Stigma (or just practicality) in the freezer aisle

I just enjoyed a typical lunch for this girl: the Healthy Choice Chicken Margherita Cafe Steamer from your frozen food aisle.

OK, the chicken filets had that processed edge. But the basil and red pepper sauce on the linguine went down easy. And my workplace has a mean air-conditioning temp of 65 degrees. After a morning of deskwork while shivering, a hot entree--purchased from my supermarket freezer for $2.50--is a treat and a bargain rolled into one. It is lunch of choice 4 of 5 days a week.

I do most of my grocery shopping 5 blocks down at the South Boston Stop-n-Shop on Broadway, since I can easily walk there and not lose my parking spot. This is old-school shopping at its finest. Narrow aisles and limited selection. Rusty carts that often stick in the "stop" position. Teenage stockers flirting with co-workers in the soda aisle, blocking the way. A former Southie neighbor once referred to it as "skeevy." I wouldn't say that much and find it to be tolerable.....especially since it carries all the essentials like Kashi GoLean (organic, yes!), Dannon yogurt, Giant Frozen Fudge Bars (only one point on Weight Watchers), and Goya black beans.

(OK, so this is starting to sound like product placement central. I can confirm that no one is paying me for that last paragraph.)

And the processed meals there, no matter the variety, are always on sale. Four lunches for $10! Or 2 for $6!

Sunday morning before church I was in the frozen foods aisle availing myself of the choices for this week: homestyle pot roast? butternut squash ravioli? glazed chicken? A petite woman of about 5'2" and 75 years, head covered in a multi-colored scarf, stood nearby, blocking one of the doors. For the 5 minutes I paced in front of the shelves, she leaned on the handle of her cart and watched a stock boy unload boxes of butter and margarine, then move onto the popsicles. I could feel her glance occasionally on me.

Finally, I chose (including the fabulous Margherita Chicken mentioned above). This required asking her to move back a few paces so I could open the door, which she did. She watched me take the meals down and fill my basket, before commenting:

"You really don't care for cooking much, do you?"

It was so like being in my North Dakota hometown at Bob's Super Valu that I nearly choked up. It must have been that emotion that kept me from lapsing into my predictable, defensive, single-girl guilt of dinners-for-one. Instead, I laid out my argument from paragraph 2 above without apology. Cheap. Hot. And tasty from the workplace kitchen microwave. And to my surprise, my Southie neighbor couldn't have agreed more.

"Great idea, dear. Sounds perfectly practical to me."

Contrary to previous observation, occasionally it is comforting to find a little small town in the big city.