Our Comical Cosmos and Goodies for the Girth-Conscious Gourmet

It's good to have confirmation once again of the twisted, ironic sense of humour I have always believed our Universe possesses.

Tonight I had a craving, as I have numerous nights before since my first exposure to the oxymoronic existence of "low fat pate", for the luscious lack of taste but creamy texture of "faible teneur en matières grasses pate". When seasoned liberally with cracked Tasmanian pepper berry and Murray River Pink Salt the pate is a treat which one feels no qualms devouring throughout an episode of MasterChef. (For those who have not found themselves addicted to this particular reality cooking program yet it is important to eat for the duration of its hour-long time slot since if you don't you will surely clean out your fridge and pantry in one enormous mouthful when the episode concludes. The dishes contestants are required to concoct are typically so hunger-inspiring ones taste buds must be entertained in conjunction with the senses typically appeased by television.)

Scouring the local providores for this expensive little treat for hours on a late wander through the Darling of streets near which I live, my search was, alas, fruitless. (Duck liver and peppercorn-less as well I might add!)

On my return home from the lengthy hunt all I could think of was the lone establishment I knew stocked the product I craved. I decided to satiate my adoration and closer-than-appropriate relationship with my ex-supermarket, the indescribably prodigious Pyrmont IGA. 

Eager with anticipation I crossed the ANZAC Bridge, not even partaking in the common practice of speeding when traversing this construct - I was savouring the minutes until I would once again wind my way up the ramp from the car park, find myself greeted by the Bank of Queensland ATM and its neighbouring umbrella basket and turn the corner into one of my guilty pleasures.

Pulling into the side street and parking garage with time-honed skill (once you can do this post jugs of barley and hopps laden water on a Wednesday night full of rubbish food and fuming at the other team's unjust victory you can do it under any circumstances..!) I shifted back and forth in my seat like a child jumping from foot to foot in a candy store giving in to the excitement of being surrounded by multitudes of sweets and suppressed the silly grin which somehow kept sneaking its way back across my face.

I pushed the button for a ticket, drove around the corner, glided into a park with ease, closed the door and flipped the keys around my index finger Angelina-in-Mr-and-Mrs-Smith style and made my way in what I hoped seemed an unconsciously casual manner through the sliding doors, all the while consciously quashing the crocodile grin and feelings of elation at the "Welcome to Pyrmont IGA" sign which greets you on your exit from the car park.

*amorous sigh*

I spent the better part of...well, a while...wandering the aisles, picking up delicacies and boutique branded products, inspecting them and carefully replacing them on their shelves (yes, a sordid number ended up in my basket for purchase but we'll leave that topic).

Anticlimactically they were out of stock of my particular desired pate but I soon found one with most of the same attributes. After I quietly chuckled through the checkout at my Confessions of a Supermarket-aholic escapade I ran smack into two people I hadn't expected to see for quite some time, if ever again. A couple for whom the matter of my attendance (or disappointing lack thereof) of their upcoming nuptials has been a continuing source of confusion and negotiation due to recent events. 

Several moments of slightly awkward conversation and niceties relating to my rationale for venturing out of my suburb to procure grocery items and the cursory discussion of "how work, life, weather, Wednesday night hobbies (or their recent hiatus), etc are treating you" we parted ways and I returned to my little red vehicle and once inside let loose with "OH. MY. GOD!!!" 

I repeated this phrase for the duration of the trip home and have been doing so intermittently since. 

The universe certainly has a sense of humour, I'll give it that. Some call it "a sign", others call it "fate", personally I think it's downright f*ing hilariously ironic. 

Post-Script. The substitute pate was palatable - the originally desired product is by a Queensland-based company called "Ronda Pate" - more info on this website. 

Ronda Pate - Seafarmers Quality Foods

For the girth-conscious gourmet.