Our Visit to Russo’s

Over a year ago, my mother suggested that we go to Russo’s. I had never been there before, but had recently heard about it from a friend and was interested in seeing it.

On the designated day, Chris and I woke up about half an hour before we had to leave. We took care of the dogs and were ready to go only a few minutes late, due to an ugly argument revolving around how I had told Chris it was warm enough to wear shorts, Chris putting on his shorts, and then Chris stepping outside to find out that it was too damned cold for shorts and shouldn’t I have known that? (In my defense, when I took the dogs outside, I never actually stepped outside but watched them from the relative comfort of our kitchen, and hey, the weather looked humid.)

Chris drove to Russo’s while I navigated. I was accompanied by my Massachusetts Street Atlas, printed MapQuest directions, and my father’s emailed directions (sample line: “It locates at the opposit of Willow st on the right hand side of River st”).

I studied the map carefully, looking up at one point to tell Chris, “Go up.”

Chris looked at me. “I need a right or a left,” he said gently.

“Oh.” I examined the map again and tilted it. “Right,” I said finally.

When we arrived at Russo’s, the parking lot was packed. We parked and I called my father from my cell phone.

“We’re here,” I announced. “Where are you?”

“Inside doors,” he shouted. “On the, the, go past carts, inside doors, right hand.”

“Okay, see you soon,” I said, and hung up. I turned to Chris. “I’m not really sure what he said, but somewhere on the right.”

Aisles of produce were outside the store, and Chris stopped to examine some onions. “Should we look at this stuff first?” he asked.

“No, we’d better find my parents first, or they’ll have wandered away.” I led Chris through the doors and peered to the right. I could just make out my father’s figure on the far side.

We found my parents, and then decided we needed a cart. My mother said, “Oh, you can use our cart!”

I glanced at the bright, crowded farmstand. “Um, I think we’re going to need a whole cart of our own.”

Chris ran outside to get a cart, and I told my parents, “I’m going with him–we’ll check out the stuff outside and meet you back in here.”

I caught up with Chris outside, who was rapidly rolling the cart toward the store entrance in an attempt to get out of the drizzling, cold rain. “Wait, let’s look around out here first,” I said.

“Fine,” he said. “Boy, it’s a good thing I didn’t wear SHORTS, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t know it was this cold!” I yelled, and ran toward the produce.

We walked past carrots, squash, and potatoes. “These potatoes are gorgeous,” I said to Chris excitedly. “And look at these little onions!” I stopped. “Am I yelling,” I whispered to him.

“Yes you are,” he whispered back.

Chris, who was usually less taken with food, due to his New England upbringing of vegetables boiled until they were colorless, was also wide-eyed. “This place is great,” he announced.

“Now aren’t you glad I made you come? I’ve been trying to get you here since Dave told us about it!”

“I’m very glad you made me come,” he said. We wheeled inside the store, and he gazed around. “I’ve got a lot of cooking ideas.”

We caught up with my parents inside. Russo’s had more varieties of fruit and vegetables than I’d ever seen at a supermarket, and all of it looked fresher than at the supermarket. “Have you been here before?” I asked my mother.

“Twice before,” she admitted.

“Why didn’t you ever tell us about this place?”

My mother looked faintly guilty. “Well, we forgot how to get here. But Mr. Chou told us about it last week and gave us new directions.”

“This place is fabulous!”

I rounded the corner. And then I saw it–as if the fresh and beautiful produce wasn’t enough, they actually had…

“CHRIS!!! THEY HAVE FRESH PASTA!!!!!!!!”

I grabbed Chris’s arm and steered him to the pasta case. We eyed the rows of ravioli and mounds of noodles. We didn’t particularly need pasta, but we stood in silence for a few moments, giving the pasta the respect it deserved.

We finally finished shopping, after exclaiming over the three types of papayas. And I didn’t even like papayas.

Our entire basket of lovely vegetables and fruit checked in at just under $30. “Chris! Only thirty dollars,” I marvelled. I just couldn’t seem to stop talking about Russo’s. “Sorry I’m talking so much about it,” I apologized. “But we’re definitely coming back here.”

“We’re definitely coming back,” Chris agreed. “Any time we want to cook a special dinner, we can just shoot down here and pick up some stuff.”

Note: this post was originally written October 11, 2005. For unknown reasons, I never posted it.

Posted by: Supersonic Jane | October 22, 2006 | 10:21 pm
Posted in: This Life