Magical

One of the things that T and I have in common is that we both lived in the midwest.  While I have just 8 years of heartland experience on my resume, she's a native, who's done some serious time in a small midwest town.  When we first met, we quickly discovered that we had in common a knowledge of the Village Inn, a respect for Dairy Queen, and general amusement at the inevitable small town business which combines shoe repair, gasoline, oil changes, and a liquor store.

And no small town would be complete without a grocery store.  In the tiny towns of the midwest, these stores often feature dusty shelves with expired cans of Dinty Moore stew alongside bags of off-brand potato chips.  In the small New Jersey town where T lives these days, there is a small market that would seem to resemble the midwest's local food emporiums.  But there the comparison ends.  T had mentioned before that in terms of space and range of choice available, this place is unbelievable.  When I finally visited this weekend, it did not disappoint.  Once you open the door it's like you've just stepped into the grocery store equivalent of Hermione Granger's magic purse.   

In narrow aisles, with shelves stocked to the (sagging) roof, is row after row of dream-come-true items.  My personal favorite is the row featuring cans of spray paint right next to an impressive assortment of potato chips.  Juices and spices are in the next aisle down.  The liquor section ranges along the back, along with kids' toys, plenty of toiletries, and god-only-knows what else. 

Suffice it to note that in the deli case there is a sign advertising the fact that you can order a whole pig (though it takes a week, so you'll have to cool your heels before that bacon is in your belly). 

Oh, the possibilities.