Shark Week

The last week was officially Shark Week on the Discovery Channel--did you watch? I eagerly look forward to the annual week-long, shark-filled programming every year. And even though Clint doesn't get quite as into the shows as I do, we will celebrate pretty much any occasion here at our house, so we had a good time getting into the spirit of all things shark. From snacks and sips to shirts and socks, well, even the dog got in on the action.

This was my midweek snack, perfect for munching while watching such fine television as Sharkwrecked. Thankfully, my Goldfish crackers weren't part of the recall, and that "cocktail" is just a Sprite Zero with some blue food coloring thrown in for good measure. Hey, it was Tuesday, and even I have my limits.

Apparently my enthusiasm was contagious, because by midweek, the husband had decided he wanted to make some type of sharktastic food in honor of the occasion. What better food for Shark Week than ceviche? (There is also a chance that he simply craved ceviche and used this as an excuse, but I like to think it was all the shark excitement that motivated him).

For anyone not familiar, ceviche is fish or seafood that is marinated in citrus juice. The acid from the juice "cooks" the fish so that there is no other cooking involved. After reading our recipe, which called for 10 limes, 3 lemons, and 2 oranges, I immediately ordered an electric juicer from Amazon to save us from all that manual juicing labor. Next, we stopped by Harris Teeter Friday night and picked up all the various ingredients needed to make our adventurous culinary creation. I pointed out that, for around $20, we could have simply gone to a restaurant and eaten all the ceviche our hearts desired, but Clint said that was not the point. Making homemade ceviche is apparently "fun," and I'm all about a good time. Yippee. $61 worth of groceries and a $26 electric juicer later, let the good times roll.

Just a few simple ingredients (and a day's worth of chopping).

Shrimp, cod, red onion, bell pepper, jalapeno, garlic, cilantro, and ginger.

The finished product (with a tortilla chip "fin" to garnish)!

I have to admit, I was impressed by the time and effort that chef Clint expended to make his ceviche, and he was quite pleased with the finished product. He rated it a solid 8 out of 10, not bad at all for a first attempt.

We all know that I fully believe in dressing the part, and as luck would have it, I had the perfect shirt for Shark Week, courtesy of a beach trip a few years back. The classics really don't go out of style. I woke up Sunday morning, the last day of Shark Week, and dressed to enjoy it.

I also had a very festive pair of shark socks Clint gifted me for Christmas that were practically made for Shark Week viewing.

Once my outfit was on point, we were ready to get on to what I had been anticipating and looking forward to the most: our sharky Bloody Marys. We cued up Laws of Jaws and broke out the Zing Zang, Tabasco, pickled okra and carrots, and all the fixings we could find. I think they turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself.

They were spicy and delicious, and I'm already looking forward to making them again next year. Plus, with all those veggies, it's basically a salad in a glass, right? Health food.

Since the dog wasn't eligible for a Bloody Mary but I hate for anyone to be left out of a party, I ordered a special toy just for this instance. We settled onto the couch with our drinks and let Cotton have "Chompin' Charlie," his shark themed toy.

Needless to say, a good time was had by all. Clint even said he learned a lot watching all the Shark Week shows, like never to turn your back on a tiger shark, how to slap the water to startle an approaching shark, and also that if Taco Bell (an official Shark Week sponsor) bombards you with advertising for a week, you will wind up eating dinner there before Shark Week is over (we watched one last shark show while munching on Nachos Belle Grande and Crunch Wrap Supremes). I've put the plastic sharks away until next year, but the Bite Me shirt...well, that's probably appropriate anytime, am I right?

Southerners and the Grocery Store

I had a roommate in college who was from New Jersey, and she called going to the grocery store "food shopping." It baffled me, which I supposed it shouldn't since that is exactly what a grocery trip is supposed to be, but it just never sat right with me. We don't call it that in the South because, frankly, it's too rudimentary. We can't be confined to simply shopping for food. Our trips to the grocery store involve so much more: it's a town meet and greet, where we not only pick up what we need for the neighborhood bake sale, we reflect and reminisce. Going to get groceries is a social event, an adventure, an occasion.

