Grocery Shopping

Our friends Peggy and Justin have been inspiring us lately, cooking meals, sometimes more than one, each day at home. Since I'm back-burner-ing what I must be doing (studying for my licensure exam), I thought I would do something I should be doing, and try cooking at home more. This week has been a good start--a couple hits, a couple misses, and lots of gratitude for this lady Elise who had a recipe blog www.elise.com/recipes who makes cooking easy and doesn't insist that we have a bucket of Saffron for every dish like those chefs on the Food Network do.

There is one exception, though. Her recipe for crab cakes: "1. You'll need 1 1/4 cup of crab meat. This is roughly two, 2 lb. crabs that we picked up from Whole Foods and cracked, resulting in the necessary amount of crab meat."

As if. She assumes four things SERIOUSLY incorrectly about my commitment to crab cakes with this recipe, including 1. Me traveling to Whole Foods, which is about 45 minutes away, 2. Me paying for two live crabs, 3. Me doing anything with live crabs, and 4. Me cracking 2 lbs. of crab legs to get just over 1 cup of crab meat. Please. But I digress.

The downside of all this cooking?  More trips to the grocery store. Now, I know that no one likes going to the grocery store, and that I'm not saying anything revolutionary here. I'm going to describe some highlights of going to the grocery store with my husband here, though, and ask you to determine for yourselves whether or not my hesitation about grocery shopping is somewhat justified.

This is how grocery shopping usually goes down at our house.

Ben: There is nothing to eat. There is no milk.

Robyn: You're a grown ass man. If you want milk, go get some milk.

Ben: (Look of shocked incredulity)

Robyn: (channeling her mother) You're right--I'll make a list and go to the grocery store. 

I gather ideas. I run these ideas by Ben.

Ben: I hate planning what we're going to eat a week in advance. Can't we just play it by ear?

Robyn: You going to cook?

Ben: (Second look of shocked incredulity)

I make the list. Usually I go by myself. If Ben goes, it plays out as follows:

I work my way through the store. Occasionally I may ask that he go find something. Usually he just gets to stand at the meat counter, staring, typically for about ten minutes. If he does go find something, I lose him for thirty minutes. When he returns, he comes back with a forty pound bag of Basmati rice, Dip-n-Dots Ice Cream, a pound of lunch meat with no bread, a lawn torch, and, say, a plastic banana slicer but no bananas. 

None of this is on the list.

Robyn: "Where's the olive oil/Italian dressing/onions?"

Ben: "I couldn't find them. Look at this trail mix!"

I sigh. I politely explain why we don't need a lawn torch. I go find the remaining items. Ben follows me, now, staring longingly at his banana slicer, occasionally getting waylaid by *fascinating* items like yogurt in a tube.

We go to the check out. I unload the cart, as Ben insists that it is a "one person job." I note that he is never that one person. He looks at the candy aisle.

I load the car. Ben holds the cart and watches people. He might put the cart away at this point, but he will sigh while he does it.

We get home. The next few things will occur whether or not Ben has gone to the store with me. 

We begin to unload. Ben informs me that he needs to pee, but he'll be right back to help me unload. When he returns to the kitchen, he lets me know that he is "very" thirsty, and that, after having a drink, he will help me unload. Sometimes he is also "starving" and opens a box of Cheez-Its, snacks, leans against the counter, while I wrap up the unloading.

Ben: "I said I would help you."

I talk to my Mom for sympathy and support.

Mom: "Robyn, your father is the same way. It drives me nuts. Still, you are so lucky. Say "hi" to Ben, tell him we love him!"

Thanks, Mom.

I try to change my way of managing this situation. I leave the room to put the bathroom stuff away. I take a deep breath. I politely express how much I would appreciate the help. I vow to stay out of the kitchen until he is done.

Later on that night, I'll go for a glass of that delicious, coveted milk. All of the non-perishable foods will be in the middle of the table. Entire boxes will be stuffed in baskets. The plastic bags will be on the counter, loose, and not in the recycling. 

I sigh. 

Ben insists that he just doesn't "know where that stuff goes."

Now, dear readers, Ben did approve this post, and wants me to tell you that he's "improved... some...."

The next day, we'll be in the kitchen, getting our breakfast.

Ben: (sigh) "I hate these TLC bars. They're too soft! Next time you should get me the almond ones. I like them better."