While on weekend food safari (scored: manchego, kraeme kase, smoked mozzarella, soppresata, genoa salami and muffaletta for Oscars antipasti), I was reminded that there is nothing like a Manhattan supermarket. If you only experience the city through media, you might never think that urban superpeople on the move need to buy groceries, so somehow it's touching to be among us when we do. For those who've never had the pleasure: picture a supermarket where there's barely room to maneuver yourself, let alone a cart, and then picture that space full of lifers piloting push-carts filled with whatever can be stored in tiny kitchenettes.
Another secret of urban foraging is the Roland Corporation, a New York City-based food importer whose offerings grace my cupboards in every format from tinned anchovies for Caesar salad to fragrant pumpkinseed oil for the accompanying pasta. Someone at Roland knows me and my kind: we orthodox mustardphiliacs cannot enter a space where condiments are vended without investigating what treats the mustard aisle is offering. And that's how, in a Chelsea Gristedes, I discovered Roland Tarragon Mustard.
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