Tag Archives: Shopping

Patience, Bless My Soul

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I was heading to the beach and needed two items. I quickly grabbed them and skipped to the express line in Food Lion with one lady in front of me. She was a well-put-together woman in her seventies chatting with check-out guy.

Check-out guy was young and eager to answer all the questions coming at him. Oh, she asked him about his summer and seemed genuinely interested in his college choice. You see, he was “making extra money before heading to UNC Wilmington in the fall.”

“My grandson went there!” she exclaimed. I found my mind wandering back to my college years.

“Ma”am, what are these?” check-out guy asked referring to what was in the produce baggie. “Oh, those are pluOTS.” (heavy emphasis on that second syllable). “They’re a cross between a plum and an apricot. They’re so sweet this time of year.” Trusting her answer, he clicked the little codes in the cash register. Damn, I should have gotten a bottle of ChardonNAY. He fumbled with the next baggie as if it were a Braille textbook. “Avocado”, she answered before he could even ask. “Gonna make me some of that guacamole tonight,” she said with the brightest smile. Apparently removing items from these little baggies and scanning those little stickers is not customary here. This way takes much more time, something we have loads of. My left eye began to twitch as it does when I have to refrain.

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There it goes!

I have adapted a West Coast mentality mixed with Southern genes. Patience is not virtuous to me, but I do my darnedest when I come home. There are “tests” along the way and this was turning into an exam.

Right then, a white-haired gentleman walked in with khaki bermuda shorts, a bait-n-tackle t-shirt, and topsiders, a uniform in the South.

“Ed!!! Heyyyyyy. Oh my GAHHHD! It’s been ayyyyyyy-ges!” He mosied on over and they hugged and a reunion ensued right before me. He talked to her about the rain and her grandchildren and she asked him about his wife’s gall bladder and how the fish were biting.

“Sadie, you shore are holding up well, considering everything and all.” I pondered over what “everything and all” was. I, on the other hand, was holding onto the checkout counter, conveyor belt stopped so Sadie and Ed could wrap up years of loose ends.

A portly woman behind me was guffawing over the gossip mags-so much so I wondered if she was inviting me to join in to see what was so gosh darn humorous or if it was just a party of one. If she was this excited in the express line (term used loosely), I can only imagine homecoming at her Baptist church. I should have taken over her free spirit and succumbed to the tedious wait, made myself at home like everyone else in Express Line 1. I should have. Instead I was made acutely aware that I was the only one with an agenda. Time stood still at the FL. I was locked in a grocery store reality show.

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one minute in line equals one hour real time

After Ed and Sadie bid farewell and the conveyor belt started back up, Sadie took out her checkbook. Ohhh nooo. Checkbooks are virtually banned in CA as no one can be trusted and ….they hold up the line! Even entering a debit card PIN can cause glares.

Meanwhile the checkout line on isle 5 that had wrapped around the Jell-o molds past the neon yellow cupcakes and Moon Pies had cleared out.

“Ma’am, what kind of apples are in here?” check-out guy inquired. Sadie’s arm rested on the rectangular perch and she gave great thought to this.

“Let’s see. They’re either Fuji or Gala. Wait. Wait. They might be Red Delicious. Aren’t those on sale today?”

                         Remove them from the bag! Look at them!! I screamed in my head.

“Price check for produce!” check-out guy exclaimed over the impressive PA system. My watermelon and turkey were warm. I had no doubts that Sadie had spent most of her morning here at the FL chatting and perusing. She put those apples in her cart hours ago! How could she remember? I started wondering about Ed’s wife’s gall bladder.

Sadie giggled because she actually had put Fuji AND Red Delicious apples in the same bag! Oh my! I, too, had to giggle. I was sandwiched between Ms. Congeniality and Ms. Gossip Junkie and physically nor ethically (yes, I’m scrupulous even in Food Lion) could I be pried away. Ms. Gossip Junkie had now read three mags cover to cover and was enjoying her vacay. She now had a bubbly buddy behind her joining in unison at the disbelief of “what these stars get away with.” I grabbed a Peppermint Patty and tore it open for sustenance. I massaged my left eye as it was dancing out of socket.

