LizaInMoscow

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Location: Atlanta, Georgia, United States

Sunday, October 08, 2006

How not to buy Hummus

I had so much work that I skipped lunch. This, for me, was a milestone, but at some point the grumbling in my stomach out-sang the music in my headphones and I was forced to go to the supermarket.

It was nice to get out of the office, even if only for a few minutes. The air was just cold enough to be cool but not yet cold enough to be biting; the sky, grey enough to make me a little sad but not yet grey enough to bring on full-fledged melancholy; and the leaves remaining on the trees were half green and half every other color that autumn has to offer. As I walked along the all-to-familiar aisles of the supermarket (the very same one in which I had my 15-gram incident just 10 months ago), a plastic container caught my eye: ‘It can’t be!’ I thought to myself. But it was: hummus. And where there is hummus, there has to be tahini. For those of you who are not familiar with these paste-like products, they are a major part of Israel’s national cuisine. Hummus is basically mashed chickpeas while tahini is, well, I’m not sure what it is but it’s very tasty. Actually, I am not sure that it’s so much the taste as it is the memories of a certain period of my life that draws me to this strange grey paste. Either way, I just can’t bring myself to walk past it indifferently. I immediately grabbed a small container of tahini and took to studying the label eagerly trying to find those three magical words: Made in Israel.

No sooner had I found them than I heard a voice coming from behind me.

‘That’s really expensive.’ I turned around to find the store security guard standing several feet away. He wore a mustache that was so perfectly curved that it could have been store-bought and his eyeballs darted back and forth from my face to the container of tahini in my hand.

‘I’m sorry?’ I asked, unsure if he was really talking to me. Indeed he was.

‘That’s very expensive because it’s made in Israel,’ he repeated, leaning forward with his arms clasped behind his back and as if pointing with his entire body to the small horde of containers.

‘Really?’ I asked, trying to be polite.

‘120 roubles [$4],’ he answered, nodding his head with decisive precision.

‘Yeah, that is a little expensive,’ I said. ‘But I think it’s worth it.’ I continued examining the label, hoping he would go away. Within a couple of moments, I forgot about guard-man and was swept up by a small wave of nostalgia for the time in my life during which the fridge was always stacked with containers of hummus and tahini. I let out a heavy sigh, snapped back into reality and lowered the tahini into my basket.

‘There are smaller containers of hummus,’ he said approaching the shelf. The hummus containers were, in fact, about double the size of the containers of tahini and babaganoush. He lounged towards the shelf, unleashing his previously clasped behind the back hands and his arms flew forward as he took to scrambling through the various packages.

‘I don’t want hummus,’ I said. ‘I actually just want this,’ I said holding up my tahini.

‘No, I’m just sure that we have smaller containers of hummus. Just hold on one second.’ By now, the upper half of his torso was completely out of site, consumed by the upper and lower shelves between which he had managed to thrust himself. He rummaged through every stack of pastes, mumbling to himself: ‘No, babaganoush, tahini, babaganoush…’ All the while, I stood behind him trying to make him understand that, really, I just wanted tahini.

‘Really, I just want tahini,’ I said, trying to console him.

‘But I’m certain that we have hummus,’ he said again, just as calmly as the first time. ‘I just need to find it.’

‘That won’t be necessary, but thank you so much for your help,’ I said, ‘I’m going to go now.’ Clearly disappointed, he ejected himself from the mouth of the shelf.

‘Nope, I didn’t find a smaller hummus,’ he said shaking his head slightly. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘No, really, its fine. This is what I wanted,’ I said playfully holding up the container that had, by then, thrice been forced out of the safe harbor my basket. ‘Thanks again,’ I said and made my way to the register. He lifted his hand in a single movement of ‘goodbye’, gave me a solemn nod of the head, re-clasped his hands behind his back, and got back to work, looking to save another shopping soul from the inflated prices of imported goods.