For the Love of Bulk

Brother and I took to Winco today for some reconnaissance.  His budget is strained right now and he enlisted my help in acquiring essential food goods for the least amount of money.  Such things require Winco.  Such things also require his sister's superior budgeting and sustenance retrieval skills.

Much to my dismay and unprecedented surprise, Winco was an effing madhouse.  Luckily the panic didn’t set in until after we’d combed most of the aisles and were in search of contact lense solution (which they do not carry) and contemplating whether or not the pickles were a worthwhile investment.  We decided they were, but not worthwhile enough to maneuver the thickening crowd coagulating around the entrance where the killer pickle deal resided.  We shall forego the savings and forge on, Comrade, into the treacherous unknown . . .

Items best bought in bulk:

Dried beans

Spices

Nuts

Rice

Canned fish

Items more or comparable in price to other groceries:

Most produce

Deli meat

Bulk cheese

Minced garlic

Fine juices

Non-bulk cereal

We felt pretty good upon completing our two-hour excursion, but only after we got the hell out of the sea of overloaded shopping carts and children darting around our knees.  I splurged on the four-dollar bottle of juice because it was made in my hometown, and Brother went ahead and splurged on sixteen cans of tuna to get him through the next couple months.  A valiant effort, at forty-nine cents a can.

Our checker was unfortunately and visibly dissatisfied with her life even though I didn’t notice until we left the store and Brother noted, “Wow, our checker was really dissatisfied with her life.”  He said it while mildly distracted by a shoplifter trying to get away with nabbed goods on his bicycle, which was a little silly because his bicycle was still chained up to the bike parking post, and he was then pinned to the side of the building by two beefy dudes in black shirts and escorted away.

As we loaded our groceries into the car I thought about how long it’d been since I’d seen that much packaged meat in one place (that’s what she said?) and decided I would only make minimal trips to such expansive and frenetic stores because my stress level was markedly higher coming out than going in (that’s what she said?) and I’d long lost count of how many times Brother made jokes about “tube meat.”

Feeling satisfied and rather accomplished but also much too hungry, the only reasonable reward was hitting a dirty Chinese food buffet on 82nd Avenue.  I felt okay about the assorted vegetables and not too bad about the various meats in sweet sugary sauces, but completely regretted the Banana Vanilla Cake because

a)  it was not, in fact, cake but much-too-banana-y banana pudding made with Nilla Wafers

b)  I had two bites too many.  I do not know why I felt driven to the second bite, but it was worse than the first and my pallet will forever hate me for it.

I made Brother try it and he shared my sentiments, which I think in this case I will call “antiments” because that seems much more appropriate.  And, truth be told, I feel better now with heavy carbohydrate-laden Chinese food in my guts than I did all day eating moderately healthy.  I think it must have been my non-hangover hangover, as I only had two sips of beer last night with my pancakes and bacon at ten o’clock, and the only cure for a hangover of any variety is something greasy and regretful.

I shall not make the same mistake again.