Through blogs, a long time ago, I heard of this American grocery store, Trader Joe’s, and in my mind’s eye, I imagined a rustic place with a log cabin theme and glass jars of maple syrup. How wrong I was. And to think that for some reason, I never quite realize that I, too, could shop at Trader Joe’s. It’s those immigration officers at the border and at the airport who sternly ask me, “Did you bring back any food?” And I know that in order not arouse their suspicions, I must truthfully continue to answer “No” to all their questions.
In a recent day trip Stateside with NPY and another couple, we had enough girls to push for a long Trader Joe’s run. NPY grumbled about our misplaced enthusiasm and text messaged a female friend while we shopped. Upon learning where NPY was, the friend text message-exclaimed, “I love Trader Joe’s!! Their stuff is the best!” I guess we had him cornered and convinced. ;-)
The prices are good and, more importantly, the selection is complete. Su and I very carefullly comb through the chips aisle. She picks up cheese and I drool at the selection but am constantly afraid that if I take an indirect route home, it will spoil. We revel over the price of organic pasta, chick peas, and bottles of wine (just $3!).