Ideal Grocery Stores and Expectation-Exceeding Cupcakes

My favorite time to go the grocery store is late at night—or rather, early in the morning.  There’s something strangely peaceful about perusing the aisles alone besides the two or three remaining employees and the occasional college student, arms loaded with Tim’s Jalapeño chips, some sort of soda or energy drink, and the last-minute snag of check stand beef sticks, all in an effort to cure the late-night munchies. 

Between 1 and 2am is gold. 

Besides the prime parking, it’s the hour just before closing and as the sole customer, I receive a personal and warm welcome—as least as far as grocery store greetings go. The store is quiet besides the gentle thud of cans being restocked, a slop of water under a mop, and the often quirky, yet endearing music playing over the PA system. 

A crowded aisle makes me uneasy. My cart and I become an incredibly awkward dance couple as I am forced to sashay it from side to side to get out of someone’s way.  In this case I put my head down, stick to my list, and focus on carefully and quickly navigating the minefields (aisles) with the next item as my destination, all the while asking that others “excuse” and “pardon” me.

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My ideal grocery store conditions (the ones found on the late weeknights described above) allow me to walk slowly and carelessly, admiring artistic packaging and imagining the taste of spices I have never heard the name of before.  Especially dreamy are the myriad of flours—ones made from buckwheat, coconut, pistachios—nut butters, and newly crossbred fruit.

A normal person might dream of renting out Disneyland for the day, re-riding Splash Mountain until they achieve the perfect picture descending from the peak—or at least one where their head isn’t buried or face distorted in horror.

I myself would be overjoyed to spend the day at Haggen.  No list. No mission. Just smelling the dill and examining the thousands of products I frequently pass by.  But that’s another story.

My latest trip to the store was comedic. If you ask me, everyone and their aunt’s nephew’s baseball coach was there stalking up on groceries as if they thought the Mayan calendar was off by a couple of weeks.  I was in pursuit of ingredients for several recipes by famous food blogger Molly Wizenberg.

Potatoes, dill, and caraway seeds for her father’s famous potato salad and too many things to list for her go-to chocolate cupcakes.

Here’s the comedic (and embarrassing) part. As the clerk rang up my treasures I dropped my purse. No big deal, right? Wrong.

With the zipper conveniently open, the contents of the open compartment (a truck, scratch that, purse load of coins) clinked and clattered across the floor.  I stooped to the floor to begin the long and arduous task of picking pennies off linoleum…only, I couldn’t pick up a single one.

I was handicapped by my own fingernails, freshly French manicured and adorned with acrylic nails. At a loss, I attempted to scoot the change under the side of the counter with my shoe, hoping somehow no one noticed.

The kind clerk instead came out from behind the counter and picked up every last penny.  Upon receiving my change, he jokingly pretended to drop it on the floor.

I dashed out of the store hot coffee in hand (an ingredient for the cupcakes). It bubbled, foamed, and splashed as I ran through the dark parking lot in the rain, eager to get to my kitchen.

I must admit. I am a cupcake skeptic.  In my book, cake doesn’t stand a chance against a thick, fudgey brownie unless it is obscenely piled high with frosting (contrary to the modest “cap” of melted chocolate the cupcakes would wear in Wizenberg’s recipe).

As soon as I finished the batter, I knew something was special…and anyone else would have, too, if they had seen me barbarically assaulting the beaters with my face. Too much information, I know. 

They glistened with moistness as they came out of the oven and I excitedly measured and melted the chocolate chips that would soon cap their crowns.  And then…and then I ate a number of cupcakes I choose not disclose.  And some more.  Wizenberg's recipe can be found here.