Market Share

I ran into a new friend, Y., at the grocery store.  She just moved here from California and she is very California.  Or maybe just very un-New York.  Totally laid back, totally glass half-full, and totally a hoot.

In my very New York way, I have taken to wearing headphones in the grocery store.  Because it's Monday morning and I don't necessarily feel like chatting.  Because hearing people talk on their phones (loudly) while they navigate their carts (poorly) aggravates me.  And because I can't abide by the seemingly endless loop of 80's hits (you have to go away for us to miss you, Tommy Tutone).

My headphones and I got a big thumbs up from Y.  She assumed not that I was being anti-social but that I was rocking out and hoped to see a viral video of me later literally doing the "shopping cart" (you've seen the dance floor move-- reach up as if you were taking something from the shelf and then put it in the imaginary cart).  This is not me.

Y. mentioned that the store's set up made no sense to her and that she felt like she always spent half her time looking for things-- naturally, asking for help would be admitting failure.  After an aisle by aisle search she had just finally located the power bars.  By the diapers.  Why?!  We decided that the powers that be must have decided that mothers of infants have no time to eat real meals.

Which led me to think how I might set up a grocery store.  What would my own logic dictate?  Obviously you'd put the buns, pickles, ketchup, and mustard near the hot dogs and hamburgers.  And the salad dressing near the salad fixings.  Paper towels near the watermelon?  Gum near the garlic?  Milk and ice cream right next to every register?  Shout! near the tomato sauce?

Hmmm.  Not very efficient.  I guess I'll defer to the professionals.  Except I'd put power bars near the cereal and granola bars.  Duh. 

Wonder Woman

My parents were pretty far ahead of the curve in terms of health awareness and nutrition.  In addition to promoting an active lifestyle and mindful snacking (only one sweet or soda per day), my mom cooked and served a healthy, complete meal (and salad) every night-- an impressive feat that shames me on those days when the best I can manage is to warm up leftover leftovers. 

There was no official list of forbidden foods in our house but there were many processed goodies that never crossed the threshold: including all sugar cereals, anything by Hostess, and Wonder Bread.

I work hard to instill healthy habits in my kids.  Be active and eat right.  I'm not inventing the wheel here: if they develop good habits now hopefully they'll keep them up for life.  The activity side is easy-- both kids are happily  involved in lots of different sports.  The food side takes more effort.  I feel like I'm always at the store buying produce.  And reading labels. And trying new recipes. And searching for the perfect luunchbox foods.

Bread is particularly tough.  It has to be wheat (whole grain).  No HFCS.  No "hearty" texture.  I've determined that there is only one kind of bread that meets all my needs and my kids' particularities (at least until someone markets a crust-free bread, which would be a huge hit) and sometimes I can't find it on the store's shelves.

The other day I was faced with that very problem.  No bread.  I started half-heartedly to check the other loaves on the shelves.  It was slim pickings.  Seeds, nope. Extra Hearty, seriously? Corn syrup, nope.

Wait, what's this?  Wonder Bread Wheat?  I picked up the happy red, blue and yellow package assuming I'd soon be sneering and putting it down because c'mon, it's Wonder Bread.  The devil's bread would have to have high fructose corn syrup in it, right?  But guess what?  It passed all my tests.  In what felt almost like a rebellious move I bought the Wonder Bread.  My kids are so lucky, I thought, remembering the few times I made squishy yummy dough balls out of Wonder Bread at other kids' houses.

And.... my son hated it.  The pieces were too small for him.  He called it mini-bread.  And he celebrated the end of the loaf.   "No more Wonder Bread!" he happily cheered to his sister.  Thirty-seven miles away, I imagine my parents were high-fiving.

Public (Dis)Service Announcement

I remember the day, all those years ago, when the Center for Science in the Public Interest's Nutrition Action Healthletter ruined movie theater popcorn for everyone by revealing just how mind-blowingly bad for us it is. A day's worth of calories! Enough saturated fat for a family of four!

Total bummer.

For at least a year after the popcorn bombshell, I used to sneak air-popped popcorn in a plastic grocery bag into the movie theater (a concept that seems borderline insane to me now). Eventually I dropped popcorn altogether and switched over to Twizzlers, which I would eat like a chainsmoker until they were gone. Which was usually by the end of the previews.

Now that the majority of movies I see are animated and/or Rated G, the only thing I can count on enjoying at the theater is whatever I'm eating while watching the movie. So I'm back to movie popcorn. Size small. With peanut m&ms mixed in.

Thing is, I'd prefer not to know how bad I'm being. I like to think you suffer the consequences of bad eating only if you knowingly engage in the bad behavior. So, exactly the opposite of the old axiom "Ignorance of the law is no excuse." The barrista pours my latte with 2% when I clearly asked for skim? The bad fat calories in that decadently creamy drink are on him, not me. Because I ordered skim. See how that works?

I unfortunately stumbled upon some new intel today. Bad, bad information that I wish I could unlearn: the Eat This, Not That people have determined that the fat in a large cup of Cosi's Tomato Basil soup is the equivalent of a Burger King Triple Whopper. Or a whole medium-sized pepperoni pizza from Domino's.

Sigh. No wonder I love that stuff. If you see me sneaking grocery bags full of Healthy Request soup into Cosi please call the men in white coats.

Public Service Announcement

This year autumn trotted out a truly frightening Jack Frost Halloween costume that robbed many people in our town of their electricity, dial tones, tree limbs, school days, and even (the horror!) trick-or-treating.

But there was one bright spot: I have a new favorite candy bar.

I know! Old dog, new trick and all that.... but it's true. In a testament to American ingenuity, those folks at Hershey pushed beyond the myriad of tried and true combinations of caramel, nougat, peanut butter, chocolate, nuts, and miscellaneous crunchy stuff and produced perfection. I present the Take 5.



The Wikipedia entry for the Take 5* says that it was introduced in December 2004. I weep for the lost years.

* I'm always tempted to be snide-- even if it's just in my own head-- about the breadth (and ridiculousness) of topics on Wikipedia. But then I realize that I'm the one searching for more information on dopey minutiae. So, thank you to the person who felt compelled, and had the time, to research and write about a candy bar. And to the others who actually edited, corrected and added to that information. (Can I snark on them? Hmmm...)