Supermarket Sweeps

BOSTON – After a long, arduous journey, I have made it out of the wilderness. I went to a Trader Joe's.

Trader Joe's is a supermarket, but that's like saying brie is a type of cheese. Joe's is market with specialty foods in Coolidge Corner, a fashionable part of the Bostonian suburb of Brookline.

The cornucopia of foods available include eight Merlots, Greek style yogurt and a whole aisle of fruit leather. I heard someone ask an employee, "Where are your Thai dumplings?" (Answer: Aisle 7.) All the creature comforts are here, plus items that can make a long day at work more tolerable: heat-and-serve masala, for instance.

Every country on Earth now has a supermarket, even Taiyuan, China. I stopped into the Taiyuan store to purchase a few supplies for an overnight train to Zhengzhou in May. Taiyuan is the dry, dusty capital of China's Shanxi province. It is the third-most polluted city in the world, and is almost completely without charm. My view of the city skyline was blocked out by a dust storm. Taiyuan's supermarket matches the end-of-the-Earth feeling of the city. Partially open containers of crackers were $0.50, melted chocolates around $1. I grabbed a couple dusty plastic bottles of water and bought dinner next door at a KFC knockoff.

A week later I was back in Hong Kong, the city of Wellcome. As I've mentioned before, Wellcome is a clean, rather Western store. But the Western trapping means its shortcomings can be more apparent. There's no sharp cheddar cheese or couscous. Apples are the nuclear Granny Smith variety or include a worm. Don't even think about buying grapes. I refuse to buy seafood from any tanks that include frogs.

From Hong Kong it was on to Kansas, and the Super Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart's made large strides in its grocery business since 2000 - it now accounts for 40% of Wichita's grocery sales. Food at Wal-Marts tends to be in about a dozen aisles near the entrance. Prices are low, but there isn't the variety found in a traditional American supermarket. Forget about gourmet anything, and stock up on all the $0.30 taquitos you can eat. There's no couscous here, either.

So now I'm in Boston, happy as a pig in shit, because here's grocery store not only has couscous, but 15 varieties of it.