Sadie finally signed her effen check and ohhhhhhhh-soooooo-carefully removed it from its perforations. She thanked check-out guy profusely as if he had discovered the cure for her bursitis. Everyone had gotten to know each other in these tight brightly lit quarters. She grabbed her bags of potato salads, pluOTS, and mixture of apples and waved back at the crowd as if she were on a float.

Right then she leaned to me and gushed, “Oh honey, I just LOVE your hair!” Awwwwww. Gosh I love Sadie. I’m gonna miss her.

Tammy

 When was the last time you were in a hurry and finally just gave in?

“I’ve learned to used meditation and relaxation to handle stress.  Just kidding.  I’m on my third glass of wine.”  Anonymous

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Kendall-Jackson 2012 Grand Reserve ChardonNAY

Lush tropical fruit intertwines with lemon and lime.  Elegantly rounded with a vanilla and spice finish.

Perfect for the beach, a summer dinner party, or after an outing at your local grocery store.  $22.00

‘Twas the Night before Thanksgiving

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photo 2As we encroach on our day to give thanks, I can’t help but feel that the one holiday that asks so little from everyone gets the short end of the (drum)stick.  Thanksgiving is the middle child between two exuberant personalities.  It’s the five-minute placeholder between two lavish, sparkly neighbors.  They’re the envied ones with the lights, mystery, and a plethora of parties that lead up to the big day. Volumes of books mark the meaning and document the excitement behind two well-heeled holidays whose stories are told and re-told in countless fashion. Everyone gets caught up in the shivering excitement that begins a half-year before the actual day. Cue the Halloween costumes and Christmas party attire and everything else just blends into the carpet. Admittedly no one is rushing to get the ‘perfect Thanksgiving outfit’.

The little angels and I walked into CVS the other day and Christmas had thrown up in the store. It had been easing its way in for months.  There were more Santas, reindeer, ornaments, striped socks, dog and cat outfits, and mountains of chocolate than even in large department stores.  Aisle upon aisle was burgeoning with all things Christmas. Child-sized mechanical carolers held buckets of what else?  Stocking stuffers! Then, like the little kid in the back of the lunch line, quiet and unobtrusive amongst overbearing playmates, there was a mere handful of items dangling from metal hangers featuring a few wooden turkeys and caricatures of smiling pilgrims in varied shades of brown.  Ah, so easy to ignore among the deafening sounds of singing Santas, Elvises, and Nutcrackers. Not once did either of my children scream, “Mommy, please oh please can we get that really cool rocking pilgrim and hang it on the door?”photo

This past July in North Carolina, my girls and I were red-faced, dripping with sweat and drinking our ice cream in 100% heat and humidity.  We walked by a cotton warehouse-turned-retail oasis with the words “Air-conditioned” beaming through the hot haze. Cool air poured onto us and scents of cinnamon danced in the air. We stumbled in as if cement blocks were tied to our flip-flops. There before us amidst tourist traps filled with tacky t-shirts and flavored pecans was “Ye Olde Christmas Shoppe” complete with holiday music, a dozen or so lit trees and walls of ornaments and wreaths made out of driftwood and seashells. With sticky fingers and bright eyes my little angels were entranced, speechless.  Yep, here we were. Christmas in July.  No amount of coaxing could pull them away from the eye candy before them (and ice cream was no longer an option).  People were actually shopping because time was a-tickin’. The big day was only five months away. I still can’t get my head around seeing year round Christmas stores, even having them make frequent appearances in my southern upbringing. I refuse to buy a winter coat in the summer and certainly refuse to buy a bathing suit in December.  I am horrified by the push of the retail industry speeding up our lives and forcing us to think that we must get it now! Or else someone else will! God forbid.

