Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (33 page)

“Wow. 
Tough break,” Bauser said.

“Yeah. 
It is.  I’m not so keen on the France thing.  Even though we still have Dad’s
villa.  But Janice will make me go with her.  And she’ll probably make me go
with her to visit the girls in Canada, too,” he sighed.

“Too
much traveling?” Bauser asked.

“Shopping,”
Norman answered glumly.

Jim
sat pretty for Norman and held out his paw.  Norman shook it and Jim leaned
into Norman’s thigh with a hug.  We waved bye-bye as Norman pulled away.

Ethel
and Ike came out on the front porch with the poofy Ratties dressed up in full
walking gear.

“I
thought I heard you out here,” Ethel said.  Hansel and Gretel yipped in
agreement.

“We
just pulled in,” I said.  I looked at the newly poofed pooches in their
matching twin wear.  They reminded me of the Star Trek episode about Tribbels. 
Except these were much larger and wore sequins.  “Going for a walk?” I asked.

Ethel
nodded.  “Ike found a doggie friendly sidewalk cafe.  We thought if we went
now, we’d get a better table than at dinner time.”

Ike
said, “Some guy in the dog park told Vito and me about it.  Gave us directions
and menu tips and everything. He even said there’s a doggie menu.  People sure
are nice around here.” He added, “It’s creepy.” I nodded in agreement.  It took
some getting used to.

“Do
you guys want to go with us?” Ike asked.

I
looked at Ethel to see if the proverbial cat-what-wasn’t-Vinnie had been let
out of the bag.  Ethel shook vigorous but tiny ‘no’ movements.

“Uh,
actually, we had a really huge lunch,” I said, while Bauser and Jim sat back
down in disappointment.

“Hope
you don’t mind letting us out?” Ike asked Bauser.  Bauser had their car blocked
in.

“That’s
okay… Mina and I need to get back to my place and pick up some Whoof-Os for
Jim, anyway,” Bauser said to me pointedly, opening the door for me.  Jim leapt
in.  I sighed.  Clearly I was no longer allowed in my own house alone while the
buddy system was in full force.

I
walked up the steps to lock the front door.  Vinnie grrled hi to me.  “Later,
buddy. Be back soon.  Promise.”

“You
know, we don’t have to go all the way across town to your apartment for
Whoof-Os,” I said.

“Oh?”
Bauser asked.

“Why
don’t we just go to the grocery store right here in The Plaza?”

“Are
you okay to go into grocery stores these days? What if you have a recipe
relapse?”

“Sure,
I’m okay,” I fibbed.  I figured the best thing to take away the feeling of
failure and termination was cooking up a little something for a hundred or so. 
After today, I figured I could use all the help I could get.  Besides, cooking
is cheaper than therapy, right?

Bauser
parked his car at the Barn Mart.  We all got out.  I looked at Bauser, then
looked at Jim.  Then back at Bauser. “Well, it’s not like I can leave him in
the car,” Bauser said.  “It’s a zillion degrees out.”

“You
can’t bring Jim in a grocery store,” I pointed out.

“But
he has a disability.”

“No,
he has the ability to con little old ladies into feeding him straight off the
shelf.”

“Oh. 
You have a point.  Well?”

Actually,
my point was I didn’t want Bauser to chaperone my shopping.  Besides, I
reasoned, I had company visiting, right? And I’d just put out a few buffets.

“You
need anything besides Whoof-Os?” I asked brightly.

Bauser
narrowed his eyes.  “No.  Just Whoof-Os.  The only aisle you need to wander
down is pet food,” he warned.

“Yup.
Got it.” I smiled.

Bauser
sighed and handed me ten bucks.  I skipped and waved bye and raced toward the
market.  “I’m timing you!” I heard him shout to my back as the door
automatically opened for me and my shiny new red grocery cart.  New carts!  Was
this is sign, or what?

I
pocketed Bauser’s ten bucks and went down the first aisle – bakery goods –
towards produce.  While in bakery goods I circled like a hawk over the mini
stuff:  mini brownie bites, mini cheesecakes, mini muffins, mini cookies – and
threw them all in the cart.  From there I went into produce and picked up
bunches of cucumbers, red onions, mushrooms and the usual vegetable crudités
things – carrots, cauliflower, celery, cherry tomatoes.  Bags of lemons and
limes were on sale; I bought them.  Fresh herbs were on sale; I bought them.  I
checked out the deli and took advantage of sales on Italian smoked turkey,
roast beef and provolone.  Then the meat aisle had a two-for-one-sale on family
packs of lovely Delmonico steaks.  I tossed them in.  And about eight London broils.  And a family pack of boneless chicken breasts.

