Taj Ma-Heeb

OK, so my husband and I just got back from our maiden voyage to the new uber-HEB down the street, and have christened the thing "The Taj Ma-Heeb." Everything was piled in great glittering pyramids and by the time we managed to micro-steer our heaping cart around all the butts in sweatpants, clots of shrieking, devil-eyed children, and shaking, overwhelmed old people, two hours later, we were exhausted.

Let's go play by play: first, at the door, which wasn't a door but rather the kind of gaping, air-blasting maw that you would drive a troop carrier through, we were greeting by people passing out maps. Fucking MAPS. I laughingly turned one down, only to realize that within ten minutes I had lost my husband, our cart, and all sense of purpose and identity. But I did find a completely new vegetable-- I forgot what it's called because I wasn't brave enough to buy it, guess how to cook it, and then attempt to digest it-- but it looked like broccoli with tessellations. Amazing. Then I found some kind of root that looked like a giant penis, maybe belonging to an Old World ape, and then I got locked in a terrible matrix of carts piloted by angry Mexican women waiting for a sample of tortellini. None of them would look at me except to give me hawk-like warning glares when I pushed gently on the bars of their carts, trying to escape. So I waited, clutching my garlic cloves and trying to look small.

I finally found my husband wandering through the barbecue section with a look of gentle wonder on his face. He was ecstatic-- all the these new gadgets to shove up inside a chicken's nether-regions! (Side note: grilling is some kind of solemn, totemic ritual for him. For one, he's a fire magician-- he can summon a crackling blaze from limp wet leaves in a freezing Oklahoma forest in the middle of the night. But bringing food to the fire, that's where you see the real concentration. I can easily imagine his ancestors making the same squinting, appraising grill-face when burning heretics at the stake.)

So we struggled on, dodging a whole softball team browsing through the gourmet cheese aisle, and managed to assemble most of the essentials to keep our household running-- namely chips, beer, and semi-sweet chocolate morsels for cookies. Random things kept catching my eye, like a section labeled "British food" where you could get Dundee marmalade and a can of something called "Spotted Dick," which I'm going to have to buy at some point just so I can take it to a party and announce that I've brought the spotted dick. Apparently it's pudding.

So overall, our first trip to the Taj Ma-Heeb, though overwhelming, was pretty entertaining. I must admit that I was disappointed not to see anyone dressed as a banana or a jar of peanut butter doing that "oh-for-fuck's-sake-is-this-worth-minimum-wage?" dance. I mean, come on. Food costumes seem pretty standard for a grocery store opening.

Can't wait for that late night, tired as hell trip to the store when all I need is tampons and toothpaste and I get to trudge past a whole team of sushi chefs and that woman who rings a cowbell every time she pulls fresh French bread out of her giant oven...