The Inside of My Refridgerator

I was thirsty and went to get a glass of milk. It was a hot summer’s day and the cool air from the refrigerator felt good. I leaned in and considered if I should get a snack too. As my gaze wandered the shelves looking for the perfect snack I was struck by how eclectic my families tastes were and how the inside of the refrigerator could transport one around the world. There was Greek yogurt, French bread, Mexican tortillas, Indian Basmati rice. If the contents of my refrigerator collected frequent flier miles, we’d be well on our way to a free ticket to somewhere. But wait, was that really true? I studied the labels carefully. The “Greek” yogurt was made in New York. The tortillas were not really Mexican, but they were made in Owatonna. The Parmesan cheese came from Illinois (why do we buy cheese from Illinois when we live so close to Wisconsin?). The “French bread” was the biggest let down. It was made in the Hy-Vee bakery in Rochester.   At least the rice was authentic. It really did come from India. My mother would have it no other way.
I looked in the vegetable crisper. It was mostly full of fruit. There was kiwi fruit from New Zealand, mangos from Costa Rica and grapes from Chile. Clearly the members of my family were not locavores. But wait – the shelf above that had vegetables. The carrots, radishes and the funny looking purple vegetable called eggplant had come from
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the farmer’s market, so they had not traveled far. So the winner’s in the travel category were clearly the fruit. As I trekked back to the couch with my bowl of grapes from Chile, I was thankful for the conveniences of modern life that makes it possible to be an international gourmand, without ever leaving the house.