I miss my Southern Thanksgiving with tables of rainbow colored jell-o salads, deep-fried turkeys, a mega variety of stuffing, pies galore, and real buttermilk biscuits (the sweetened iced tea I can do without). I miss the long tables atop my aunt’s deck that overlook the waterway filled with four generations of relatives. I miss watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and the football games, even though I could care less who played. Thanksgiving to me was always more than a placeholder.  It was when everyone made it to the table.  You could always count on it.  Christmas is when families disburse.Thankful_thumb

Be thankful for your dysfunctional family, for wine, that your friends still like you, and that there are leftovers. Be thankful for this ‘bump in the road’ called Thanksgiving so that you can slow down before attacking shopping malls for needless items and overspending.  Be thankful for new beginnings and remember to give this shy holiday the attention it deserves.                               Happy Thanksgiving!

Tammy

Wine makes daily living easier, less hurried, with fewer tensions and more tolerance. — Benjamin Franklin

Grits and the Art of Persuasion

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I was stirring a giant pot of pasta, and my ten year old told me emphatically that she is “done with pasta.” She’s “had it entirely too much and never EVER wants to eat it again in her entire life!” That’s a pretty big statement to swallow considering she’s the ripe old age of ten and letting go of pasta is like letting go of the color pink. I stared at her as I typically do when either one of the little angels stun me as they’ve been known to do on occasion. (Sometimes I think it would be easier splitting atoms than to decide what to make for dinner. Let alone, switch gears once the dinner idea is already in progress).

She abruptly opens the refrigerator and we both stare blankly, me still with my wooden stirring spoon in hand as if it was a magic wand. My culinary choices were limited, as I’ve resisted the urge to become a slave to the grocery store. I’ve attempted to end the symbiotic relationship. I want food to magically appear.

She states the obvious,  “There’s nothing in there!”

“Schnookums, you’re wrong.” I explain. “There’s a jar of pickles, make that two, some ketchup. Oooh, There’s Mystery Tupperware container! Shall we see what’s in it?”

“Grits! I want grits for dinner!” She exclaims and grabs a box out of the refrigerator door and holds it like a trophy.

Note to self: that’s TWO pots of boiling water. Hmmmm. Cooking has been thrown to the bottom rung of the priority ladder this summer.

Grits is one of those things you’ll always find in my fridge: A big box of Quaker Quick Grits (the 20 minute kind). For some, it’s a tub of sour cream that stakes its territory way in the back. For others, it may be a jar of grape jelly or a half dozen eggs that you just can’t part with even though you have no clue how many months they’ve been in there. You know who you are. For me, it’s a box of grits.

grits

Southern Happy Meal

I think it’s funny (not funny haha) when people ask, “aren’t grits like oatmeal?” Or, “don’t grits taste like cream-of-wheat?” Do oranges taste like bananas? Is NASCAR the same as Formula One? Is the Atlantic the same as the Pacific? Does red wine taste like white wine, people? For the love of GROUND UP CORN, the answer: a resounding NO!

Grits are ground up corn, ‘coarse-ground cornmeal’, plain and simple. (I won’t get into the hominy thing. I’ll keep it reeeeeal simple). They’ve been around for 400 years! Three-fourths of all grits sold in the US are sold in the South stretching from Texas to Virginia. Their warmth and creamy texture are a hug in your tummy-just bowls full of piping hot goodness!

If you’ve not been lucky enough to grow up in the South, I’ll gladly part with some insight, boil it down for you. First, there are two kinds of grits:

1: The ‘instant’ grits which no good Southerner would evah evah cook (or admit to)

2: The boil-in-water-for-twenty-minutes kind. And they come in two shades: white and yellow! According to grits history, white corn was popular in the port cities in the south, while yellow corn was popular in the urban cities.

Here is the simple grits recipe anyone can follow (bless your little non- Southern hearts):

*One cup of grits to five cups of water*

Bring water to a boil, then pour grits in while stirring. Add a pinch or two of salt. Lower the heat and simmer, all the while stirring to prevent clumping. You do NOT want clumpy grits.  After twenty minutes, voila! Now,  throw in butter or cheese, add some country ham, sausage, or red-eye gravy and dare I say…piping hot buttermilk biscuits, (cue gospel choir). There’s just not a better meal, breakfast or suppah! And they’re healthy too! (above additives notwithstanding). No fat, no cholesterol!

(Fun fact: you do not use the term ‘grit’ when referring to this folate fantasy food. It’s always plural! How can we forget ‘My Cousin Vinny’)?

