One for the Road

I think winter makes me hungry. The food themes keep on coming.

A quick story.

Tonight I had a few errands to run after work. There's snow on the streets in Chicago, and the streets are slick, meaning no one knows how to drive, and I'm getting a little frustrated. They should make people learn to drive in the winter, make us take our drivers tests in weather, seriously. Then set us loose.

This is the last errand, a trip to a modest grocery store. There must be hundreds of them in the city, but I go to this one because there's usually parking in front. And they keep late hours.

The shopkeeper is a quiet guy, an average sort of guy, deep middle-age, thin blondish hair that will never go gray. He's never said two words to me except maybe, Aisle Three to the left.

Not that he has to talk or smile, for sure not. People need the benefit of the doubt. Nobody has to be smiley any time of day. Nowhere is it written. And there's plenty to feel grumpy about, actually, no matter who you are. We all have stress. Remarkable levels of stress.

So he's generally not very communicative, not with me, and I am used to it, have come to expect it and even hope for some sort of dismal exchange. It's nice to be able to predict a few things along the road. I imagine my counter guy has to say, Aisle Three on your left too many times in a day.

As I pull up my cart he's counting up the coupons, organizing his drawer a little. He finishes what he's doing and without looking up, starts to ring up my items.

At some point I see him toss something into a white plastic bag and hear him mutter something under his breath. Peanut butter. I hear it clear as day.

I bought this off brand kind of peanut butter, all he's got on the shelf. I ask, "Is it any good, this peanut butter?"

He concentrates on bagging but raises his eyebrows. "I don't know."

So I ask, "So what did you say before you said peanut butter, anyway? I heard you say peanut butter, but didn't catch what you said before peanut butter."

He looks up at me for the first time in his life and says, "Grape jelly. I said, Grape jelly and peanut butter are my favorite. And that's what you have here. Grape jelly and peanut butter. Mmmmm Mmmmmm. I love grape jelly with peanut butter. It's my favorite thing on earth."

And he smiles.

"Mine too!" I lie. The truth is that I prefer orange marmalade to grape jelly, but grape takes a second, if a distant second. But you need grape jelly in the house in case you're in the mood sometime, and we've been out of it for too long. So I bought it, a big jar of Smucker's grape jelly.

He's obviously not impressed with the marshmallow fluff in my cart, hasn't commented on that. But it's good, too, if you haven't tried it, with peanut butter, if a little decadent nutrition-wise.

He's clearly happy now. "Yup! Grape jelly is the only way to eat a peanut butter sandwich!"

Excited, he engages me in this discussion and I couldn't be more pleased. Truthfully, there aren't very many people who care all that much here. He continues to say, "Did you ever try that Smuckers jelly-peanut butter combination? It comes in one jar, a mixture; peanut butter and jelly."

"No," I admit, thinking this is not for me, the peanut butter/jelly combo in a jar, that it's probaby too sweet. "But if you say it's good, I'll try it." And I'm thinking, well, maybe one day. He is convincing.

"It's amazing," he assures me, nodding furiously.

"Great, thanks for the tip."

"Any time," he says, friendly as can be, all smiles as I walk out the door.

The social lesson here, obviously, is that there's a way in to everyone. Right?

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