I love Whole Foods. It makes me think of the energy from the first stanzas of Supermarket in California. I am young in Whole Foods. I am healthy. I can plié and chant and support hemp farmers. But—screech—I can't really afford it. I make decent money, but I like trips, dinners out, the occasional shopping splurge, manis and pedis, a fuzz-free upper lip and Korean spas. So how's a girl supposed to feel like she can live the California dream?
Sign up for WF newsletter. It's cheery and well-done. It sends me recipes, which admittedly I haven't tried to a T, but have been an inspirational in some dinner that were pogroms of every fridge inhabitant, tells me what's on sale that week, Value Guru tips, other money saving tips...well, are you sensing a pattern. They are hitting on me, knowing I worry about money, but have become a slave to organic, local, delicious, choice and exotic— and all in one place.
Internet packrats will rejoice in the fact that you can store recipes on their site, just like Epicurious.com.
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