Safeway

I went on a mission to Safeway today. I've been more or less in bed since getting sick on Saturday, and wanted to enjoy the gorgeous weather by taking a walk, and buying a few groceries while I was at it. On my way out, my dad made me put on a sweater. It was 80 degrees out. I still enjoyed my five-block trek, even if I was a bit sweaty (or feverish? I don't know).

Our local Safeway has been under renovation all summer, and it's finally celebrating its re-opening. The sand-colored brick facade is modern and suburban, complete with umbrellas and patio furnishing. Inside, they've done wonders with their displays. It looks so much more homely and welcoming, almost making me forget that Safeway is a supermarket chain, and not a superbly-stocked European mom and pop shop.

What I find semi-uncomfortable is that I can't walk fifteen feet without someone wearing a name tag greeting me. Not because I normally don't like being friendly while perusing groceries, but today I was just sick and wanted to keep to myself. It didn't help that there are now little round tables offering samples stationed about the produce section. A man offered me a little cup of arugula, which I declined. I just think it's weird to eat while shopping--my germy hands are clutching a germy basket, and I'm not about to put anything in my mouth without a good dose of ethyl alcohol. On my hands, that is. Not on the food.



I moseyed over to a new section, the bulk section. I stood wide-eyed, gawking at the selection of bulk granolas--it's like Berkeley Bowl! They even have my favorite granola, French vanilla almond! YDY, I almost texted you in my excitement, and then I remembered that you're in Spain. I didn't buy any granola, but maybe I'll have a blind taste test comparison in the near future, if I make a trip to Berkeley Bowl. I'm not surprised that the prices are actually better at Berkeley Bowl.

What I really wanted to buy is butter, which is on sale right now. I am not a butter fiend like P-dub or Paula Deen, but I do go through a pound or two of the unsalted sweet cream variety per month, usually in cookie form. I had a brief phase where I cranked out treats packed with absurd amounts of butter. I'd say that the croissants that I spent eight hours laboring over were delicious as well, but my older brother thought it was from a tube, and well, that's the worst insult you can say to a from-scratch baker. I may not share with him next time. More for me.

With four pounds of butter in tow, I set out for my next target: a pint of Hagen Dazs ice cream. I dug through the freezer looking for the green tea flavor, but all I managed to do was fog up the freezer door in vain. So I went for the next best thing--vanilla. I also threw a bottle of Naked Juice in my basket to, you know, balance out my selections. Four pounds of butter, one pint of ice cream, and one bottle of juice. This trip was worse than the time I went to Safeway for the sole purpose of buying a doughnut.

The cashier eyed me suspiciously when I said that I didn't need a bag--I just threw everything in my purse. At first I thought to myself, "This isn't SoCal. People here actually bring their own bags. And recycle. And compost!" But later when I walked home in the sunshine, I noticed that the condensation from my refrigerated selections was seeping through my bag.