All right. You’ve seen the best, now see the rest. I promised you a healthy dose of reality and here it is. Continuing on with my riveting adventure at the grocery store…

This is the milk aisle. Note the complete absence of refrigeration. This is what’s called UHT (Ultra High Temperature) milk, or as I call it, dégueulasse, disgusting. It has a shelf life of up to 6 months and has the taste and consistency of liquid plastic, yet people here buy it by the caseload. You can buy fresh milk just not regularly.

As for the international element, well, France isn’t known for embracing food of the world but at least they’re trying…

There’s even a little something from Canada here in Semur…

Of course I’ve kept my country’s contribution to France under my hat. The Americans are here in full force as well. What French fry would be complete without this…

Naturally, I don’t actually go to the grocery store very often. After all I am very busy being a celebrated author. But whenever I do darken the door, there are two areas that I never miss. Each time I stand in the aisle and close my eyes. I summon all the hope and optimism in my possession. I take a deep breath and snap my eyes open ready to receive salvation.

Hmph. Nothing. Not a tangy zip in sight. Still no bloody Miracle Whip. The nerve of this country. See, this is why I need an agent. She’d have crates of the stuff shipped to my door. One final stop. Again, hope springs eternal…

Bastards. Still no sour cream. I mean don’t these people realize who I am? I wrote an entire book about my arse and did two interviews in eastern Canada. I feel some bitch slapping coming on. I knew I’d get the hang of this celebrity thing.

 

 

Bookmark and Share
Share