My mother goes to the grocery store practically every day. She justifies this by saying she prefers not to plan out her meals a week in advance, but rather to go each afternoon and buy whatever sounds appetizing to cook that evening for dinner. And while in my younger days I may have scoffed at this, I realize as I am writing that we have been to the grocery store three times in the last three days, with another trip planned this afternoon.

That planned trip? This should further underscore the important place grocery stores have in Southern life: I have carefully arranged (and frankly, rearranged) my to do list so that I will be in the vicinity of the new Publix store--it opened three weeks ago and I'm starting to feel like the only person in my part of Charlotte who hasn't been there to scope it out yet. To go, I will pass two other grocery stores, but that is not my concern. I need to see this new store, peruse the selection, get a feel for its atmosphere, so I can compare it with my other shopping options.

After all, we know there are certain stores you go to for certain items. Winn Dixie? Pimento cheese, of course. Publix? Sheet cakes that rival any bakery. Harris Teeter has the best rotisserie chicken in town, and I read somewhere that Bi Lo won a gold medal at the National Pie Championship last year with their ready made desserts. Down here in the South, we don't just food shop. We food test, sample, categorize, and rank. We consider ourselves experts and freely critique the product displays and store arrangement. The customer is always right, especially when she's a Southern woman.

Things are a bit different for you if you live (and grocery shop) in a bigger city. I vividly remember the first couple of years we lived in Charlotte and the freedom I had when I made a trip to our neighborhood grocery store. It was so highly unlikely that I would see anyone I knew, I was able to make emergency trips without wearing makeup, run out for a pint of ice cream in faded yoga pants and an old Dollywood t-shirt, and remain anonymous and unnoticed. It didn't take long, however, before I made a trip to the store to grab a few things thinking what a horror it would be to see anyone that I knew...and sure enough, I did. It happened a few more times before I realized that even in a city the size of Charlotte, the grocery store is still a place to see and be seen.

It's even more the case in a small town. When I visit my parents in my hometown, my mom and I inevitably wind up at the town's Ingles grocery store to pick up snacks, Cokes, or something for supper. Instinctively, I apply lip gloss before we enter, like a natural reflex. We are usually in the store less than 60 seconds before we see the first person we know and the conversations begin. We wave and chit chat our way through the produce and deli counter, all through the store, and then update the cashier on what our plans are for the rest of the day. Back in December, a high school classmate I hadn't seen in years asked if we could take a selfie...right there in the produce section (and you know we did).

I supposed the ultimate goal when a Southerner goes to the grocery store is to buy food, but we accomplish so much more than that during our time there, and that's why calling it "food shopping" completely misses the mark. Why, during a trip to pick up a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk, we have the opportunity to get an update on who in town is sick/hospitalized/convalescing/dead (typically courtesy of the good church ladies gathering their casserole ingredients), hear all about Joann's new haircut (she shouldn't have, y'all, we hope it grows back fast), and peek into Virginia's cart to see what in the world she's actually eating on that newfangled vegetarian diet of hers (she's just big-boned, bless her heart).

We push that cart up and down the aisles, meeting and greeting, gathering new recipe ideas and getting the day's news. If you're recent to this scene, just make sure your appearance is ready to be scrutinized by any and everyone you might meet, by all means make small talk with the meat department manager because calling him a friend has immeasurable rewards, and pretend not to notice that bottle of wine the Southern Baptists are hiding under a big package of toilet paper in their carts. The grocery store is a revered community in and of itself, with its own set of etiquette.

Now, if you'll excuse me, that Publix is practically calling my name. Even though I'm not exactly in a small town, I threw on a nice pair of earrings, just in case I run into someone I know. And I think I'll go ahead and chat up the meat department, too...just in case.