the key ingredient in frog eye salad is acini di pepe pasta, little balls of pasta, that strangely enough, look nothing like frog eyes...
real frog eyes:
acini di pepe pasta aka, fake frog eyes:
amphibian culinary inaccuracies aside, I volunteered to bring frog eye salad to a Last Hurrah of Summer in Michigan picnic.
(For three months of the year Michiganders get to use words like warmth, Summer, sunshine, and green. Those pretty words disappear mid-September and are replaced with: polar vortex, snow-slammed, school closings, arctic blast, and my personal favorite, lake-effect snow.)
I went to a smaller Kroger that was close-ish to my house, collected all the ingredients for salad only to discover, no acini di pepe pasta. of course.
drove over to the larger Kroger about 3 miles away, nope! I sat in the 2nd Kroger parking lot knowing that my only option was to drive down the road to a third store... Meijer. The supersize-in-progress superstore.
I didn't want to go, mostly because I kept reliving how upside down, inside out, higgledy-piggledy and creepy(!) the store is during the "pardon our dust" phase.
for instance: here's a photo I took 3 weeks ago and the note I typed on my phone afterwards...
"the corner of creepiness."
real frog eyes:
acini di pepe pasta aka, fake frog eyes:
amphibian culinary inaccuracies aside, I volunteered to bring frog eye salad to a Last Hurrah of Summer in Michigan picnic.
(For three months of the year Michiganders get to use words like warmth, Summer, sunshine, and green. Those pretty words disappear mid-September and are replaced with: polar vortex, snow-slammed, school closings, arctic blast, and my personal favorite, lake-effect snow.)
I went to a smaller Kroger that was close-ish to my house, collected all the ingredients for salad only to discover, no acini di pepe pasta. of course.
drove over to the larger Kroger about 3 miles away, nope! I sat in the 2nd Kroger parking lot knowing that my only option was to drive down the road to a third store... Meijer. The supersize-in-progress superstore.
I didn't want to go, mostly because I kept reliving how upside down, inside out, higgledy-piggledy and creepy(!) the store is during the "pardon our dust" phase.
for instance: here's a photo I took 3 weeks ago and the note I typed on my phone afterwards...
"the corner of creepiness."
"I watched four people (in a row!) willingly/naively follow the hand-drawn "rest room" sign and walk behind the floor-to-ceiling creepy plastic curtains.
I waited.
I perused.
I never saw them again."
finally, I convinced myself that I had to go to Meijer because: 1. I made a promise to bring the quintessential Summer salad/dessert and 2. I'd be safe from horror creepiness since I didn't have to pee.
upon entering the wide open west parking lot, a major surprise; a large sign declaring the pharmacy drive-thru was now open!
next surprise: the east and west entrances are back!! and unlike the other supersized store that I glimpsed at-- there are benches inside for the elderly! #ElderlyTinderLivesOn
I wandered the supersized superstore's recovery-in-process with a goofy smile on my face:
*pharmacy no longer a kiosk, back to it's rightful/normal spot; the elderly's phlegm sit-in must've worked.
*the cashier lane lights are bright white, numbered in dark navy blue. the Meijer associate's faded/stretched red polo shirts/uniform have been replaced with dark navy blue polo shirts--so slimming(!)
*the Starbucks kiosk is gorgeously nestled into the hyper-scented flower/plants section, I'll have to OD on Zyrtec, but it's worth it!
*once again, after exiting the huuuuuuugggggge produce section, the first aisle is labeled #1!!
I'm so giddy with the improvements that I happily shrug-off and walk around the palettes of blenders, pillows, chips and adult diapers that still need to be stacked in the empty shelved sections, and even decide that Meijer's Helvetica can be forgiven. someday.
I remind myself that I came to Meijer--the supersized superstore--for a box of that elusive pasta, my stomach sank.
"has the supersized recovery progressed into the pasta section...?"
oh yeaaaaaah. weird pastas galore!
clutching my little box of fake frog eyes, with a massive smile on my face, I head for the newly-chic u-scan lanes, when I hear two 80 year old women lament...
"I want my old store back."
my heart "awwws" for their dilemma, but I know, as I watch former Mr. Obese-Cashier-In-Ill-Fitting-Red-Shirt-That-Can't-Cover-His-Fuzzy-Navel now transformed into Mr. Obese-Looking-Trimmer-In-Dark-Navy-Blue walk toward me, that the supersized superstore won me over, again.
well, for at least another 10 years.
finally, I convinced myself that I had to go to Meijer because: 1. I made a promise to bring the quintessential Summer salad/dessert and 2. I'd be safe from horror creepiness since I didn't have to pee.
upon entering the wide open west parking lot, a major surprise; a large sign declaring the pharmacy drive-thru was now open!
next surprise: the east and west entrances are back!! and unlike the other supersized store that I glimpsed at-- there are benches inside for the elderly! #ElderlyTinderLivesOn
I wandered the supersized superstore's recovery-in-process with a goofy smile on my face:
*pharmacy no longer a kiosk, back to it's rightful/normal spot; the elderly's phlegm sit-in must've worked.
*the cashier lane lights are bright white, numbered in dark navy blue. the Meijer associate's faded/stretched red polo shirts/uniform have been replaced with dark navy blue polo shirts--so slimming(!)
*the Starbucks kiosk is gorgeously nestled into the hyper-scented flower/plants section, I'll have to OD on Zyrtec, but it's worth it!
*once again, after exiting the huuuuuuugggggge produce section, the first aisle is labeled #1!!
I'm so giddy with the improvements that I happily shrug-off and walk around the palettes of blenders, pillows, chips and adult diapers that still need to be stacked in the empty shelved sections, and even decide that Meijer's Helvetica can be forgiven. someday.
I remind myself that I came to Meijer--the supersized superstore--for a box of that elusive pasta, my stomach sank.
"has the supersized recovery progressed into the pasta section...?"
oh yeaaaaaah. weird pastas galore!
clutching my little box of fake frog eyes, with a massive smile on my face, I head for the newly-chic u-scan lanes, when I hear two 80 year old women lament...
"I want my old store back."
my heart "awwws" for their dilemma, but I know, as I watch former Mr. Obese-Cashier-In-Ill-Fitting-Red-Shirt-That-Can't-Cover-His-Fuzzy-Navel now transformed into Mr. Obese-Looking-Trimmer-In-Dark-Navy-Blue walk toward me, that the supersized superstore won me over, again.
well, for at least another 10 years.
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