Grocery Shopping Makes Me Homesick

As part of my international student orientation, I attended a seminar, along with 800 other foreign kids, about the stages of cultural adjustment.

This was actually kind of interesting (apparently, it’s much easier to adjust if you don’t compare the new country you’re living in to where you’re from; we were advised to simply embrace our new home for what it is and not dwell on the differences. Because that’s a healthy, well-adjusted, and COMPLETELY UNREALISTIC attitude).

Attending these seminars is in itself a bit alienating. The majority of UT’s international students are from Asia – China, Taiwan and Korea in particular (out of the 800 kids there, there was 1 other Canadian). So understandably, life in North America is going to be very different for them, from language and popular culture, to food portion sizes and being expected to make small talk with strangers in elevators.

But for me, North American culture IS my culture. For the most part, Canadians talk like Americans. We watch the same movies, eat the same food, and listen to the same music. And being treated like a foreigner in a place that both is but is not foreign, is weird.

But no matter how similar it seems, it IS foreign. Grocery shopping, for example, is downright traumatic.

Everyone knows you can buy wine and beer in the grocery store in the States. But c’mon, other than that, a grocery store is a grocery store. Right?

I can’t speak for anywhere other than Austin, but buying groceries is DIFFICULT.

It is very hard just to find a grocery store. Do not be fooled by anything called a “Food Mart” (and they are everywhere). A “Food Mart” is really just a liquor store that also sells Cheetos. And maybe toilet paper.

We were advised by International Student & Scholar Services that Walmart sold reasonably priced groceries, so, after not finding anything that resembled an actual grocery store within walking distance of my apartment, I set out to Walmart.

Oh Walmart. If you took the grocery section out of Walmart and made it its own store, it would still, by Canadian standards, be a fucking massive grocery store. So I had high hopes… until you realize that aside from liquor (which is a full third of the floor space) all this massive grocery store sells is chips, pop, salsa, variations of mayonnaise, and frozen entrees (many of which, in a previous life, were deep-fried).

I begin to suspect there is a plot to make Americans fat. And perhaps alcoholics.

Finally, after much internet research, I tracked down a Randall’s, which is somehow associated with Safeway. Finally – something familiar!

I walked to Randall’s, reusable shopping bags in hand. The signage is reassuringly familiar. The layout is exactly what I’m used to. At last, after a week of unsuccessful hunter-gatherer attempts and subsiding on apples and Gatorade, I have found food!

My list was simple. Cereal. Pasta Sauce. Milk. But as I start down the aisles, I discover, to my horror, that even this is not easy. Everything may look the same – but it isn’t. I don’t recognize ANY of the products. In retrospect, I am pleased to learn that I’ve spent most of my life eating Canadian-made food. But here, I have no idea what any of these products are. And even if I think I know what something is, the packaging is completely different, and the pictures on the boxes and labels would indicate that despite being called Wheat Thins, the crackers inside are not the ones I know and love.

This experience could not be more jarring than looking down one day at the right hand you have known all your life, and discovering that it suddenly has 6 fingers and possibly killed Inigo Montoya’s father.

I am overwhelmed with homesickness.

In time, I know I will become familiar with these brands and products, and shop with ease. But I can tell you this about my first foray into the world of American groceries: I don’t know what I bought, but I sure hope whatever the hell Bush’s Bean are, they go well with wine coolers.

LONGHORN FACT OF THE DAY: you cannot purchase alcohol in Austin, Texas, on a Sunday morning. They cannot legally sell it until after noon.

The American Slurpee

My Canadian friends and family are well aware of my love for the Slurpee. Its syrupy, icy goodness, and the ensuing one-two hit of a sugar rush followed by the lethargy of achieving a more reasonable core body temperature is a staple of summer for me.

Although over 30 million slurpees are purchased every year in Canada, and 4 of the top 5 slurpee-selling cities in the world are in Canada, America is the slurpee’s birthplace, 7-Eleven having gloriously brought it into existence in 1967. And if ever there was a land of summer, Texas is it. So it only seemed fitting that I sample the local fare. Strictly in the interests of science, you understand.

I’d been told that slurpees are different in the States... but c’mon, it’s flavored slush. Can’t be that different, right?

