In Iowa, Part 3: I say "potato," You say "kohlrabi"

If you know me AT ALL, then you know that I tend to stand quietly on the sidelines, minding my own business. Unobtrusive...that's me. But little did I know that a recent visit to a discount discount grocery store in Iowa would unleash my inner investigative reporter."Investigative reporter?" Brad scoffed, "You are being far too generous. You were more like a tabloid reporter on acid scoping out the artifacts too bizarre for a  Ripley's Museum." That seems a bit harsh. I feel that I was more educational documentary than exploitative Enquirer.

So while my mother-in-law, pure of heart, was sincerely scouring the shelves for nonperishable purchase items..."Don't forget the cheap Twinkies!" my father-in-law shouted from the car and Brad and Savannah had, for some reason, shunned me...I embarked on a photo-documentary journey that I immediately live-streamed to my friend Sarah.


My first trophy was a compelling product called Kraut Juice. A bargain at 45 cents, it had subsequently been marked down further to 10 cents...not counting the fact that ALL grocery items were to be marked down an additional 50%. I would learn this later when I made my thrilling purchase of 25 cent single-use Nutella snack containers...it turned out to be the consistency of high-grade 10W40 motor oil but Nutella is STILL Nutella. I also bought a broken, light-up jump-rope and purple Hostess Snowballs only thirty days past their expiration.

Turns out that kraut juice is a natural, albeit, disgusting probiotic. It has been suggested, by people who obviously hate us, to slam a shot of it twice a day. You can also, gag, use it as a salad dressing and if you want to torture your pets as well, one website recommended sloshing it over their kibble. Just so you know, if I find out that you EVER did that, I will report you.

My complicated history with Sarah has resulted in several blog posts centered around her healthy diet and the healthy diet she attempts to foist upon her children when I'm not around. The next little gem that I uncovered simply screamed her name.  "Quinoa non-dairy beverage," I muttered maniacally as Brad and Savannah watched me warily from four aisles over, "What's next? Quinoa toothpaste?" I fumbled with my phone.Yup...you guessed it. It exists. PLEASE do not tell Sarah.

This store, unhindered by hyperbole, was simply the best place on earth. Brad and Savannah magically reappeared as I began my reluctant journey to the register. A narrow hallway forced us to single-file as we passed a fellow customer gripping what looked to be a compact cabbage the size of a softball. "What is that?" I asked her. Brad and Savannah, trapped like bucking broncos in a holding chute, realizing that their only avenue of escape was blocked by the rodeo clown, prayed for an easy answer. It was not to be.

"Haven't ya ever heard of a kohlrabi?" she exclaimed in the same tone that I use when I don't understand, after thirty weeks of tireless teaching, how a nine-year-old STILL doesn't know the capital of New York. I began questioning her about this mysterious piece of produce. Savannah was somehow able to wiggle between a four-inch gap between the wall and a shelving unit. She didn't wander too far, however, as she didn't know what a kohlrabi was either. "Here," the woman grabbed the man in front of her who was equally dumbfounded by our ignorant knowledge of the kohlrabi, "He'll cut off a segment for you to try." I backed up, bumping into Brad who was trying to pretend that he wasn't married to me. "No...no," I said, gesturing madly, "I wouldn't feel comfortable tasting food that wasn't paid for." Plus I was worried that it would taste like a turnip or a parsnip. Anything that ended with nip surely wouldn't be good.

Not to worry. My new friend quickly tossed a buck at the cashier and demanded the man (who, it turns out, was not her husband but a complete stranger..."Lucky guy," Brad muttered.) cut open the kohlrabi. I was in it now. "It tastes like a non-peppery radish," the man encouraged. That didn't help. "It's great in salads," Martha Stewart added. I bit down on the most bland vegetable I have ever eaten in my life and sighed with relief. I handed my sample back to Brad who, at this point, had no where else to go. He bit, nodded and said, "Tastes sort of like a raw potato." The man...I should stipulate...the very large man bristled at this insult to his beloved kohlrabi. Squaring up his rather broad shoulders, he turned to Brad, "Some sort of funny guy, aren't ya?" Surprised, I glanced back at my husband. Brad has been compared to a lot of famous people in his lifetime but never Rodney Dangerfield. I pictured the police report following this altercation and wondered if it would be the first instance of a kohlrabi-related riot. We sighed with relief as the man slowly snapped his knife shut and strolled away in disgust. "I can't take you anywhere," I hissed at my husband as I paid for my broken jump-rope. We were startled as yelling from outside caught our attention. "Don't worry," Savannah reassured us, "It's just Chuck reminding us about the Twinkies."