Under pressure

In our neighborhood, a handful of stores plaster their entrances with photos of accosted shoplifters, an unsubtle warning to all. Every perp is made to pose with the items they tried to steal: Middle-aged woman clutching a bag of tortilla chips she'll never eat. Teenager with a pack of disposable razors, trying to look hard.

I don't care for this shaming at all.

Still: Mine is not a wealthy neighborhood, and storeowners are surely operating on thin margins, while handling abundant retail theft. I've seen the salvage grocer door guy accost at least 5 suspected thieves. Also, my interview with a local liquor store owner was illuminating. I shan't link to any of the "shoplifting is ruining society" stories that try to make you pity CVS, but I do recognize it's an actual problem. Making a shoplifter Wall of Shame feels icky, but I also don't own a store in East Harlem.

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This weekend I was in a bougie specialty grocer in the Berkshires, watching Abby do a wine tasting. I absentmindedly dropped some duck pâté in my jacket pocket. The suave shopkeep sashayed over and said "I can hold onto your items while you shop" in a light French accent. Can you guess why I thought of that anecdote?

xo,

Jesse

I'd like to discuss a different type of grocery store today — the specialty grocer. My boss brought me to one of these lovely little bougeterias a couple weeks ago in lower Manhattan. We tried those gilded strawberries everyone is banging on about (disappointing). Giddy, I spent 75 bucks on 7 items.

When Abby and I travel, we always find the fancy little shoppy shops. Sometimes they'll have regional flair, like the on-farm market we tried last summer in Rhode Island, or the Italian greengrocer in Maine. We also visit these stores right here in NYC: Last week at Marlow & Sons I bought a pig's ear for my dog and a half pound of Bulgarian feta.

Both types of store make me happy, full stop. It's all about the thrill of discovery. The salvage grocer feels virtuous in an anti-food-waste type of way, and the pride in saving a lot of money. But at the end of the day, it's all about cultivating joy, so I try not to self-flagellate for occasionally splurging on $20 Dan Dan sauce.

Those little frosting troughs are unsettling.

They ran out of seltzer this week and the cashier who LOVES any excuse to tease me and Abby said, "Now you have to drink Diet Pepsi!" and had herself a cackle. I called her a wise guy.

(this could also be a seltzer post)

You'd think my photography would improve at some point, but no. ANYway I've been reevaluating my feelings about Martha Stewart since listening to this episode of my favorite podcast. The tl;dr is that I never liked the austere perfectionist Martha, nor do I enjoy the sassy aging stoner version. But that smart pod gave me a new perspective on all the sexist shit that helped create my distaste, and I've cultivated a new respect for the grand dame! (Also these entrees look tight.)

I wanted to show you the innards of this "stuffed sandwich" — how do you say Hot Pocket without infringing a trademark? — burbling out through the top like a sauce volcano. Other oddities about the branding: 1) Big daddy's, 2) mysterious "mild sauce," and 3) There is no such thing as Fiestada Beef.

I adore these baby-sized ketchup bottles because they fit anywhere in the fridge. That said, Abby is a bit cross I bought five of them.

Belly up to the best? Don't mind if I do!!

As far as I can tell, there is nothing unique about these salted peanuts except for their branding. It is exceptional branding, however.