Any self-respecting Costco shopper knows about the samples. And often plans their shopping trip around the samples. I.E. show up when there are the most samples.
I used to be self-respecting. Now, I’m ruined. And, I just realized it today. About 30 minutes ago, while (guiltily) putting down the last of my Costco samples.
The ruination had been gradual. But, lately, it’s accelerating more rapidly. There is no medicine to cure it.
The cause: I’ve been reading.
The Omnivore’s Dilemma.
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.
Those books have been so eye opening and so motivating, that I have actually lost my palate for Costco samples. Some might say I’ve been liberated.
I will uphold that I am ruined.
I, the mother who took her 6-year-old son (who was as excited as I), to the grand opening of the new store a few months ago…at 8:00 am sharp…to partake in the deluge of oversized grand opening day samples. We were even in the Gazette.
We were the small purple and red clothed figures in the background rapidly scouting out the next sample table. Samples were our breakfast. I was proud to report to anyone who cared (or didn’t care) that I was one of the first people to the NEW Costco.
That was then. This is now.
After reading the aforementioned books, I have begun noticing all of the corn, or processed derivations of corn, that are in the majority of foods available in any food store. I have caused my family to eat even less industrialized food than we did before, which wasn’t that much. But, now, instead of going to Costco to enjoy the samples, of which there were many today, with each bite, I think to myself…I wonder how many feet of manure this beef stood in? I wonder how many (corn derived?) preservatives are in this mozzarella cheese to cause it to be good until the end of next month. I wonder what goes into the Yoplait Yogurt that makes it hold together so smoothly and taste so sickly strawberry-y.
I’m ruined I tell ya.
Not to mention the intestinal burning war that began in my lower abdominal cavity on the way home. Some type of flame throwing artillery began launching from one side of my intestines to the other, then the enemy would fire back with acid filled firehose. And, back and forth. And back and forth. And, as I write, it continues.
I’ve been ruined.
Or, I’ve been liberated. I’m starting to think that’s actually the case.
Liberated from thinking that Honey Nut Cheerios are good for you (how many ingredients on the label can you not understand?) From thinking that grocery store yogurt is wholesome (what were those cows fed [corn, but they are meant to eat grass] and with how many other thousands of cows did they live in their tightly confined feed lot?) From wanting to buy a big, fat, juicy rotisserie chicken (how much bloody stool did it expel in its 6 or 7 weeks of never-exposed-to-sunlight life?)
So. OK. I’m liberated.
And, lucky. That I can raise some of my own food. That we choose to raise our own food. And, that we continue to increase the amount and type of food that we raise.
- The Goat Cheese Lady