Quotes About Supermarket

The astounding variety of foods on offer in the modern supermarket obscures the fact that the actual number of species in the modern diet is shrinking. For reasons of economics, the food industry prefers to tease its myriad processed offerings from a tiny group of plant species, corn and soybeans chief among them.

Supermarket cherry tomatoes do serve a purpose, but the flavor is vastly different than those from your own garden. Same for broccoli and snap peas.

she'd braved a trip to the supermarket that morning, where her fellow housewives were acting practically feral, grabbing for the last loaf of bread or gallon of milk or four-pack of toilet paper, as if everyone's snow-day plans included French toast and diarrhea.

She pulled out her phone to take pictures, then picked up the bottle of wine, and looked a question at Daisy. We only needed one cup for the rice, right? Examining the bottle, she asked, Is this wine just for cooking, or is it okay to drink? Oh, that's actually important, said Daisy. Don't ever buy cooking wine at the supermarket. Never, ever cook with a wine you wouldn't drink.

did not have enough substance to trigger the opening of a supermarket door

The bottom line is that Germany is still an underappreciated food country. Furthermore, buying bread, cheese, and especially sausage in the supermarket will almost certainly not be disappointing. The best ethnic food in Germany is often from groups that don't make their way in very large numbers to the United States.

The fish on sale in your supermarket may have died slowly, from suffocation. If it was a deep-sea fish, dragged to the surface by the net of a trawler, it may have died painfully from decompression.

I'm often misunderstood at my supermarket in Sussex, not because of my accent but because I tend to deviate from the script. Cashier: Hello, how are you this evening? Me: Has your house ever been burgled? Cashier: What? Me: Your house—has anyone ever broken into it and stolen things? With me, people aren't thinking What did you say? so much as Why are you saying that?

thinking you are attacking society when you condemn or ravage the hypothetical Nice Girl Next Door is the exact equivalent of thinking that stealing from the local supermarket makes you a Communist.

People always talk about being overwhelmed in a supermarket. I've never felt that feeling. I like lots of choices.

cash a forged U.S. Treasury check for $37.50 in Ralph's, a Los Angeles supermarket. According to the arresting officers, Manson told them he had stolen the check from a mailbox. Two more

Would you love me if you knew I suck down liver blood in the supermarket?

The more of what our music does violates the premise of its format that it's presented in, the better. So, hearing our music in the supermarket, a Muzak version, is great.

I don't think music is a commodity. It can be something that you buy in a supermarket and you throw it away! There's a lot of music you can use in this way, but I'm not interested in that music, even if sometimes it's funny to hear and pleasant to hear. I'm far away from that.

Today's orthodoxy thrives on someone else doing the cooking. The single-service packet from the supermarket has replaced the sit-down home-cooked meal as the most common food choice. Easy foodism disengages people from the process and creates a level of food illiteracy unthinkable just a few short decades ago.

Everything was fine, would continue to be fine, would eventually get even better as long as the supermarket did not slip.

The supermarket shelves have been rearranged. It happened one day without warning. There is agitation and panic in the aisles, dismay in the faces of older shoppers. They walk in a fragmented trance, stop and go, clusters of well-dressed figures frozen in the aisles, trying to figure out the pattern, discern the underlying logic, trying to remember where they'd seen the Cream of Wheat.

Steffie took my hand and we walked past the fruit bins, an area that extended about forty-five yards along one wall. The bins were arranged diagonally and backed my mirrors that people accidentally punched when reaching for fruit in upper rows.

bright. This was the key, it seemed to us. Everything was fine, would continue to be fine, would eventually get even better as long as the supermarket did not slip.

I followed him into the supermarket. Blasts of color, layers of oceanic sound. We walked under a bright banner announcing a raffle to raise money for some incurable disease. The wording seemed to indicate that the winner would get the disease. Murray likened the banner to a Tibetan prayer flag.

This was the key it seemed to us. Everything was fine, would continue to be fine, would eventually get even better as long as the supermarket did not slip.

Some of the houses in town were showing signs of neglect. The park benches needed repair, the broken streets needed resurfacing. Signs of the times. But the supermarket did not change, except for the better. It was well-stocked, musical and bright. This was the key, it seemed to us. Everything was fine, would continue to be fine, would eventually get even better as long as the supermarket did not slip.

There were two new developments in the supermarket, a butcher's corner and a bakery, and the oven aroma of bread and cake combined with the sight of a bloodstained man pounding at strips of living veal was pretty exciting for us all.

Today, as never before—the information media having become to enlightenment as the cereal aisle is to the supermarket—if you choose not to access the past, you are de facto free to rule it out of existence, at least so far as you might be concerned.