super preço
A few weeks ago when I was in Burlington,1 one evening around 7:45pm I realized: “Hm … I’m hungry.”
I looked out the window at the rainy sky and considered braving the wet streets to bike to City Market on my found-for-free gem. Then I had another realization: “Wait! I have a car!”
I had rented a car for a few days to make zipping around easier, so I jumped in the little hatchback and drove two minutes to Shaws. I entered the store and automatically headed to the right. I first grabbed a bushel of broccolini because I couldn’t find the asparagus. Then I picked up some fresh tilapia where I had to shake off the fish guy who was trying to up-sell me to a take-and-bake deal: “I’ll put some veggies and sauce with the fish and then all you do is put it in the oven.” Tempting, but not this time ol’ chap.
After grabbing some strawberries, I was crossing the barren wasteland of the middle aisles on my way to cheese city, when I stopped and looked around.
A few short months ago, we would have given anything to be able to buy a non-rotting carrot, let alone fucking broccolini. I looked in my basket and felt a pang of Angola.
It’s taken a while but the difficulties and frustrations are beginning to sift away to reveal the eccentricities (charms?) of the place. And a smile is beginning to creep across my face.
In Cabinda we had a nightly conundrum: would it be beans, rice and canned tuna? Or pasta with butter and weird bologna? Or maybe we should try some roasted chicken? Wait … forget the chicken.
The food(stuff) was all dependent on what each respective grocery store would reveal on their strange-smelling shelves. We’d go to Super Preço for yellow cheese, sliced ham and occasionally hit the jackpot with fresh green beans. Off to OSS for coffee filters, Smirnov, powdered milk and mixed nuts. Nossa Super beget bourbon, chicken wings, mozzarella and flip-flops. And after a drive to Simbila, it was not out of the question to return home with some frozen french fries, a past-its-prime bag of beets and a laundry machine.2
Ah yes, the adventure of the grocery store: always one of the simple joys/curses of living and traveling abroad.
