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[Mister Saint]: 79.Essays.Maca
Rating: 0.00 Uploaded by: Created: 2007-03-29 04:29:26 Keywords: Written for class, a personal essay about the grocery store.
Macaroni Voyeurism on Aisle Two
I don't farm.
A lack of agricultural opportunity on my part cannot be blamed for it; after all, if one had a mind to believe the rumors one might believe that only about two percent of Americans work to grow all of the nation's domestic food. I am positive that one more member of that illustrious group would not hurt matters in the least. No, the opportunity to till the soil has presented itself from time to time with a persistence so steadfast that, if said opportunity was instead a soldier of some sort, it would almost certainly have earned a medal. I couldn't hold a grudge against it for trying so hard, anyway, which seems like a better deal for the opportunity. I can't imagine that an intangible concept has much use for a medal, especially without a neck from which to hang it or a chest to which it might be pinned.
Of course, considering my exceptionally limited talents in the field of vegetation, my abstinence from farming might be doing a favor to farming in general.
A logical reader, at this point, is not wondering where I, as a conscientious non-farmer, acquire my food. In the modern United States just about every person of reasonable intelligence possesses a full awareness of the grocery store, a complicated Utopia of value-priced bargains and discount goods interwoven with sneaky strands of highway robbery. We tolerate endless check-out lines, the scent of cleaning solution, hassling customers, and the occasional ridiculous price all in the name of convenience - honestly, who has time to grow his own food anymore?
For me, the grocery store is all about building blocks. I tend to go into a grocery store, rejecting the idea of taking a shopping cart as I am all but positive I won't need it, and end up wandering the colorful aisles in search of that elusive 'new meal idea'. Since I am the unofficial head cook when I have the occasion to go home, it is my unsworn duty to devise all sorts of culinary disasters to which I then subject my family. Generally, this entails aisle-hunting until some particular item catches my eye and sparks the tinder of meal-creation.
And so, once I have made the obligatory walk back to the front of the store in search of a cart, I return to my aisle-perusal. I think it must be said that, in addition to being a dedicated non-farmer, I am first and foremost a pasta chef. In a reversal of what seems to be typical grocery store policy, one can generally locate boxes of noodles within a reasonable proximity to the shelves containing jars of so-called 'spaghetti sauce'. I understand that spaghetti owns a respected place as one of the easiest of all meals to cook at home, and I suppose that is why such tomato sauce is known by that name - despite its versatility. Still, I would hate to see that trend applied to other foods. 'Soup Celery' and 'Peanut Butter Sandwich Bread' would not be any higher on my list of ingredients for it.
As far as labeling goes, I would like to stretch just a bit and tell you that I equate jars of spaghetti sauce with politicians. My first thought for this aspect of the discussion was a simple dig at them; however, comparing politicians and spaghetti sauce by saying 'both are cheap and plentiful' seems too easy and generalized a jab. That being said, I tend to see the different brands of sauce, from generic store brands to 'secret recipe from the shores of Italy' brands in fancy glass jars that hold less sauce and cost more money, as different political parties.
Of course, the generic brands are third parties, the sort of political groups that most people only acknowledge in passing. They are only an option for those who cannot stomach the pricier brands. The middle brands, whose labels invariably display whole cloves of garlic, tomatoes, or peppers as the particular flavor entails, are almost certainly Democrats. Reasonably priced, whose flamboyant labels promise a great deal more than the sauce can actually deliver, these dwellers of the plastic safety jar fit the budget of most of middle America just fine. And of course, the overpriced, underfilled sauces, with their promises of secret recipes and unique spices from around the world, are Republican.
The most interesting tie-in to this discussion of jar labels is that, beneath the colorful exterior and promises, all three types of sauce are essentially the same. A smart, budget-minded chef can spice even the most unspectacular off-brand sauce until its flavor equals or surpasses that of its expensive peers. The same could be said for third party candidates, though I imagine they aren't quite as tasty as actual sauce in lasagna.
The next stop in my search through pasta pandemonium is, of course, the noodle shelves. I don't know for certain that this has ever occurred to anyone else, but I can't help but wonder why the bulk of non-generic noodle brands feel that it is necessary to build transparent, plastic windows into the face of their boxes. Never have I selected a windowless box of noodles only to put it back upon the shelf thinking, "I'd better not buy this one. I can't be sure of what's going on in there without seeing for myself." The grocery industry is founded entirely upon the consumer's trust in, and apathy towards, the various companies who package and ship such merchandise. We trust them because, as a general rule, they deliver what they promise. Besides, I have no particular interest in noodle-voyeuri
Conversely, I can wholeheartedly understand the packaging transparency of the final primary pasta ingredient - ground beef. Noodles seem to boast a shelf life surpassing that of professional athletes these days. Ground beef, on the other hand, displays visible signs of spoiling within a week at most. The customer, and by that I mean myself, has every right to know if the brown beef should actually be brown instead of pink. There is nothing fancy about that - other than common sense, which I actually see as something of a luxury for people these days.
It's a pity they don't sell common sense at grocery stores, really. Granted, I would almost certainly purchase the bargain common sense for myself and attempt to season it to taste, but certainly some of the people who buy overpriced spaghetti sauce would also purchase name brand common sense. Maybe then, they would know better than to buy it.