The Grocery Rapture

No trip to the U.S. for us is complete without an hour-long orgy of grocery shopping.  

Technically, it's less an orgy of shopping and more an orgy of browsing, but that doesn't quite have the same ring. 

Not every American grocery store is well suited for this.  

If it's too small and dumpy, we feel robbed of our God-given right to infinite brand selection and grime-free shopping carts.

If it's too big and glamorous, we feel overwhelmed. And slightly nauseous from the strident classical music piped into the olive bar.

There's a sweet spot somewhere in the middle: the store needs to be big enough to have 47 sizes of Ziploc bags, but not so big that I need a GPS to find the pickles.

Our obsession with wandering down the aisles just to glide our grubby expat fingers along miles and miles of oatmeal, hot sauce, mayonnaise, or Pop Tarts is difficult to explain.

Particularly to principled Europeans who care deeply about things like responsible food production, good nutrition, and the environment.  


I too care deeply about responsible food production, good nutrition, and the environment.  

In this particular instance, however, those principles coexist peacefully with my desire to be surrounded by brands that are both infinite in variety and comfortingly familiar.  

It's a little bit like falling back into a soft pillow of...

...the fifteen extra pounds I gained on our 10-day trip. 

I get the cognitive dissonance here. 

Trust me. 

Do I think the world is a better place because Jalapeño Pringles exist?

No. 

Do I think the world is a better place because Pringles in general exist? 

No, not really. 

Do I love that the Kroger in Aiken, South Carolina carries at least 19 varieties of a potato-based snack so artificial that it can't legally call itself a "potato chip"?

Yes. 

I can't explain it, but yes. 

I love that everything in this photo is a Pringle.