Ok, so I am still working of stocking my freezer. Jim’s stupid business trip messed up my rhythm and I am trying to get my mojo back so I can finish cooking and start watching more teevee.
This morning I spent some time cruising the internets, figuring out what I want to cook, and making a grocery list. I have an idea for a sort of Beef Burgundy knock-off I want to play around with, and I am planning on making an Irish Beef and Stout Stew. I saw this amazing looking recipe at Alli-n-Son for Beer Batter Pizza Dough that sounds pretty delish too.
So first I had to hit the liquor store. We don’t drink, but I cook with wine occasionally. When I go to the liquor store I either feel like Posh Grown-Up or Party Animal College Student, depending on if I go to the fancy wine store or that place with the bars over the painted-out windows. But then I ruin it by asking for the cheapest wine they have, and I go back to my normal Frumpy Housewife self. Today, as I came out of the store, clutching my plain, brown paper bag, I slipped and fell off the curb. Right outside the liquor store. At 11 am. Because I am Graceful and Classy like that.
Maybe because after stumbling out of the liquor store, I got in my car?
Then I drove 20 miles to the only decent grocery store around here, bought supplies for my Big Soup Cooking Extravaganza and about $40 worth of grapes for the kids.
Here’s the thing. When I unload my cart, I unload it in the order in which I want it bagged, because I am a completely normal, very relaxed person. I put all the heavy canned stuff on first, keep all the cold foods together, and put the produce on last. Sometimes I ask them to be careful with the produce, which gets me nothing but hostile looks and smushed bananas. Today, the checker tossed all 6 pounds of grapes into one bag, and then topped it off with some onions and mushrooms. I could feel myself wincing. When the bagger finally came over, I asked her if she would mind undoing that bag and bagging everything separately. She gave me a funny look, but did as I asked. Which worked out great, because that way she could spread all the grapes and the kiwis and the mushrooms in an even layer in the bottom of the cart before she piled all the potatoes and canned goods on top.
And after I paid and went to collect my cart, I was so shocked that I blurted out, “DUDE. You can’t put a gallon of ice cream on top of twelve dollars worth of grapes!” And then I felt bad. Because she was like eleven years old and has probably never spent her own hard earned money on seasonal produce before. I was fuming so much on the drive home, that I missed the turn into the Starbucks drive-thru.
Oh well. At least we have ice cream in the house now. And by “we” I mean “me” because I snuck it into the freezer in the garage before the kids saw it.