Supermarket Guilt

In Australia, as in England, I have always found supermarket shopping to be an exhausting and mind-numbing experience, invariably due to the multitude of choice and the ethics of shopping to which one is supposed to subscribe, which do not change from London to Sydney.  This indecisive maze I find myself in usually begins in the fruit and vegetable section – an area particularly fraught with moral dilemmas.  For a start, I know I shouldn’t even be there. I should be waiting serenely at home for my box of organic, crunchy fruit and crooked, earthy vegetables - picked that morning by an apple-cheeked farmer in Kangaroo Valley and delivered by horse-drawn cart (or white van) to my door.  But as usual I’ve not got around to setting this up online and the supermarket’s four-day old lacklustre fare will have to suffice. Though at least in Australia they have a large selection of exotics such as dragon fruit, which adds a temporary frisson to the experience.

Rummaging around the sweet potatoes (low GI, healthier than white), I look for those with a manageable, rounded shape – easier to peel and chop than the wonky ones.  After a momentary pause to reflect on the fact that life has become so busy that one has to pick a vegetable whose ergonomic shape might shave valuable seconds off its preparation time, I move on to the halves of shrink-wrapped butternut squash in order to add some more plastic to the landfill. Small wonder that environmental change cannot be brought about in supermarkets when consumers like me are about.

Staving off this guilt, I move from aisle to aisle, weighing up the sugar content of various breakfast cereals, assessing the positive aspects of wholemeal versus multigrain and ending up in the household aisle, where my conscience is caught in a tussle between eco-green cleaning materials (somewhat ineffective but morally superior) and old-fashioned, bleach-based liquids that will remove anything from biro to blood (invaluable with small children).

Wearily I traipse to the check-out, only to remember that I’ve not brought my own shopping bags and will have to bring home another mound of plastic. This criminal act of environmental recklessness is further exacerbated by the till operator’s insistence on placing solitary items such as milk in their own bags. Apparently they can’t run the risk of placing more than one inside - in case the bag bursts, milk sprays everywhere and they are sued for negligent packing.  Still, at least they pack for you here.

Once I am home, I promise myself that next time I will order my fruit and vegetables online, that I will take my own bags to the shops and that I will set myself a maximum time in which to race round the aisles, making swift, decisive choices.  But it never happens.