Jamie and I decided to reduce our cabin fever by taking a ride to Wegman’s yesterday.
It had everything the heart desires, where dishes come true. We loved the amazing selection of seafood and meats. And, don’t get me
started on cheese, which my son once said, is,”like heroin for women”. I may need to go to rehab.
I had eaten a couple of Eggo waffles before take-off and was somewhat satisfied. I’ve learned the hard way, not to go shopping on an empty stomach. But, this wasn’t shopping, it was a food fantasy. If I hadn’t eaten, it would have been pure gluttony. This crossed my mind at the checkout, as I realized if I was hungry, the bill could have the potential to challenge the national debt.
Our first ride was at the sushi counter. The color of the sashimi was so bright, it was like twinkling lights. The only time I’ve seen sushi that fresh was when a store most likely bathed it in sulfa. This was the real deal. There was a silent stand-off between getting the tuna or salmon, which ended in compromise.
We were ready to tear ourselves away from the sushi station when a little girl, maybe 9 yrs old, said to her mother, “look Mommy, a
squid.” I turned and gave Jamie a gourmet-smirk, and cued eye rolling. There in the case sat a fresh octopus, clearly
marked in black magic marker lettering (on a piece of wood for authentic presentation) OCTOPUS. Don’t get me wrong,
I love children. I especially love children that can read. But my youngest son wasn’t much older than her when I brought an
octopus home for dinner. He was like a little Shackleton, braving the tentacles and figuring out how to not only cook it, but survive the
experience. He cooked it, ate it and loved it. I chickened out. The dog ate the head.
The alluring light emitted from the hundreds of cases was almost too much to handle. It was like the opposite of a magnetic force field. We spent some time examining the different kinds of pate. Jamie is going to make a Beef Wellington, and a pate lined crust is critical. Each pate looked like the other, but I felt the need to look like I was discriminating. They didn’t have what he was looking for, and we both found ourselves looking at the section below pate, to the caviar. He asked me if I wanted caviar, and again, I felt an air of snobbiness come over me. “Not really” I said. I thought that if you were going to buy caviar, shouldn’t it come from Moscow, Paris or New York? The packages looked fancy enough, but I pictured myself in a cashmere cape, strolling into a little shop in Paris taking samples, and politely ordering a generous quantity for a dinner party with a few of my classy French friends. We slowly backed away from the pate, and let the crowd lull us to our next target.
There is so much to write about the experience, but I encourage anyone who is feeling frozen and hold-up in their house to go and check it out. You don’t have to be on a pate mission, or looking for anything you can’t pronounce. Just have fun, pick up dinner, and most importantly DO NOT GO ON AN EMPTY STOMACH.