My grocery store
So Harvey comes to me and claims that one of my FANS sent me a question. I know you’re lying, Harvey, because I don’t have any fans, much less plural ones. You’re just making up questions because you want more free labor for your crap blog.
The other reason I know you’re the one who came up with the question is because it’s a stupid question. “Dear Grouchy, Retired Travel Writer Lady,” it says. “If Philipp is such a bother, why do you keep going to the same grocery store?” Who the heck uses “bother” on this side of the Atlantic except Winnie the Pooh and Harvey, when he’s pretending to be some sort of deranged fan?
The answer is that I am being loyal to his parents who A) are going through a hard time right now and B) have spent every day of their lives going through a hard time ever since their jerk of a son was born, minus the few intervening years when he was away at his very expensive university.
Anyway, I can go to any grocery store I want. It’s none of your business. Can’t an old lady get out of the house and venture a little bit into her own Jersey Chinatown?
Also, as though it were any of your business, some people like Paris in springtime. I like grocery stores in Chinatown. I know our Jersey Chinatown can’t compare with the city’s and even less with China’s, but it has that something. And let’s be honest here, a big part of that something is the grocery store smell. I’m not going to gaga on about the aromatics of the Orient mixed with the dash of ginger and the hint of green tea. I’m just going to be brutally honest. Most Asian food stores - the authentic ones - smell. At least to Westerners they do. And I’m a Westerner here, so I might as well be honest and say it.
I don’t know why they smell. It’s not like you can walk up to the store owner and say, “So, why does your store smell?” Sometimes, when I’m mad at Philipp, I’m tempted to ask him that question, but I don’t because it might hurt his parents’ feelings. Instead I ask him why he smells.
I love the smell. (Not Philipp’s. The store’s.) First off, you can’t smell the mustiness from my Poise. There’s just no competition. So people don’t back away from me. Second, it reminds me of when I went to China. And third, it’s a mystery that I would love to solve. So it keeps me coming back in case some sort of Divine inspiration thwacks me in the teeth. Although I will be really disappointed if all it is ginger and green tea.
I’ve got a thing for Asia. Asia and Italy. Italy because I love pasta, among
Pile it on, baby!
other things, and Asia because I didn’t get to spend enough time there, so I’m curious, among other things too. Mr. Kim asked me whether I’ve ever been to Korea. The answer is no. And I only got to spend three weeks in Beijing. You’ve got this huge country with a gabillion people, and I was only there for three weeks.
So anyway, because I love Italy and Asia, I eat my spaghetti with chopsticks. And my grocery store, Philipp or no Philipp, has a nice selection of cheap chopsticks. You think it’s weird. I think it makes sense. If Marco Polo had never been to China, Italy wouldn’t have pasta. And I wouldn’t have anything to eat when my dental bridges make my gums sore and I have to take them out.
Stick it to me!
Eating with chopsticks also reminds that even though China and Italy are a gabillion miles away (or kilometers, of you swing that way), they have some things in common. Like pasta. And the Mafia. So eating Italian food with Asian silverware makes sense.
So I’m stuck here in Jersey, with Chinatown Mini Me down the street, and I use chopsticks to eat spaghetti. But not in public. When you’re young and have looks that don’t make guys barf, you can get away with that sort of thing. But when you’re old and smell musty, not so much.
So for all those reasons, I go to my grocery store. You satisfied, Harvey? And if I ever go to China to write an article for your blog, I’m staying more than just three weeks. On your dime, Harvey. On your dime.
Tags: Asia, Chinatown, Chinese, creative writing, flea, food, grocery, harvey, humor writing, New Jersey, pasta, store, travel, Travel writing, writing