I still remember the tears of joy expressed from the eyes of an old friend upon her return to the West Coast -- within driving range of a Trader Joe's. I had no idea what she was talking about -- it was 1996 and most people in Virginia didn't even know what a free-range chicken was -- but it sure sounded good.
Then one day, some five years later, I found myself driving around lovely Centreville (aka Fairfax), Virginia, where I found myself staring a Trader Joe's right in the eye. I rushed in, I rushed out, I rushed home with a grocery bag filled with treats. And every time work beckoned me north, I bought another bag of Trader Joe's delightful brand.
When a Trader Joe's finally opened here in Richmond, I convinced Nikole to bundle Thea up for a rainy, opening day visit. The baby was, quite literally, stunned beyond belief by the chaos and stimulation. Nikole and I were mostly unimpressed. We bought some mediocre eggrolls.
I felt a bit churlish about my discontent. After all, word on the street was that Trader Joe's was going to save us from the wages of food sin.
And than Brandon fired a few shots below the waterline at Trader Joe's in her column in last week's Style. I feel better now.
