Say my name
After my (former) employer allowed me to write about the surplus grocer, I printed up like six copies and brought it to the store. We were fairly friendly with the workers—I see them much more than my actual friends—but it was still a bit awkward. There's a minor language barrier that stood in the way of a clear explanation of a) why I would write that essay and b) who would want to read it. (Tewelde, who owns our local wine shop, was similarly bemused by his star treatment in The Counter.)
We dropped the print-outs off with one of our favorite cashiers, a warm, tall woman with very nice taste in dresses. She thanked us briskly and we left without much fanfare. It wasn't until the next time we returned that the vibe had changed. For one thing, Mala, the affable store manager, started using my name. He always greets me the same way now: "Heyyyyyy Jesse how's everything, everything good??" and to whatever I say he responds "Okay all right okay!!" and does a deep belly laugh. Every time.
Everyone else was all smiles. We got a couple of "I liked the story" comments but mostly it was just a different energy with the workers. Nothing enormous, but palpable. One guy, a generally stoic character with deep scars on his face, started bringing us bottles of iced coffee—another beverage obsession—from the basement, unprompted. One of the cashiers started sweetly asking after my "wife" when Abby wasn't with me. Another worker who doesn't speak much English started launching into silly pantomimes where he pretends we're gonna wrestle or he's gonna hit me with a box. It's cool I think.
I mean, whatever—we're just customers and I'm not going to pretend it's a much deeper connection than that. But people always talk about how the New York Experience is deepened when store owners actually acknowledge you, have your favorite order ready, ask after your work or your family. I absolutely adore the pleasant anonymity of living in a large city, where I can do what I want without too much scrutiny. Still, it's nice to be recognized in your own neighborhood.
One of the workers loves to recognize Abby in particular! The first time they chatted, he asked if she was interested in marriage and children, and that continues to be a recurring theme (oddly he doesn't bring it up when I'm around). It's harmless.
We miss one guy, a younger character with dazzling Afropunk fashion who did door duty when Grumpy Guy wasn't there. He was a little wild and made loud jokes that the older workers didn't love and eventually he got fired. The other day we saw him crouched on a stoop in the rain, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. Lola nuzzled right up and gave him her belly and he said "Bless you" and it looked like he was crying.
I don't really know what that was about, but it was weirdly moving.
xo,
Jesse
Featured Items
This is one of three or four different brands of buffalo chicken salad we've bought from the surplus grocer—I think it's the best one. Not too goopy or artificial-tasting, no weird gristle or fatty bits, just 15 ounces of tender, versatile chicken salad. I'm charmed by the Willow Tree story too—family buys a poultry farm in Attleboro, Mass. in the '50s, discovers farming is on the decline, starts making chicken pot pies to supplement income, saves the family fortune. Could be bullshit, who cares!
We were so enticed by how fancy this cheese seemed, we bought multiple blocks before we'd even tried it. Buyer's regret: This is simply Swiss cheese in a tuxedo. Maybe I don't have the palate to detect how this is like, the BEST Swiss cheese from the freaking Alps or whatever. Now we have to figure out what to do with all the surplus. Fondue perhaps?
The brand is Golden Flow. I am 13 years old.
Love me some Grillo's Pickles! We've been trying our hand at more Israeli street food, flatbreads and pita sandwiches and the like. So far every single dish has been improved by dicing up some Grillo's and tossing em in the mix.
So cute! Hi little duders, my name is Jesse, my interests include deals and snacks. We did not use these mini-chorizos like party favors (as the packaging all but begs you to do). I took the meat out of the casings and fried it up with eggs and beans for some breakfast tostadas. I miss having this box in the fridge, though! Made me smile.