I read the other day that Woods is going to open a grocery store in the Bing’s location on Limit, and that the store will have an expanded produce department, a butcher shop, and all kinds of other niceties from which to choose. I’m sure you heard me cheering. Just like we never know how much we will miss something until it’s gone, I had no idea how much in love with Bing’s I was until we couldn’t visit every day. Max arrives home later than I do after work, and so he used to call me daily to ask if I needed anything from the grocery store; then he would conveniently stop by Bing’s to pick up whatever ingredient I might be missing for dinner that night.
Sometimes, I told him that I needed nothing, but he arrived home a short time later to find me standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking pitiful, because I had discovered that I needed five eggs but had only four, or because I needed a tablespoon of cinnamon and was short by a teaspoon. Being a good sport, he headed back out the door for the short jaunt to Bing’s and was back in about seven minutes. I can’t tell you the number of parties we have hosted where either more people than expected showed up, or the number of people who showed ate more than we had anticipated; Bing’s was just a sneaky dash away, and no one was ever the wiser.
And that store was the only one in town that carried frozen pearl onions, which are a necessity for a good beef stew or an easy coq au vin. Oh, I certainly could have taken an hour to blanch and peel the fresh ones, slippery little things, but frozen ones are just fine, and much more convenient. And I knew just where to find the Pickapeppa Sauce; no other local store carries that, either. Most shocking, Bing’s was the only place I could find pineapple preserves, which are necessary for Jezebel sauce, that weird-sounding concoction I put in my Christmas baskets. It wasn’t always available, even at Bing’s, so when I found it on the shelves, I loaded up.
I always dreaded taking Emily to Bing’s when she was little, because she wanted to ride that darn horse every time. I would be standing there with my bags of groceries, and she inevitably would ask for a dime. Thinking back, I am ashamed of my irritation; it was just a couple of minutes, and she really had fun. Of course, I now actually miss her nagging me for the dime and watching her pretend to be on a trail ride.
The best part about Bing’s, though, was that when I woke up and found that I was out of coffee, I could just throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt, drive over, and not meet anyone at 7 in the morning as I picked up my fix of French Vanilla Café. Cathy Parker, who always checked me out on those days, was kind enough to keep her opinion of my appearance to herself.
So since late October, when the car tragically continued to direct itself, out of habit, to the State Fair Shopping Center parking lot, I have been bereft. Obviously, I am totally spoiled, because the other grocery stores are within reasonable distance of the house. It isn’t as if I live in Kansas City and the nearest grocery store is 15 minutes away. It’s just that while Bing’s was a hop, skip, and jump away, every place else is farther and requires more forethought. And parking has become a nightmare!
So I have circled February 28th on the calendar as the date that I will breathe more easily, knowing that when I find myself out of something when I am in the middle of a recipe, the replacement is just a few moments away, and nothing need be ruined for want of eggs or cinnamon or anything else. Yes, Woods, I am grateful, but I have one request. Could you just please hurry up?