I
hadn’t visited the condiment aisle since I bought the lone jar of relish.  Now
it sported fancy gourmet olives and marinated mushrooms.  There were sales on
roasted peppers.  And lovely salad dressings (are they a great shortcut or
what?).  Luckily the tunafish was at the end of the pet food aisle, or I might
have forgotten Jim’s Whoof-Os.  I threw them in the cart along with some sale
cans of solid white albacore, smoked oysters and anchovies.  The fish
department had lovely jumbo prawns; I got five pounds.  I also threw in a
couple of frozen pizzas, cheese tortellini and a couple more boxes of Frothy
mix for cocktails.  I have company, right?

 I
topped off the cart in the dairy section with sour cream, plain yogurt, milk
(Ethel’s preggers, right?), hummus, four different kinds of cheeses, a
container of 18 eggs and a few rolls of Pop’ems biscuits.  The ice cream
section had also gotten fancy in the last year: mini-chocolate éclairs,
Bavarian crème puffs and phyllo pastry abounded.  I rescued them from the
frozen cases and balanced them on the top of my piled cart.  I remembered I
needed more mixers and put some seltzers and tonics on the bottom rack under
the cart since I’d kind of run out of room.  I grabbed a box of POP doggie
treats for Jim on line to the cashier.  I was about the tenth person in line
when I’d realized I’d forgotten vital ingredients.  I made my apologies to the
guy behind me and got a sworn vow from him to keep my place in line.  I
hightailed it back through the store grabbing up various spices and oils I’d
forgotten.  Plus the kitty litter and bird seed and Finicky Fare I’d also
forgotten, which should have been in the cart with Jim’s Whoof-Os.

I
got back to find the guy behind me loading my stuff onto the conveyor belt. 
“Wow, sorry,” I panted.

“No
problem, honey,” the nice elderly Hispanic man said to me.  I nodded and said a
sincere thanks.

“Don’t
you need my Barn Mart discount card?” I asked the cashier.

The
kid behind the register shook her head.  “Nope; your friend here used his,” she
said.

“Wow,
thanks a lot, mister!” I said.

“De
nada,” he replied and smiled.  I keep telling you, are these Lancaster folk
nice, or what?  “You have a big family, yes?” he asked smilingly.

I
shrugged. “Only when they visit.”

“Oh,
you have party!” he answered.  I smiled back sheepishly.  “No wonder you
nervous!” I nodded.  He was right.  There was nothing like a party to make a
girl nervous.  “And you have gatos, perro, and the ave!?” he asked
incredulously.

“I’ve
got the gatos and the cockatiel; my friend Bauser’s got the pooch,” I
answered.  “He drove me here to get dog food.  I guess I got a little carried
away.” I smiled, hugging myself inside.  There is almost nothing that gives you
a false sense of safety and security than a completely jam packed fridge and
freezer.  Ha!

“Ahh,”
he said and nodded knowingly.  “Ride is better than the bus.”  I nodded in
sincere agreement.  “Me, I have the gatos.”

“Really?”
I asked nicely.  After all, the guy had held my place in line, used his
discount card for me, and hadn’t treated me like a complete simpering idiot. 
Or growled at me.

“Yes,
I have ocho gatos,” he said proudly.

“Ocho?”

“EIGHT. 
I have EIGHT gatos.”

“Wow,”
I said, impressed, now looking into his cart and seeing his two thirty-pound
boxes of Pew-Be-Gone kitty litter, boxes of Kitty Cookies and crates of Finicky
Fare.

“Si. 
These cats, they find me.  I think I save them, but they save me.” Who was I to
argue with karma?  He explained, “My apartment, she catch on fire last
Christmas when I sick.  These cats, they wake me.  But I not leave them.  We go
out to fire escape and wait for help.”

“Ohmygosh
– you were lucky.  Were they all okay?” I asked.  I mean, I had to ask, right?

