How Corona Is Making Me Completely Lose It and Even Crave…
Adeline loves food, lots of it and often, both at home and out. Usually that goes well, but sometimes it doesn’t. In the series Sunday Roast, she shares her observations. This week, about how she really misses that one thing she normally hates.
Sometimes I would go to the supermarket on Saturday morning, back in the before-quarantine era, and only return a leisurely two hours later. In the early stages of our relationship, my boyfriend would sometimes call to see whether I had got lost somewhere between the vegetable aisle and the dairy section. By now, he doesn’t do that anymore, because he knows I’ll eventually come home. And he also knows that the delay is caused by choosing juicy olives, full-bodied wines, crunchy nuts and creamy cheeses. So these days he thinks twice before calling.
The elevated shopping experience
Of course, I too limit grocery shopping to an absolute minimum. I reserve one pick-up point per week and then spend roughly an entire weekend filling my shopping list. I first write it on paper, then make a selection online and, naturally, throw a few extra things into the digital basket. I continue changing that order at least twenty times, right up until one minute before midnight on Sunday, because I can. It feels a bit like elevated shopping and is almost just as satisfying.
Off I go
Then suddenly, on Wednesday, we ran out of dog food and the guest dog was staying one night longer than planned. These kinds of events are pretty much the highlight of my week, so between eight and nine in the evening I popped to the local supermarket. My neighbour tipped me off about this time because apparently there wouldn’t be a soul (ha!) in the supermarket. Armed with disinfectant gel and a shopping bag, I set off. Grab a trolley for a bag of dog food, pick up a self-scanner on the way, dodge grandpa at the entrance (stay home!) and off I go. Naturally, I proceeded with military precision, because you want to spend as little time as possible in this gruesome public space.
Past individually wrapped stock cubes
I felt my heart rate rise somewhere around the dates, the euphoria increased when I reached the fresh bread and I was positively jubilant as I passed the cheese aisle. The neighbour turned out to be right, because apart from two lads (who really weren’t keeping one and a half metres away from each other), there was just one other dazed and lost woman like me and a few shelf stackers, but otherwise? Nobody, nada, zilch. What a joy to be in a real supermarket. One with fully stocked shelves, where courgettes are cheerfully stacked on top of one another and all the jars of peanut butter face the same way. Where, if your favourite wine isn’t available, there are simply another twenty tinkling varieties to choose from. A real supermarket made of bricks and glass, to zigzag through, past individually wrapped stock cubes and checkout staff asking whether I’d like a receipt (NO!).
Not exactly thrilled
If my introduction to this piece has misled you about my love of supermarkets, then you’ve fallen for it just as hard as my boyfriend did. On that Saturday morning, I actually go via the chemist, take a detour through HEMA (gotta love HEMA), spend at least half an hour dawdling around H&M and probably Zara too, pass the deli and the liquor store, only to throw my groceries into my trolley in record time. I’m not nearly as thrilled about bringing those basic necessities home as I pretend to be, but rather about the shops I encounter on the way to the supermarket. You can definitely make me happy with a visit to the delicatessen jeweller, where I enthusiastically empty my wallet, but normally that’s where it ends. Until now…
Patterns of spinning wheels
I’m afraid I really miss the supermarket. For a brief moment, it crossed my mind to pretend I needed so much more than a bag of dog food that evening. So I could simply stroll a little longer over that yellowing floor, with its worn patterns of spinning wheels and that stray bag of spinach suddenly lying among the tinned products. In the dog-food aisle, I took genuine pleasure in choosing an extra treat for the dog (duh), because these extra minutes did feel justified. The supermarket is simply the ultimate pleasure, the go-to outing you had been waiting for, and then suddenly you discover that you seriously underestimate the supermarket. When can I go again?
You hear it: the isolation madness hasn’t passed my house by either.
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