My coffee post, and this article by Marion Nestle about the 2010 Dietary Guidelines released by the FDA yesterday, have me thinking about groceries.

Anyone who has read this blog for a while must know, I’m a big believer in buying real food, preferably from people you know. We buy a pig and a lamb every year (although I’m pretty sure Himself doesn’t love lamb the way I do). People give us gifts of elk and antelope and home-raised beef on occasion. I have a garden and chickens for eggs.

But I guess one of the reasons I wanted to blog about my weird affection for Maxwell House French Roast coffee is that the whole food thing gets so unbearably precious. I could spend more money for coffee that isn’t grown and packaged by a conglomerate, but this coffee works for me. I don’t need to feel smug about my coffee or about its pedigree. It’s coffee. There’s nothing else in it — and I can even justify the plastic packaging because Himself reuses it. There are other “regular” groceries I still buy — Triscuits and Stoned Wheat Thins come to mind. Herdez salsas. Tilamook cheese. English tea. Citrus in winter. Pasta — mostly Barilla and DeCecco. The occasional hot dog and sliced ham from the deli counter for sandwiches. Frozen veggies sometimes — I like them for throwing into a soup or a pasta at the last minute.

Reading the Marion Nestle piece though it became clear that my lifelong tendency to avoid those center aisles — the ones where the mixes and prepared foods and the frozen dinners are — it became clear that even though I might buy commercial coffee, I’m still not really shopping like a “regular” American. Look at her discussion of sodium levels. If you’re cooking your own food, “from scratch” (see here for my hatred of that phrase) the sodium thing isn’t going to be a huge problem. However, one of the primary preservatives in most processed food is salt, and hence, if you’re eating a lot of food out of boxes, or frozen stuff, or even those prepared meals from the back of the store, then the sodium thing is going to be a huge issue.

Which brings me back around to one of my perennial questions: what “regular” foods do you buy at the store? Are there things you buy that you’d like to find a substitution for, but just haven’t managed to? Are there things you buy that you know aren’t great for you but you love anyway? Do these fall into the “treat” category or into the “must-have” category?

For many years, I didn’t really drink coffee, but now that I live with someone who is very much not a morning person, and who introduced me to the decadent habit of having a cup of coffee in bed before rising, well, I am now a coffee drinker.

However, I am not not not a coffee snob. I find all the fussing repellant. As well as the mere idea of spending a gazillion dollars on a home expresso machine. Just seems showoffy, and if I want some foamy coffee thing, I’ll walk over two blocks and support a local business. We don’t have Starbucks here, which is good because their coffee tastes distinctively burned to me, and like Suzy Orman, I just think spending more than a buck fifty on coffee is ridiculous.

That’s why chez LivingSmall, our coffee of choice is Maxwell House French Roast — which comes in that big plastic container you see in the photo above. And there’s no fancy schmancy fussing around with brewing — we use a plain vanilla automatic drip coffee maker that can be set on a timer (although mornings when I’m home alone, I’ll use my French press, if only because I don’t need a ginormous pot).

I was never a grind-your-own beans sort of gal anyhow, mostly because I have a cheap ass coffee grinder, and I hate the noise. That is not a noise anyone should be subject to in the morning. Back in the old days when I’d go to France on occasion, I’d bring back packets of Cafe Noir — the basic supermarket coffee of France, because I love that medium-brown taste and texture. And for many years I drank French Market coffee — again, I liked the chicory edge, and it made this nice opaque cup of coffee. But I have to admit, until I started hanging out with the Sweetheart, it would never have occurred to me to even try the big brands. To my surprise, Himself was right, this is a great coffee, for a great price. It makes a nice strong cup with good body, but it’s not too acidic or bitter — I don’t get that feeling that a hole is being burned in my stomach (the reason I drank only very strong tea for many years). And it’s cheap! A 2 pound container usually runs between nine and twelve dollars, depending on store specials. I was paying the same for Costco coffee, and frankly, I like this better (and don’t have to drive to Bozeman if we run out).

The only problem is those big plastic containers, but since Himself is a contractor, they go in the shed to be filled with hardware, or used as paint containers. So even they go to good use.

So there it is, my confession of low-grad former coffee snobbery, and how I got over it. I’m sure this means I’ll be permanently barred from ever moving to Seattle or Portland!

A weekend like this one, when someone decides to murder a bunch of civic-minded folks who have come to a supermarket to chat with their Congresswoman, well, it makes you think about all the things you can’t control in this world.
So I came inside, and I cleaned my floors, and washed my slipcovers, and made an angel food cake with all those egg whites left over from the Christmas profiteroles and then made a loaf of Darina Allen’s Brown Soda Bread (since I was out of regular bread and the sourdough starter needed some time). I’ve got a leftover lamb stew on the stove and the house smells like bread.
I can’t do anything about so much of the craziness of the world. But I can, as Voltaire noted, “tend my own garden.” And so, today, that’s what I did.

Six years ago today Vivi and Lola arrived in our world. It was the first good thing that had happened in a while — both for me, and for my friend Nina, their mom. We’d both had a rough couple of years — people we loved had died, and we were both sort of losing our faith in the universe.

And then this unlikely, and terrifying pregnancy Nina went through worked out. Two squalling babies with full heads of hair emerged, biting the doctors on their way out, and dropped into our world. They were so tiny that they scared me to death. But there we were, four writers in a room in the Billings Hospital trying to name two babies — there was a lot of talk about syllabics, and sounds we liked next to one another. The men both insisted that one of them was going to be Lola, and so she is, while the big sisters wanted Violet.

So we have Vivi and Lola, and today they are six years old. First graders. And as much as I love their older sisters, and their little brother, it was those two twins, who needed someone to hold them during the two years when I needed someone to hold as I came out of the depths of my grief, who will always hold a specific place in my heart. I never thought one of my happiest memories would be sitting on a white couch, watching Barefoot Contessa while it snowed outside and Vivi or Lola howled herself to sleep.

And now they are six, and going to the American Girl store to pick out a present and playing tennis and going to first grade and reading and writing and having opinions. Which is certainly something to be thankful for, and I am …