My little shallot

Yesterday, Roo was nice enough to offer to do our grocery shopping for the week. He told me to send him a list of what I needed, and he’d pick it up in the morning. I was rushing around, getting ready for work, so I ended up just copying and pasting the ingredients lists for a couple of dishes I plan to make. I even separated the list by sections of the store to limit his confusion! I figured he was doing a good job because I didn’t hear from him. Then I got a text message.

“They don’t have thinly sliced shallots. Just whole ones. How many?”

I honestly don’t know how I kept my cool in the office, but I managed to respond that I only needed one. Later when I got home, and he was recounting his traumatic shopping experience, I had tears streaming down my face because I was laughing so hard and could barely breathe!

He said he had purposely left the produce section for last because he knew it would be the hardest. He ended up spending more time with the vegetables than in all the other aisles combined. When he got there, he started filling his cart with the easy stuff: 6 oz. spinach – check, 2 onions – check, thinly sliced shallots…??? He looked in the refrigerated section where they had the sliced mushrooms, and pre-diced onions – a reasonable place to begin the search, right? – but couldn’t find them. Frustrated after several laps around the area, he asked a worker – Asian, male, around his age – “Excuse me, can you tell me where the thinly sliced shallots are?,” showing him my list that he had carefully printed out. The guy, Roo says, stared at him strangely for a few seconds before slowly saying, “Um, we…don’t have those. Only the whole ones…over there.”

At this point, I’m literally howling and rolling on the floor, and Roo is asking, “Why didn’t you just write SHALLOT?? I felt like such an idiot!” I tried explaining, between gasps and giggle fits, that I had just copied and pasted the list from a recipe online, but his ego remains ever so slightly bruised. Of course, now I’m campaigning for him to do more of our shopping, if only for more stories like this! It is no exaggeration to say it was the highlight of my day. It’s even spawned a new nickname – only time will tell if it sticks! The French have a similar term of endearment – mon petit chou-chou (trans: my little cabbage), but c’mon, doesn’t mon échalote émincée (my thinly sliced shallot) sound just a tiny bit cuter?


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