Lots of green leafy things I don’t know the name of. Some, like spinach and mizuna and rocket lettuce, I do. Fern fronds, bamboo shoots, shiitake mushrooms, mountain potatoes, onions, red radishes, rape blossoms, strawberries, a few very expensive tomatoes. We also bought a rather bedraggled strawberry plant that seemed to be on sale. It was displayed with two other pathetic plants, like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree, in a lonely place with no price, but when the cashier went to check they offered no discount and not wanting to look cheap I paid the regular price.
The two women customers in line behind me were from a Southeast Asian country. A few blocks from the mother-in-law’s house there’s a new Indian restaurant run by a group of Indian (or at least from the general area) men. Judging by the number of cars in the parking lot it’s a popular place. Their sign says they do take-out. I made Sam go in and ask for a take-out menu but, as I thought, they don’t have one. They don’t put their hours of business on their sign or show their quite low prices. Advertise that nan oven! Sam and I are always quick to dole out unheard business advice to restaurants. Down the street is the always-empty restaurant Annie Hall. We’re obsessed with its unsuccess and always drive by to see how many customers they have. Boring, overpriced menu of the usual Japanese pastas and pizzas that have nothing to do with New York. Blasphemy. A restaurant named Annie Hall can’t offer a cream cheese and smoked salmon bagel for lunch? Really, they all should listen to our excellent advice.
Sam’s mother asked him to buy bananas. Later that night after I went to bed they shared a banana and she told him a story. When she was young her father brought home the exotic treat of bananas. She and her sister were excited to see what they tasted like but weren’t allowed, only her older bother and father got to eat them. The unworthy females watched. Now she can eat all the bananas she wants.