Trader Joe's in Midtown Atlanta isn't all that different from
a Trader Joe's in Los Angeles. Sure, it's a bit gayer and there is no egg salad
of any sort, but otherwise it's very much the same (compulsory talkativeness
from the grocery clerks, skimpiness with bags, which will break before you get
in the house, bells). However, the other day at the Trader Joe's in Midtown, I
overheard something that was indubitably Southern. Two middle-aged ladies were
perusing the fresh packaged item section, when the one, in the deepest Southern
accent conceivable asked, "What a-bout fi-es-ta dip?" Speaking slowly
and enunciating every syllable with a twang, fi-es-ta dip became something of
the deep, dark South, a party-rousing appetizer, dank yet festive, out of
place, but at the same time at home and at ease entertaining all at a ladies' Mexican
themed dinner party. Honestly, though, fi-es-ta Dip, I find you scary.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
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