Flying Food and Crazy Lunch

 "Our Clean Store Starts Here"                                                                                                               
This is what the sign quizzically proclaimed outside of “Mother’s,” a chic and purportedly motherly(?) Santa Ana version of the Whole Foods scene. So why would this self-described allegiance to the quality of pristine constitute a problem for me? Am I some sort of unrepentant slob of a food shopper who gravitates primarily toward besmirched dairy cases and encrusted globs of produce? No, no, a thousand times no! It’s just that really, really clean though I will admit to being- as in hating and avoiding food stores with grimy, loose grapes rolling about a sticky produce section- I actually am not that clean that I need to be forewarned about the state of my food markets; and I am also wondering if anyone is that clean- to the point of having to be reassured with a sign no less about the state of the premises prior to entering- outside of course of a few unfortunate OCD sufferers in the world. And along these same lines, if this assurance is indeed needed to attract customers, am I then to believe that a large swath of Orange County is afflicted with the strange compulsion that so beset Lady Macbeth, among others?

Probably not, but why belabor the point- it’s just a sign.

So I ran my hands under the awaiting germ killing soap dispenser that stood sentry outside the doors and ventured into the Clean Store convinced that at the least I probably would not contract ebola or even the common cold, quickly eyed the cute little stools at the lunch counter facing the large front window that offered a view of the mall with its merciless sun shining malevolently down on the cars and brand name shops, and decided I would go the self-serve way and load up on some exceptionally creative and tasty west coast nutrients for an easy and perhaps insanely healthful lunch.

And that’s when the craziness started, the frightening plethora of exotic choices that suddenly appeared, and it became distressingly confusing, fast.

There were soooo many ways to attack that burgeoning-with-eternal- life, self-serve salad bar and hissingly steaming, large hot food counter at the back that I quickly became disoriented, anxious and tentative. Did I really want to shovel all the goodies into what looked like a rather unappealing brown cardboard container, or rather slam the soup, taboule dishes and such into a few of those small, round, white cardboard coffee cups??? Would I chuck the whole cardboard debacle in favor of standing in line for something mysteriously entitled “The Bowl” and opt for Styrofoam-like security instead???” And there were so many dishes featuring tofu that almost all the selections listed were in quotes to indicate that they were perfectly and mercifully safe and animal free, such as “chicken” and “turkey” and “eggs” and “milk” and finally, “food.” Then the very descriptions of the salads themselves made my head spin:

-salsa, cilantro, guac lentil balls with sprinkles of natural licorice and dabs of serenity

-saffron rice with smoked corn kernels and infusion of exceptionally long life

-cous-cous, carob, cauliflower, citrus, cranberry, chile crepes and anything that begins with the letter “c”

I could go on and on but will just mention one particular juice drink that I found particularly upsetting:

Cuke, celery, kale, chard, spinach, granny smith apple, wheat grass avocado, mint smoothie and nothing non-green need apply. . . .

You’ve probably gotten the picture by now and may be wondering what you would have done faced with a similar choice. Well, in the service of simplifying I opted for the brown cardboard catch-all box of god-knows-whats all mixed together from the brimming buffet thinking this would handily solve the problem, then speedily installed myself on one of the little window stools only to realize they were exceptionally low, even for me, and experienced further and almost unbearable consternation when I found that the large flaps used to close the box for carrying had a nasty habit of falling into the food when opened as you attempted to eat your healthy, diverse bunch of salads, even when you tried to push them back and fold them safely away from the food; they were almost like living things.

I felt as if I were losing my mind, downed a few forkfuls and couldn’t wait to get out of there.

In the end of course, I told everyone what a great place it was and why on earth don’t we have more choices like that here. . . .