I left the goods by the ammonia and shuffled over to the far corner where a bored and humming refrigerator harbored cheese for those who like many forms this dairy product could be processed. I was looking for the macaroni and cheese special, but that was a certain pipe dream no one in this land even eats this stuff let alone devote hours over a hot to stove to emulate what most multinational companies can manufacture in a jiffy. In reality, my goal was to bloat my own ego with the satisfaction of making the real McCoy macky cheese the way not mom, not grandma, and possibly not even great-granny could. I would lay the fact on the girls the minute I heard the moan “Hmmmmmmmmm!” So, I searched for the next best which was the pouches of grated cheese made mainly for pizza. And the choices were numerous. It seems that each of the competitors wanted to outdo the other by offering more and more types. Dos quesos…tres quesos…cuatro quesos…even cinco quesos. Did they want either to sell their product or provoke ocular seizures? This naturally played on my desire to be shopping savvy and classy at the same time. I went with the three cheese combo and did myself a mental high-five. Then I snapped up a small bottle of whole cream and voilá, there you had it, my final…my goal…my destination.
Impossible to beat. Nineteen product and 44 euros later, I had completed my goal for the day. And then some.