Suburbia Strikes Again

We're going to a party tonight. Each family is supposed to bring something good to eat. I volunteered to make my tabouli. It's an exceptionally good dish, especially so in the summer when you can get local, vine-ripened tomatoes at the roadside produce stand.

But the key component of tabouli is bulgur wheat. Bulgur wheat is a staple in Lebanese cooking but I guess it's not an in-demand commodity here in suburban Howard County. Last night I went to two different supermarkets in search of bulgur wheat. Despite the best efforts of some very helpful employees, no luck.

Today I was bound and determined that I would find a box of bulgur wheat in Howard County. After all, I've found it here in the county before. I went to another Safeway. A bigger, better one, I thought, than the one I went to last night. But it was a carbon copy of the other Safeway. Strike One.

I went to a "Gucci" Giant; still no luck. This was supposed to be the be-all and end-all supermarket. They even demolished a movie theater to build it. Lots of ethnic foods, all nicely labeled with the country of origin, but nothing from the Middle East. I was able to find whole grain bulgur wheat at the Gucci Giant but as we all know, whole grain anything tastes like shit. (Come on... admit it. Do you really like whole grain pasta or whole grain bread?) I wasn't taking any chances with my cooking reputation by putting Bob's Whole Grain Bulgur in my tabouli. Strike Two.

I next went to an Asian Grocery but they didn't have bulgur wheat either. (What they did have would amaze you and is the topic for a post another time.) Strike Three.

Fortunately, in cooking you get more than three strikes. ("You're all alone in the kitchen," as one of my heroes, Julia Child, once said.) I knew of one other supermarket chain I hadn't tried. I hit the Super Fresh, which is what A&P morphed into around here a few years ago. People in supermarkets are so friendly and helpful nowadays. As soon as I went in an employee asked what I was looking for.

"Bulgur wheat." I sounded desperate.
"What's that?" My hopes sank.
"Well, it's used in Middle Eastern cooking to make tabouli, kibbe, and other things," I explained.
"I'm not sure if we have it but if we do, it's in aisle 10."
He led me over to aisle 10 and low and behold, there on the shelf sat two boxes of Old World Organic Bulgur Wheat. The front of the box has a picture of what looks like a gypsy riding in a donkey cart toward some dusty town far off in the distance.

Pay dirt. What more could you want from a box of bulgur wheat? It was organic, it wasn't whole grain, and the box had a peasant on it. I bought both boxes.

I like suburbia and I like Howard County. But sometimes where I live can be a little too white bread, a little too bourgeois. I'm sure that had I lived in Greenwich Village finding bulgur wheat just wouldn't be a problem. (Although I'd very likely be gay, so there are always trade-offs.)

The bulgur wheat is chilling in the refrigerator; I'll chop the green onions, tomatoes, and parsley in a bit. The folks at tonight's party will rave.
K-