Holidays always give me grocery lust. I have to stay out of places like A Southern Season, Trader Joe's, and Whole Foods. Even Weaver Street Market, our local co-op market, isn't safe. They are all full of wonderful things to eat that I have never tried and wonderful exotic ingredients for things I have never made.
If I walk in to one of these stores, I could bankrupt us. Once grocery lust takes me over, I could end up buying kitchen tools I don't know how to use and ingredients I don't know how to prepare. Like it goes most of the time when you give in to sheer lust, it doesn't end well. You gorge yourself. You don't feel well. You get fatter. You hate yourself afterwards.
It's not limited to the stores either. There are ads, cooking magazines, podcasts, emails from foodie websites. It's kind of funny, because I'm pretty immune to advertising. If I wasn't already thinking about buying something, it takes more than a clever commercial to make me want it. You can send me ads for electronics, cars, toys, books, garden items, etc. all day and never get any of my money. But food. That's different.
I think it goes back to spending my 20's in Alaska. It was my big adventure post-bachelor's degree. My then-husband and I packed our bags and moved to Alaska. We ended up staying just shy of ten years. It was a place that demanded much and gave much. There was so much to love about life there--the people, the landscape, the feeling of accomplishment that just living there gave me.
But not the groceries.
Alaska, especially small-town rural Alaska, is not a foodie paradise. Going to the grocery store is a study in lowered expectations. Depending on the weather, even simple staple items like milk and bread may not be in stock. You cannot rely on fresh ingredients, and every meal involves a backup plan full of cans and boxed items. People hunt and berry-pick, and it's not just a hobby. It's a way to have something fresh in your palate.
When I would visit my family or travel in the 48, I would go food crazy. I would eat out for as many meals as I could afford, the more exotic the meal, the better. I would go to the grocery and spend $50 in the produce section alone, then go spread it out on my mom's table and just smell it, hold it, feel it in my hands, giggle over it with my then-little daughter. When I moved to Kansas, my first home in the 48 after Alaska, I hit every farmer's market within an hour's drive. There were whole days when I didn't actually eat meals, just a string of produce items.
It's the kind of appreciation that can only derive from deprivation.
Even now that I've lived in the 48 for another ten years after leaving Alaska, I still get that kind of grocery lust, that sensual pleasure in good food.
My now-and-always-husband likes to take me out to eat at least in part because of how much I obviously enjoy my food. I'm that person who is bouncing in her chair and making yummy noises and gets really excited over something new on the plate. I'm asking the wait staff about the ingredients, what kind of tea is in my iced tea and what that new green is in my salad. I can't help myself. At least it makes him smile.
So, I made it through, and only bought a few things this year. Weaver Street stollen bread for breakfast today. Tomorrow, it might be safe to go into the grocery store again. I know I'll never fully control my grocery lust, but I can manage it, by letting it out here and there, for the really good stuff.
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