Our monthly bread

Today is pay day (not mine sadly as I am still living vicariously [I doubt this word has been used in the correct context, but I am leaving it in]) so I thought we deserved a treat. In fact, I got two - bread and the stuff which will make the Wii work which I have now ordered. It is a good day. Sadly, I have used up most of the money in one morning, but hey ho, that's the way it goes sometimes when you have strange priorities.

Yesterday or maybe the day before, they largely roll into one (this is leading somewhere fret not) I went to Safeway. It is our nearest shop and I have learnt the tricks of how to shop there cheaply. We have changed our diet accordingly. A large bunch of coriander costs 69c (about 35p), a mango is 75p, avocados are pennies, but apples are a no no, and tomatoes have to be used cunningly - so Thai and Mexican it is. I am experimenting with recipes too which I am really enjoying but it has led to some very strange meals. We made spring rolls with filo pastry (I almost didn't find this in the shop - it is spelt Phyllo here) which we baked in the oven. The filling was spot on; the outside went from crispy to soggy in an instant, and we had made 8. We still have 4 left and I force us to eat one each week to get rid of them.

I digress - Safeway, yesterday. I was followed around the shop by a man with no hand. Instead he had a hook. What was worse was that he looked mean, and he was angry. Safeway attracts a wide range of society, and many of the more interesting ones like to shop when I do. At first we had to inspect every inch of the shop to see what they had and what was cheapest. I could probably sit a written exam now, particularly if they had a section on items they don't stock. I still get a little excitement from the shop; mainly from hilariously named products (Big Ass Beer anyone?). It's staff and customers fail to excite me now, even the ones who don't recognise a swede, or have vicious looking hooks.

I knew it was time for a change. With money in my pocket, suncream on my exposed flesh, as few clothes on my back as would be decent (yes, its hot here, summer has started now and I find my wardrobe wholly unprepared for this), I set off. Whole Foods was my destination, 0.88 miles away, or a 1.76 mile round trip. I got the shuttle to the library which about half way there and walked the rest [for shuttle spotters, the driver was Addya, a petite* and attractive woman with a sultry Spanish accent, like Marcus' girlfriend from Eldorado.**]

Whole Foods is a strange shop and I have a very limited understanding of how it all works. I have been there before and left bewildered and poorer. This time it wasn't going to beat me, and I needed items which Safeway will just never supply, like decent bread and tapioca starch - it's probably best not to ask about that one, and I am wittering as it is, so deviating from my point would be even worse now.

They have a bulk buy section where I eventually worked out, you scoop out what you want in a bag and take one of their labels and write the code on it and then tie it around the bag. The pen was provided but I do not jest when I tell you it took me ten minutes to find it, and meanwhile a homeless man stole something and exited through the alarmed door I was standing next to and it all got a bit fraught.

Whole Foods have many core values which if you find yourself at a loose end can be read here. I would like to draw your attention to the policy of making "store environments that are inviting and fun." I'm sure that every other shopper was having the time of their lives, but I was merely getting some provisions and trying not to scream out loud at some of their prices. In their defence, the staff are always wonderful. I just don't understand what is going on. At the checkout, I was asked if I wanted to have the 5c for using my own bag deducted from my bill or given to charity. I was prepared for this question after a lengthy explanation the last time I was there (I have translated the words for you rather than put verbatim what they actually ask) and asked to donate my 2 and a half pence. To honour my wondrous charity, I was given a wooden disc with the name and address of the store on one side, and 'Nickels for Non Profits' on the other. I really have no idea why. I mean, it's lovely and I am very grateful, but there is no need for that much praise for 5 cents.

I took my Acme Bread ciabatta (I don't think they sell dynamite to blow up Road Runner but I will keep looking), my oat bran and dried apricots and fled. Tesco, all is forgiven, except buy one get one free on fireworks that time, which was just plain wrong.


* She sat closer to the steering wheel than I do, and that is quite close
** I realise that no one will understand this reference, but I was an Eldorado fan and I am not ashamed

It all comes down to bread

A Londoner by birth, I find myself a long way from home. My husband has a job in San Francisco for a year. I am along for the ride. Until that is I apply for a work permit, which may take some time. So, I thought I would try to record for posterity a few observations of my new home. (I will however say that my research into American culture thus far has gone no further than Bill Bryson books, Hollywood films, and countless stereotypes which tend to seep silently into ones pores, so I plan to enjoy my year, proving those typecasting pores of mine wrong hopefully - it kinda worked in Liverpool, but that's another story...)

So, everything is bigger.
People are friendly and people do wish you a nice day! Cute.
It's very clean on the whole, like the nation is run by OCD - which is frankly excellent, and after some of the public toilets I have visited in my life, I wish good old Blighty would take a leaf out of its American counterparts' books.
The telly is really bad, but the adverts are frequent and mesmerising. Pure comedy gold.
Noise is constant, but that just maybe where I live.
Food is too sweet.

Actually, food is proving to be an issue, for one who cares deeply about it.

I was led to believe that food (as well as general cost of living) over here was going to be so much cheaper. This is a downright lie. Sure, it is cheaper to eat out here than it is to eat in England, and I am guessing people eat out a lot more, but it still isn't cheap! For those who want to cook for themselves, it is challenging (at face value anyway). Supermarkets seem to be few and far between and half the size of ours; unlike the Tesco metro on every corner, with a Tesco Extra a mile away in any direction from where you live we have got used to of late. There are corner shops a plenty but the prices sky high. When you actually make it to a supermarket, the food is really expensive, especially anything healthy. Our first trip was to Calafoods, a supermarket sort of near where we are currently staying, as recommended by my Not for Tourists book. Pah! Then we plugged for Safeway as it was a name I recognised. 5 tomatoes cost me $8. Say no more. Then, glory of glory, we discovered Trader Joe's which is frankly, ace, but there aren't enough of them. It's worth the hike though. Supermarkets sorted.

Alas, next problem. The food is far too sweet for my palate (and I pride myself on my sweet tooth - my girth takes some beating let me assure you). Why did no-one tell me this important stuff before I came? No wonder they don't have what is surely the epitome of umami, Marmite. The bread is so sweet, you hear your teeth decay as you chew. No wonder dentistry here is good; born out of necessity methinks.

It was suggested to me that I try Anderson's the bakery and try to get my grubby little mitts on an English loaf. I felt like a fool going in and asking with what sounded like the Queen's accent (in contrast only!) for an English loaf. It cost $3 for what to me is half a white tin loaf. It was OK, but white. I knew granary was off the cards, but white bread is a thing of my childhood and that is where it is staying thank you very much. Still, it's early days and I shall find ways around it I'm sure, like quitting my whinging and making my own. It's only bread.

I have even acquired some Marmite, a gift from one who must be the most generous soul in the world - see I told you that San Franciscan's were friendly. Now we can add magnanimous to the list.