Admittedly, it was my first trip to this supermarket, which is right around the corner but not actually on my way home. So, it's possible that Ted is their resident Fromagier, like a sommelier but for delicious aged dairy products.
This is how I imagine it works:
One night, I will be shopping in this deluxe Fantasti-Mart, which I've trekked to all the way around the corner just so I can prepare an outstanding meal for my special someone. I pick out two frozen salisbury-steak-and-mashed-potato dinners, a bottle of Diet Slight (like Sprite but not quite as good), and a Pepperidge Farm Quartet (who doesn't love those butterfly crackers?). I head over to the cheese counter, where I am greeted by an overabundance of choices. Port wine cheese log? Velveeta? Spreadable brie product?
I am seized by indecision.
As I pause, frown and sigh, on the verge of abandoning my plans for a home cooked meal, I am tapped politely on the shoulder. I turn around to find myself face-to-face with a wrinkly 90 year-old gentlemen wearing suspenders and a fedora.
“Do you need assistance,” he inquires. “I am Ted, le Fromagier. Allow me to assess the contents of your cart and I shall recommend the perfect cheese to accompany your feast.”
He thoughtfully picks up the frozen dinners, puts them down. Gently swirls the soda. Examines each member of the cracker quartet by sniffing the box. He pauses, closes his eyes, and does so for so long that I briefly wonder if I should wake him up.
There is no need.
He finally opens his eyes, takes my arm and leads me to a display of clear plastic tubs.
“I notice that you like exotic foods,” he says, waiting for me to nod in agreement. With a flourish of his hands, he passes me a container.
“May I suggest the cheese Tedbits?”
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