So, Of COURSE she can have her grits! I have indeed raised a Southern child and it warms my heart almost as much as a bowl of grits themselves. After all, how can I possibly say no to her or grits?

 Tammy 

Get Real In The South

Try ’em. You just may like ’em. Would I stir, uhm, steer you wrong?

For some delicious Grits recipes, give this a try:

www.southernliving.com/…/grits–recipes-…

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Vinny Gambini: How could it take you five minutes to cook your grits when it takes the entire grit-eating world 20 minutes?
Mr. Tipton: Um… I’m a fast cook, I guess.
Vinny Gambini: [across beside the jury] What? I’m sorry I was over there. Did you just say you were a fast cook? Are we to believe that boiling water soaks into a grit faster in your kitchen than any place on the face of the earth?
Mr. Tipton: I don’t know.
Vinny Gambini: Perhaps the laws of physics cease to exist on your stove. Were these magic grits? Did you buy them from the same guy who sold Jack his beanstalk beans?

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Gruet Brut is a crisp, full-bodied, sparkling wine that has light green apple and grape flavors.  Goes perfectly with shrimp-n-grits for a lovely brunch.

Cost: $15.00

Gruet

Look Mama! It’s Cheese in a Can!

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Recently, I was perusing the aisles in Ralph’s, as I do on average twice a day, with my two little angels trying to ignore their feuds over who gets to stand on the end of the shopping cart while I push (neither, as I can hardly steer it but I was too damn tired to yell).  All I could focus on was getting my last five items, which were neatly written in my head, three of which were already forgotten.

Then, my ten-year old exclaims “Mama!  Look!  It’s cheese in a can!”   Sure enough, on the top shelf (In NC it would be placed at eye level, the optimal spot) were three neat rows of aerosol cheese.  How had this been an oversight all these years?  “What is that?  Can we get it?”, she asked in pure wonderment. Then my eight-year old said, “I don’t understand. How do you get it out?”  Bless their little hearts. I forget sometimes that my children haven’t had the same wonderful childhood culinary experiences as I did where viscous cheese products such as Velveeta, Cheez Whiz, and Easy Cheese were a staple atop saltine

Golden Goodness

photo: courtesy Lisa Hall

crackers.  Those were the days when no one read ingredients, and that more was better.  I remember my dad opening a can of Vienna sausages (he pronounced them vi-EENA with his thick Southern accent), and stabbing them with a toothpick and handing me one. They were snug in their short little container surrounded by a light brown flavor-packed gelatinous substance.  Their tender smoked taste and mushiness was delectable. It was hot dog pate’ and I loved it! Though oddly enough I don’t care for any form of pate’ today. Go figure.

I let them each hold a golden can and marvel at the sheer oddity of it.  I looked around for a second, I admit, to see if any mom from the junk food protection program witnessed this.  After a few “pretty pleases” coupled with the excitement of holding a new puppy, I tossed a can under the toilet tissue and organic apples.

When we got home, they fought (of course) over who could find the golden can first, similar to the Golden Ticket in Willie Wonka, (pause….Johnny Depp flashback….deep breath…). After I pried it from their little fingers, I pulled out a box of brown rice crackers.  Alas! A healthy snack! After a quick tutorial as to the right angle at which to ‘spray”, they were on their way! Quick learners, my children.  They were amazed at the electric orange color and the crinkled pattern as it left the can. Even I couldn’t wait to bite into that little mountain of velvet tanginess, trying to remember the last time I did.  My ten year old loved it.  Her eyes opened wide and she eagerly grabbed the can to spray her second one.  My eight year old? Not so much.  “This isn’t cheese mommy.  What is it?’, she said with a deadpan voice and languid expression.  “Why honey it’s a cheese product!”  I sounded like Joan Cleaver.

The remainder is in my refrigerator right now aging to perfection in its metal cylinder.

I’ll wait a while before I introduce them to SPAM, (and I don’t mean the unsolicited electronic bulk messages).

Tammy

“Life is great, Cheese makes it better,”                                                                                           Avery Aames