Stephen and I were in Daly City to see a movie, so we stopped by the big, cool Asian supermarket to pick up a few things. Specifically, I'd been in the mood for the tasty Vietnamese spring rolls that Tejal and I are both so devoted to, and I needed to pick up some skins.
Plus, I just really like to shop there. In addition to the beautifully marbled meat, fresh, whole fish, crazy-cheap produce, and enough types of miso, noodles, and frozen dumplings to keep me busy for the rest of my life, it's invigorating to shop in a grocery store that's so full of things I didn't know I needed. It's the same kind of novelty I felt the first few times I went to Trader Joe's and Whole Foods, combined with the implicit rush of buying items when I cannot read anything on the package and am not perfectly certain what they are.
Now, my neighboorhood has large Chinese and Russian populations, so I shop in neat little shops full of neat exotic foods all the time, but there is something special about having that expierance in a store with the size and selection of Albertson's. It makes me feel like I felt for a few months after I moved into my first apartment, when wandering the aisles of Safeway, stocking up on staples was oddly exhilirating.
In addition to piles of herbs and udon, soba, and cellophane noodles (and of course, spring roll skins), we picked up a big box of clementines. Now, I didn't have to go to the Asian market to get clementines, this time of year you can find them anywhere. Somehow, until that moment, Stephen and I had avoided their siren call. A fruit so sweet and juicy, so adorably palm-sized, so easy to peel, no wonder they're seductive.
We have a sordid history with those tiny, succulent fruits. In college, my roommate Megen made the mistake of bringing box into our room. For weeks, she and I hunched over the crate, peeling and eating clementine after clementine until our finger tips were orange and our mouths raw from the acid. Soon, we peer-pressured Stephen into our addiction. Our room was littered with piles of peel and a citrusy perfume wafted out every time we opened the door.
But in recent years, Stephen and I have been less addicted. We convinced ourselves that we shouldn't buy a crate. How could two people finish five pounds of fruit before it went bad? But this year, we gave in. Between us, we ate 17 clementines in the first 15 hours. Seventeen sweet, sweet clementines. I think we may be in trouble.
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