As I mentioned the other day, I'm in transit to the south of France to spend the next month volunteering at a camp. This stop along way is being spent with my dear friend, B. For the past five years her job brings her to this side of the ocean for about six weeks or so.
So this morning, while she was working, I ventured through this sleepy town that she calls home-away-from-home to find us some bread for lunch. Before getting what we needed, I wandered through the town's sole grocery store, as I always love to see what each new place sells (different and the same) from the last.
Since there is a Missionary boarding school here, I was pleasantly surprised by the very small 'American & Canadian' section!! And there, sitting cosily next to the microwave popcorn, minimarshmallows, maple syrup, and mac&cheese (yes . . . real kraft mac&cheese . . . complete with the 'cheese that's never seen a cow') was JackDaniel's Quality Tennessee Style BARBECUE SAUCE!!! And not just the Smooth Original, but Extra Smokey and Rich Honey too!!
Now you have to understand, when it comes to sauces and dips, I tend to be a conscientious objector. My motto tends to be 'I'll try anything . . . once' and the only thing I cannot put in my mouth is mayonnaise (this coming from the woman who's eaten pyrana eyeballs and roasted ants). I don't like ketchup or salad dressing or whatever the 'special sauce' turns out to be. If I'm served it, I'll eat . . . and often with a smile. I just don't like them!
But barbeque sauce . . . in general, I like barbeque sauce (and mustard . . . I really like mustard, just not on everything). But I confess, like baguettes, not all are created equal. I love . . . no LOVE JackDaniel's Barbecue Sauce. I don't know what it is about it. But YUM! If JackieD's BBQSauce was a car, it'd be RollsRoyce (but what do I know about cars?? So maybe a Ferrari . . . or a Mercedes . . . a cherry red one . . . that drives really fast and has a cool sound system . . . yeah, it'd be one of those!)
So as I saw my favorite barbecue sauce sitting there on the shelf yelling 'Deb. take me home! I want to come home with you! There's no place like Massy!' I wrestled with myself. I still had a long journey ahead of me and I would be spending a month just outside of Marseille, why would I schlep this little 275g bottle all the way with me?? 'No. I don't need it.' I told myself. And I walked away.
As I continued to wander the aisles killing time and satisfying my curiosity, that inner voice (that I have learned many times in my life to listen to) kept beckoning me back. So without knowing how I got back there (an experience much like when I used to drive home from work every night), I found myself standing back infront of little JackieD.
This time I picked up the bottle. I carefully (the only time in my whole life I've done anything I might describe as 'delicate') turned the bottle, caressing it's smoothe glass sides.
'No. I don't need it.'
Once he was safely back on the shelf, I began to wander again.
But that only lasted a few minutes. I walked back to JackieD, picked him up and decided someone else was going to have to release my deathgrip . . . he was coming home with me!
It's the little things really. The little things that one can happily live without when only a subpar substitute is available for the real thing . . . like Franconized (yes, I just made-up that word . . . but hey, I'm an American, I can do that) OldElPaso salsa when what I really crave is GreenMountainGringo . . . one just learns to make sacrifices.
But not today.