Evidence of the Insanity: Kwik Trip Vs. Whole Foods

One of these things just doesn't belong

I used to come home from my weeklong writing workshops and rave about the food… the baked salmon, the foaming lattes, Pam’s famous ceviche, Jo’s pumpkin butterscotch muffins, Martin's homemade pies with cinnamon ice cream, caribou burgers laced with garlic and spices and parsley. Jim said to me one day, “It’s not about the writing at all, is it? It’s all about the food.”

The first time Jim met my parents was when they came to visit for Easter in 2002. We sat down to a meal of steak and lobster and grilled veggies and before Jim had the time to tuck a napkin into the neck of his shirt, my mother, my father, and I were already on our way back for seconds.

When I told Ann about my nearly constant craving for steak, she said it’s because I’m having a boy. (But that doesn’t explain the fact that I’ve craved red meat since my first trip to the Ponderosa down on University Avenue or that I learned the proper way to cut a medium rare Porterhouse with a knife while other kids were still living on macaroni and cheese and bologna sandwiches.)

The question is can I blame the boy growing inside for me what happened Friday night, for the way I slinked up to the counter at Kwik Trip and slid a 26 ¼ oz can of Spaghettios with meatballs towards the pimple-faced cashier and gave him a dollar and told him I needed a bag? (Ann once told me that when she was pregnant she ate an entire can of Spaghettios right from the can without cooking it.). As soon as I got home, before I’d even taken off my shoes or checked the mail or fed the cats, I poured the contents of the can into a saucepan and turned up the heat. It wasn’t long before the bubbling sauce brought back memories of my childhood, fighting with Ann over who got the extra meatball when there was an odd number in the can (me, of course… I’m the oldest).

Can I blame the boy?

I wondered if something that permanently stained the white spoon orange could possibly be good for me, could have any nutritional value. And I was surprised to learn that each serving does have 10-15% of the daily recommended values of Vitamin A, Vitamin C, Calcium, Iron, and Folic Acid. Perhaps I can use that as my excuse for why I bought another can the next day at Econo Foods.

Sunday Rhonda and I walked around Lake Calhoun (slowly, we noticed…. The first time we did this we were passing everyone, but this time everyone was passing us… two pregnant women breathing heavy and trying to avoid getting overheated) and then made a trip to Whole Foods. I loaded up on all the foods I love but avoid because of the pesticides, filled my cart with organic peaches and pesticide free raspberries, organic cucumbers and strawberries and spring mix, my favorite organic vanilla yogurt and farm fresh organic brown eggs. We tasted a sweet basil pesto that we both ended up buying, and I broke it open as soon as I got home. I ate half a loaf of organic whole wheat bread smothered in pesto before I came up for air.

And for dinner I sat down to a delicious seasoned black angus prime ribeye and steamed organic zucchini. Dessert was half a pint of soft, ripe raspberries whipped into the creamy vanilla yogurt.

A month ago I was amazed at how good food tasted when I came back from the Davis farmers market and Pam filled my belly with salmon and tomatoes and baby turnips. Since then I have struggled to keep food down, living on lime popsicles and toast. A few weeks ago I fought nausea the day after I gorged myself on ribs and mom’s potato salad. And this weekend as I make my way from the first to the second trimester, right on schedule the morning sickness has subsided and all I want to do is eat. Considering that Jimmy Joe loved food as much as (if not more than) he loved basketball, it seems kind of fitting that on Father’s Day, pregnancy has become all about the food.