Anticipating something reasonably similar to the dense, syrup-drenched ice I so enjoy at home, I selected a tap (Pina Colada), gave it a twist, and braced the plastic cup for impact. When the stuff began to whisper delicately into the bottom of the cup, my arm jerked up from over-correcting for its non-existent weight.

The American Slurpee, it turns out, is a delicate breed. Far more subtle than its Canadian cousin, which in itself is shocking, because in general, love ‘em or hate ‘em, the Yanks aren’t big on subtlety.

It’s light and fluffy. Aerated to a puffy, wispy consistency. It’s like drinking a flavored cloud. Through a straw. While the sugar rush isn’t as intense, and the cool down factor is like having someone gently blow puffy wisps of snow at your sweating-buckets face rather than dragging ice cubes across it, it’s a pretty pleasant experience.

But here’s the real kicker – those suckers are carbonated. Big time. So while you think you are enjoying a delightfully light treat, the minute that “flavored cloud” hits your stomach, it feels like someone hooked a bicycle pump on steroids up to your belly button – from the inside.

While I’ll never turn down a slurpee, and will no doubt drink many more of these pale beverages in my two years here… I have to admit some disappointment. I imagine it’s kind of like switching from espresso to decaf… if the decaf gave you a belly-ache and near-avalanche-inducing burps on the bus ride home.

So, if anyone’s considering putting together a care-package… may I suggest… ?

LONGHORN FACT OF THE DAY: in 2009, Winnipeg was declared the Slurpee Capital of the World, with 7-Elevens in Manitoba selling over 8 000 slurpees a month.

Things I Have Learned in My First 4 Days in Texas

1. It’s Freakin’ Hot.

Even by Texas standards, Austin is having a hot summer, with a record breaking 51 days over 100F so far (that’s roughly 38C). Those numbers don’t seem to reflect what the temperature actually feels like with the humidity factored in. And boy howdy, there is humidity. Apparently we will be enjoying this kind of weather until October, when it cools down… slightly.

I can expect my person and all of my possessions to be coated in a slimy, lint- and dust-attracting film of SPF for the next two years.

2. Everything is Bigger in Texas.

This is absolutely true, and it is both a good thing and a bad thing. My first experience at a Target Supercenter was both awe-inspiring and harrowingly frightening (much like the machine in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy that shows you how small you are in relation to the rest of the universe. A person with a lesser ego would have been shattered, I was merely deeply, deeply shaken).

Distances are much different (read: bigger) here. As a former Vancouverite, I’m used to being able to walk everywhere. I’m also used to thinking in short blocks and in kilometers, so when I see on mapquest that something is 4 miles away, or 4 blocks away, my first reaction is “sweet, that’s close by!” Nope. It ain’t.

3. Southern Hospitality is Alive and Well.

People are so incredibly friendly! I know the stereotype is that Canadians are very polite, nice people, but honestly, we are a bunch of cold prick bastards compared to Americans in the south! People are outgoing, generous, and genuinely want to help! I have resisted the urge to ask anyone for a kidney, but I’m sure if I did…

4. Being an International Student both Sucks and Rocks.

Sucks: Everyone assumes you have Tuberculosis and don’t speak English.

Rocks: Everyone assumes you have Tuberculosis, don’t speak English, and can’t find your ass from a hole in the ground in Austin. So there are many helpful handouts on everything from taking the bus, places to eat, getting to the nearest Target, and “How to Converse With Americans” (apparently, Yanks don’t like argumentative conversation, stalking as an aggressive form of courtship, or being touched).

Seriously, the International Student & Scholar Services here are A-MAZING. So incredibly helpful and informative, that even if I was from Texas, I would go to their sessions just for the helpful hints.

LONGHORN FACT OF THE DAY: It is a felony to impersonate, or allow yourself to be assumed to be an American. As a foreigner, you MUST declare your nationality and status at all times.

I am having a T-shirt made.

5. Southern Accents are Charming -- and Contagious

The drawl is delightful, y’all… but I’m starting to think with a twang. As a Canadian, I’m super conscious of my own accent, and paranoid of painful “oots” and “aboots”… but so far, everyone I’ve met thinks I’m American… people keep asking if I’m from Montana, so apparently I sound like a Montanan. Montanainian?

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT AN AMERICAN CITIZEN. I AM A CANADIAN ON A STUDENT VISA.