Wally World's grocery pickup service surprisingly works

Why shop when someone will do it for you?

I recently used the Wal-Mart grocery pickup service, and I feel like I should start out by defending why I used it in the first place.

I don't drive a minivan packed with five screaming children. I'm not elderly. I certainly can use the exercise of walking around the grocery store.

Happy New Year!

Then I got sick over Christmas. I'm starting to feel human again, but it was a rough few days. When we got back from Shreveport, the last thing I wanted to do was go to the grocery store. But I also needed to get to the cabbage and black eyed peas aisles before I had to make do with lettuce and red beans (not that I've ever done that for New Year's).

I shop at Wal-Mart because I can stretch my dollar. Plus, we're Wal-Mart people. I'm using the royal we to refer to my family. Glenn's family doesn't shop at Wal-Mart, thank you very much. I think it's a New Orleans thing.

I lovingly loathe Wal-Mart. Why they put in several dozen cash registers is beyond me. Only two tellers ever seem to be working at any one time. I once worked the photo desk for Wal-Mart - not as an employee but as a fed-up guest with a bunch of other fed-up guests in line with me. My aunt regularly cuts her own fabric in the fabric department. She can't ever find an associate who will admit to working in that department.

At the same time, I love Wal-Mart's prices. I love that the employees are friendly. Old Sam knew what he was doing.

Now I could send Mr. G. to the grocery store, but that's never a good idea. I once sent him to the store for chicken broth. He came back with something you shoot up a turkey's butt. I still have no idea what that was. He either can't find half the ingredients on the list or he comes back with a cute bag of flour that only holds a tablespoon worth.

I, on the other hand, tend to come home with more than was on my list. Then I kick myself and do it all over again the next week.

So I've been toying with the idea of trying the pickup service for some time, especially after spending Thanksgiving in Houston and hearing about how iKea does something similar.

In the midst of hacking up a lung this week, I logged onto Wal-Mart's website to check out the grocery pickup service. I've seen the grocery pickup signs in the parking lot at the Neighborhood Wal-Mart on Coursey, but apparently they're still training. My closest choice was Prairieville.

My salmon came with a plank. I don't know why.

I started making a list and was amazed at how easy it was. I typed in bananas and was able to specify how many I wanted. I typed in salmon and got pictures of salmon choices. In fact, you can look at pictures of everything. Even better, I was able to peek into the fridge and count how much yogurt we had left before adding four more containers to my list. Best of all, the site keeps a running total of how much you're spending.

Once my list was complete, I paid and chose a pickup time. You can't pick up your groceries the same day, but you can pick them up the next day.

Wal-Mart called 40 minutes ahead of my pickup time to let me know the groceries were ready. I got in the car and headed to Prairieville after finishing work. Once in the special parking spot marked for grocery pickup, I called the number on the sign to announce my arrival. It took about 10 minutes for the groceries to arrive at the car. I used the free time to read emails.

Leeks are so good!

The associate who came to my car told me a few substitutions had to be made. No big surprise there. When is Wal-Mart ever adequately stocked? They didn't have the salmon I specified, but they had something close to it ... on a plank. They didn't have the rice I specified, but again, they got pretty close to it. Instead of two leeks, they only had one, but it was a huge stem of fresh, wonderful smelling leeks (and, really, two bunches would have been too much). I held my breath when he said a substitute had to be made on the black eyed peas. It turned out they gave me a nicer brand because the store brand was out of stock.

My biggest worry had been that the meat wouldn't be cold. It was nice and cold. It hadn't been sitting in a grocery cart next to the side entrance for an hour until I arrived.

The associate loaded my bags into the car, and I was on my way without my Payless flats ever touching Wal-Mart's concrete. I had read that associates weren't supposed to accept tips so I didn't offer one. I probably should have - and I will in the future.

I really like the pickup service, even if it does make me feel like I should borrow five screaming children before I head to the store. Even better, I think it will be perfect for times when Mr. G. has to do the shopping.

Twas the week before Christmas ... and the microwave pralines were burning

Isn't it funny how certain foods transport you to your childhood?

Trust me, these are unbelievable.

For the Millhollons, it's orange balls. One bite and I'm back in my grandparents' brick house on Winnfield, back in the l-shaped kitchen with the oven that was never used because it got the house too hot and the armoire that I just knew would take me to Narnia if I sat inside it long enough.

Orange balls came to us courtesy of my great-grandmother Tommie. My grandfather was allowed to call her Mother, but the grandkids and the great-grandkids had to call her Tommie because she wasn't old enough to be a grandmother let alone a great-grandmother, thank you very much. I adored that woman, and she truly adored us.

