Conclusion after the supermarket trip.
I got what I wanted. For it not to be make-do. A surrogate coffee, a mashed-up blend, an all-purpose fix. That's why I am not hearing from you anymore. I have never known any different so forgive me, Dear Unbeliever, for making such a fuss after getting what I wanted, just because I didn't get it the way I wanted it. It apparently doesn’t have to be about making the most of it with the frugal means at one's disposition. I don't have to strain to improvise and leave my home just to be of some support. A soul can starve to death more elegantly, hardly noticing the emaciated bones poking through. One can stretch the soul always more, into a body suit. And the body, well, we’ll just pour more coffee into it. Macchiato, anyone?
Learn more about the Italian olives above on the attractive website of Dievole.it. Find the photo at top there too.