I have a guilty conscience. Thank goodness I have you, reader, to vent to… Perhaps you’ll make a comment and help me to overcome the anxiety I have about my behaviour this evening.
I went to No Frills with my grumpy pants sister and every item I placed carefully into my cart was from outside of Canada. Heck most of it was from outside of this continent!
I rarely drive a car to buy groceries. Tonight I did.
I hardly ever shop at big chain grocery stores. A. They rarely have what I want, and B. They are the primary reason for our food system being in dire straits (I can’t bring myself to go into the details at the moment).Tonight I went to No Frills.
I very rarely have to get a shopping cart, and usually pride myself on being able to carry whatever it is that I end up purchasing (allows for easy weight gauging for subsequent bicycle transportation). Tonight I stuck my quarter in the slot and invited my exhausted sister to ride in the bottom basket.
I filled my cart with citrus fruits from Florida, mixed salad greens from California, sweet potatoes from the Southern US, Pears from Argentina, avocados from Mexico, and coconut milk from Thailand. I salivated over other forbidden fruits like mangoes and kiwis, bananas and melons, but stopped myself before I went completely overboard. It dawned on me as I was leisurely pacing the aisles up and down the middle of the shop, that I also avidly avoid most of the time, that most of the shoppers are acutely unaware of what they are buying. I am amazed at how little attention is paid to ingredients, countries of origin, connection to horizontal integration or agribusiness, additives, preservatives, and sweeteners. They are zombies. It’s scary. Even my sister put things into our shared cart that made me cringe, though I am getting better at refraining from pressing my politics on others (I said better, not perfect). Tonight I followed suit. I shut off my better judgment and just reached for the colourful and shiny, the things I knew I needed to get me through the detox I require since eating like a cow (not a grass finished one, the kind that pigs out in a trough in a pen shared with other dirty cows on tv sets) over the past week.
Oh, food police, please forgive me, I didn’t mean to, and it only happens once in a while…