The familiar and unfamiliar of making a hamburger.

Milan 2005

Everyday I go to the supermarket. I walk around the big aisles and look at things I have no intention of ever buying, some never will ingest but I like to walk around it. I am slowly learning what is on each shelf and which aisle. I am getting to know the products. The chips is on the second aisle in the front of the fridges, the water is at the back near the beer, and the very last section of the supermarket near the teller, there are five different kinds of felt tip pens any self respecting kid can choose from. They all seem kinda the same except the cheapest one is 1 Euro and the most expensive one is 4. The roast chicken with herbs cost 8 Euros per kg while the whole without herbs cost 4. It turns out the price is actually really similar coz one roast chicken doesn’t add up to 1 kilo.

Everyday things are different and strange and I don’t speak a word of Italian. Each day I find a new way around somewhere I have not seen before and then each day before I go home I stop by the supermarket. I think it’s because it’s the first thing i did when I got to the neighbourhood and in this space of unfamiliarity I find comfort in the static placing of produce. I know I will never find where the soy milk is in because most probably it doesnt’ even exist.

But I also search for the familiar and cannot find it. There are no hamburger buns, there are no toffee chocolate, there is no soy sauce, chinese vegetables, bread that makes sense. I have never been so happy to come across a bottle of Heinz ketchup in my life as I thought maybe, maybe I was to be forced into purchasing some European brand of the very American product and when I came across it, I thanked god for commericialism, for brands, and celebrated cocacola and macdonalds for forcing Americana into every tiny crack of the globe. To hell with all the rightful politics of my fellow "liberals" they weren’t happenning to try and make hamburgers and cauliflower and cheese in Italy because  it seriously poses it own special brand of complication that would never occur to anyone. In a market where there are THREE separate sections for cheese, one behind the counter, one self serving one opposite the counter, and the last in the refridgerated goods section near the yougurt, among 100s and 100s of different kinds of cheese, one cannot locate the Chedder because the most basic of cheeses doesn’t exist in the more sophisticated pallet of these cheese eaters.

So odd but reminds me why I have always believed Europe to be the furthest place in this universe from home be in HK, LA, or Sydney even if it takes the same amount of time to fly from one to the other. Why is it so far away? Because it’s so hard to make a hamburger.