I inherited a certain frugality which I didn’t think was all too sensible until I started shopping for myself; I don’t carry around a change purse like mom does. I’m not worried about being cheated; I was horrified to find a certain generation of Dutch people counting up the contents of their wallet before and after paying for anything.  My desire to avoid bringing out the stinginess of my dining companions outweighs the scrutiny of splitting up a dinner bill.

My money hang up is about pennies, they are a fun challenge to spend and paying cash helps me stick to a budget.  For those shops that I deem cash-only I make sure I have four pennies to ensure that I don’t receive pennies back as change.  Please, if you do not understand why I carry around four pennies or do not understand consumer math, you can stop reading this blog post now.

Scenario 1

Bill:  $14.19  – I tender $20.04.  Expected change $5.85

Here’s the unintentional grift.  When handing the pennies over to the cashier, one penny manages to drop and fall into the checkout conveyor belt.  Feeling bad, the cashier fishes out a dime from his own pocket and enters that I paid $20.13. I received $5.94.  A profit of$0.09

Scenario 2

Bill $13.67 – I tender $20.02.  Expected change $6.35

This one is a just a bit more dishonest.  I originally handed over $20.02.  I then realized that I had $0.67 and thought of handing it to the cashier but since she was already going through the till, I said “never mind” unknowingly setting off the grift.

The receipt officially says $13.67 billed, $20 tendered.  $6.33 is handed back to me and I asked why I got pennies back.  The cashier assumed that “never mind” applied to the two cents I handed her.

Apologetically, she hands back the two cents AS WELL AS $0.35,  completely forgetting that she already handed me $0.33.  A total of $6.70, a profit of $0.45

It’s becomes apparent around this time of year, at least at this latitude, that things are grim.  I start my day commuting in the dark, look out my office window to see grey skies, then trudge home in the dark.  My disorder does not stem from the lack of sunlight though… at least not directly.

The lack of sun plus the hard freeze leaves us depending on cold frame, hot-house, or imported produce.  Some of us don’t think twice about buying summer foods in winter like tomatoes, corn, and melon.  Others, who have a passion for eating seasonally grown food and patronizing local farmers are called locavores [ link ].  Failing that, those people who like the notion of eating local foods and are unable to find local growers, are encouraged to eat organic.

I realize that foods are most delicious at the height of their season, but ensuring proper provisions for the winter months requires canning.  The notion of fetching a jar of home grown something-or-other from the basement is delightful, but the last thing I want to do is give myself botulism.  As for practicing local or organic, take last night’s dinner:

Red-leaf lettuce and watercress salad (Mexico)
Mussels (Canada) with tomato (Florida hot-house)
Lemon (Chile) Spaghetti and Parma cheese (Italy)
Strawberries (Florida hot-house)

None of it local, none of it organic, and if we were counting the carbon food-miles, it’s a nightmare.

I don’t want to feel guilty, but therein lies the disorder.  We now have this responsibility laid upon us to eat well for ourselves, the well-being of the local economy, and the health of the planet.  Happily in the first world we can over analyze to think of a strategy for all of our neuroses and excesses.  The third world and industrializing nations have people out there are looking for clean water and food to buy let alone worrying about where it came from.

Food for thought? To me it’s food to agonize over… and don’t get me started on the politics of coffee.

The green grocer’s is a surprising recipe box full of ideas. Cultures meet to prod fruit, chat over the price of staples, and all ignore the tomatoes during the summer months. Listening carefully and sometimes asking politely will reward you with fresh ideas as well as deeply traditional methods of preparing food.

When it comes to those people who launch into unsolicited advice I tend to pay close attention, not to ascertain new facts no but to find out what kind of misinformation is being passed on. While picking through a bin of lemons (8 for $1.00), I overheard a conversation with a mother and son.

Mom: “You know how to pick a good lemon?”
Son: “Why?”
Clearly, this kid is on a path for a cocktail-shunning beer drinking future.
Mom: “Well, when I’m not around, you may need to buy lemons. Pick one that looks good and doesn’t have blemishes. See? Smooth skin.”

I wanted to whip a lemon at the woman. Either she’s been really lucky with picking juicy shiny lemons or she has not had a good lemon. I shook my head knowing if I yelled across the bin, I wouldn’t be heard. A lemon could be dry and pithy on the inside. Like a lot of fruit, it should feel heavy for its size. The lemon should be firm, but not hard. Blemishes are okay and shine may be because of wax. Like many things in life, do not take it at face value.