“My
neighbors, they help.  They pass the cages – the carriers. I pack them together
and the firemen, they carry them down.”

“Wow,
you were lucky.  What happened to your apartment?”

The
man smiled broadly.  “The slumlord get served.  Another one buy the property. 
I have the renters insurance; my daughter, she make me.  I get the money.  The
new landlord sells for condos.  Now, I own condo!  With everything new! 
Stainless steel!” He grinned.  “The Lord, He answers your prayers,” he said
sagely.

I
thought about EEJIT and the burning Bu-A-Lots and losing my job.  Yup, God does
answer.  Sometimes strangely, but He answers.

“That’ll
be $336.84,” the cashier said.  I pulled out my bank card and swiped.  I signed
my receipt and she handed me back the five-foot long ticker tape receipt.  I
shoved the receipt into my pocketbook after folding it I don’t know how many
times, waved bye-bye to my new grocery store buddy and heaved the hundred pound
cart smack into Bauser.

“Woah,
woah, woah!”  He yelped from behind the mountain of groceries.  He peered
around.  “Mina, is that you?”

“Yip,”
I said.

“I
thought you said you were okay solo in the grocery store?” he asked.

“There
were sales,” I replied defensively.

Bauser
came around to the front of the cart.  He looked at me and shook his head. 
“C’mon.  Let me help you,” he said, and hefted the cart forward with a grunt. 
“What did you buy anyway? The entire cow?” he asked.

“No,
not actually,” I said, but realized I probably shouldn’t elaborate.

We
came up to the security guard who was babysitting Jim.  “He’s a great dog,
mister,” he said.  “And that story about his losing his leg in the line of
action, damn, that just made those punks disappear.” He patted Jim on the head.

“Yeah,
especially the part about how he can’t sit pretty or he gets real mean,” Bauser
added. “Later, dude.”

“Later,
man.  Damn, I gotta get me a three-legged dog.”

We
got back to the now very small looking Aspire.  Bauser looked at the cart, then
at me.  “Mina, how is all this going to fit?” he asked.

“I
got it all figured out,” I said.  “Just put all the perishable groceries in the
back seat, and crank the AC.  The dry goods can go in the trunk.  Jim sits in
front, so he doesn’t eat the groceries.”

“And
where do you go?”

“Jim
and I can share the front seat,” I said, then worried.  “He doesn’t have to
tinkle, does he?”

We
lurched out of the parking lot, back up Millersville Pike and toward home. 
Once in the driveway, I extricated myself from underneath Jim, and opened the
front door.  Vinnie was lying in cockroach position, but asleep and snoring.  I
patted him and he stretched and smacked his chops a few times.  “C’mon, buddy,”
I said and herded him toward the basement stairs.  He blinked at me sleepily. 
“Groceries,” I explained.  Vinnie yawned in understanding and trotted down the
steps.  I closed the door.  It had been a long time since I’d unloaded any
serious groceries through the garage, but clearly it had made an impression.  I
pressed the button to open the garage door and motioned Bauser to pull his car
inside.

After
parking, Bauser herded Jim inside, four bags of groceries clutched precariously
in his grip.  I followed behind with six more bags.

Once
I’d crammed everything into the fridge, Vinnie shook the basement door with both
paws.  I let him back up, then he re-met Jim.   Vinnie looked roundly at him
and smacked him on the nose.  Jim licked Vinnie.  Vinnie shook his head and
sauntered off muttering something that I could only assume was not repeatable.

Bauser
came in.  “So, what’s for dinner?” he asked.

I
looked up.  It was six o’clock.  I handed Bauser Jim’s Whoof-Os and a bowl. 
Vinnie ran back in at the sound of rustling, and looked at me aghast.  “Jim’s
company,” I told him defensively.  Vinnie pounded his fists on the counter
while I offered him this evening’s choice, Hammy Hinds or Guppy Guts; Vinnie
picked Guppy Guts.  I gave him his dinner, then went downstairs to check his
kitty box.  While I was down there, I made effort to keep my eyes averted from
the drugstore den that was now my basement, lest I paused to marvel.

I
came back up to the kitchen to find Bauser staring into the open fridge.

“Repeat:
what’s for dinner?  I know better than to help myself when you’re Menu-Aholic,”
he said.