Adventures in Grocery Shopping

We walked into a neighbourhood grocery store, on a quest for a taste of home. Since we're staying in a place with a kitchen, we decided to make ourselves at home in kiwi culture by making one of our favourite dishes from the states: chicken soup with tofu and leeks. We were sure that we'd be able to find all of the necessary ingredients, and we were really craving a taste of home.

The first steps into any grocery inevitably lead you through the produce department. In a foreign country this is roughly like falling through the rabbit hole: things are familiar, but rearranged and slightly off kilter compared to our sense of normal. The colours look a little different, prices are based on kilograms instead of pounds, and foods that would cozily rest side by side in the States now lie a respectable distance from each other. We picked up the obligatory kiwis, much larger than we're used to seeing, along with some fiejoas (these are related to the guava family, but are green, tomato-like in texture, and taste unlike anything I've encountered to date). Far from disgusting, we picked up enough to snack on for the next few days.

Limes, check. Leeks, check. Cilantro...hmmm, it should be with the rest of the herbs. No dice on a cursory glance. We head for the nearest employee.

"Excuse me, but do you sell cilantro?"

The gentleman gives us a confused look. "What? What is that again?"

"Cilantro. An herb, has small flat leaves like parsley, very fresh taste?"

"I've never heard of that. Let's see, maybe this is what you're looking for," as he leads us to the beet greens. Not quite.

As we try again to explain what cilantro looks and tastes like, two different shoppers make their way over to us. Evidently foreigners fumbling through grocery stores is a spectator sport here. They both start offering possible names for this mystery herb, showing us a variety of plants, smelling and peering into our faces to gauge our reactions. One woman sniffs her herbs, mulling over our newest rendition of a description. "Oh, you must mean coriander?" She offers me a sniff of her greenery.

Yes, the scent matches. It looks about right too. I'm tempted to pull off a leaf to chew, but somehow that seems too personal (as though putting my nose into another woman's groceries isn't).

The stock person breathes a sigh of relief. The mystery solved, he can now assuredly lead us to the herb section, deftly recommend the best buy, and go about his business. We grab a package of coriander and head for the next isle. Mystery solved.

Tofu, chicken, broth, a bottle of wine. Kiwi's are crazy about their wine, so we figured we'd start the monumental task of sampling the regional products. Ring it all up...uh oh, carded for the wine. (What do you mean you don't accept a Montana driver's licence as proof of age?) Evidently buying wine is a much more important task than renting a car, or driving legally for that matter. We need our passports to prove that we're old enough. We decide to forgo the wine for the moment and complete the purchase. Groceries in hand, we catch the next bus back to our neighbourhood.

Mum's words about a job well done ringing in my ears, I collect my passport later that evening and head back for that bottle of wine. Ultimately it wasn't very good, but we now know to bring our passports with us when we go to the grocery store. We also know to start thinking of coriander not as simply the spice, but as the plant that produces it. And we try to go to the stores often now: it's nice to cook for ourselves, save some cash, develop a routine and, most of all, taste home.