Tommie lived on a farm near Snyder, Texas, where she made wonderful things in her tiny kitchen. A few times a year, she'd come to Louisiana laden with sweet-filled tins. I always cast aside the ones containing peanut brittle in favor of the tin holding the wax paper-covered orange balls.

Orange balls are hard to describe. They're basically slightly thawed frozen orange juice, crushed vanilla wafers and coconut rolled in powdered sugar. Since Tommie didn't share her recipes (or her age), I had to turn to the internet when I tried to recreate them. I think I came pretty close to her recipe. I made them one Christmas for my grandfather. He immediately put in an order for chocolate pie and jam cake. So I think he was pleased.

In Glenn's family, the special food is date loaf, which isn't bread but fudge. Go figure.

The cursed date loaf candy.

Glenn's sweet aunt made date loaf for a family gathering and everyone got very excited when the lid came off that tin. Later in the day, I was washing dishes when I looked up and saw one of Glenn's relatives in the driveway sneaking bites of date loaf out of the tin intended as a birthday gift for Glenn's father. Apparently it's just that good.

Date loaf came to the Guilbeaus courtesy of Aunt Nat. Aunt Nat was the third and final wife of Glenn's grandfather Dr. Ben. Dr. Ben was a country doctor who had the worst luck with wives. His first wife was his brother's widow. They had two children before she died prematurely. His second wife was his daughter's friend. They had several children (including Glenn's dad) before she got sick at a young age and died. Her nurse was Aunt Nat. Dr. Ben and Aunt Nat had several children before Dr. Ben died, leaving Aunt Nat with very young children and the children from the second marriage to support. She raised them all and lived to be 103.

The first thing I learned about making date loaf was that it requires setting aside a date loaf towel. The candy is rolled into a log inside the towel. The first time I made it, I created such a sticky mess that I ended up throwing away the candy, towel and all. The recipe I got from the sweet aunt wasn't very specific on details.

Glenn's cousin Edmie. She was a wonderful cook and just a wonderfully sweet person.

Then Glenn went to a family funeral and came back with a spiral-bound collection of family recipes that someone had gathered and printed. This is a brilliant idea, by the way.  I hate that I never asked my granny for her bread pudding recipe before she died.

I'd forgotten about the cookbook until it popped into my head the other day.

The first recipe I tried was his cousin Edmie's pralines. She was famous for her pralines, and I eagerly flipped through the cookbook to find out how she made them. In the microwave. She made them in the microwave. Can you believe it? I almost skipped over to the microwave in excitement. I placed the ingredients into a Pyrex dish, shoved it into the microwave and stood at the kitchen counter looking through the rest of the cookbook until the smell of sugar burning reached my nose. Have you ever tried to remove burned pralines from a Pyrex dish? I might have to throw away the dish. I'm going to have to fiddle with that recipe. Microwaves can be very different so I don't blame Edmie.

Next I tried the date loaf and crossed my fingers.

Here's the date loaf recipe if you're very, very brave.

Cook 1 1/3 cup sugar and 1 cup evaporated milk to a soft boil. Add 1/2 stick butter and 8 oz chopped dates until dates are melted and mashed. Add 3 cups pecans. Stir until it "leaves the side of the pot." Wet two cheesecloths or broadcloth material with cold water. Put half of the date mixture on each piece of material. Roll into a log. Let cool, the cut and serve.

Sounds simple enough, right? I decided to take a crack at it with the idea of giving Glenn a taste of his childhood for Christmas this year.

Let me tell you: A pan of fudge combined with 3 cups of pecans is very hard to stir. Not only that, a very hot glob of fudge is very hard to roll into a log.

But I was determined. It's Christmas after all, and I thought Glenn would be so pleased if I finally mastered this family recipe. So I brought the milk and sugar to a soft boil. No problems there. A candy thermometer is your friend. I added the dates and butter and tried to guess what melted dates are supposed to look like. Then I added the pecans and wished I had a mechanical arm. The mixture was heavy, and I wasn't certain how long I was supposed to stir it. Two minutes like with pralines? I have no idea.

I was struggling with it when Glenn walked through the kitchen and noticed what I was doing.

Mr. G.: "Oh, don't worry about making that for me. That's (brother) Kevin's thing. I don't really like date loaf."

I guess I shouldn't complain. Years ago, when I made my first Thanksgiving dinner, I decided to get fancy and make cranberry compote instead of just opening up a can of cranberry sauce.

It's not Thanksgiving without cranberry sauce shaped like a can.

We sat down for Thanksgiving dinner, and I noticed Glenn looking around the table with a frown on his face.

Glenn: Where's the cranberry sauce?

Me: Right here (passing him the homemade compote).

Glenn: No, where's the stuff in the shape of the can? That just doesn't look right.

He absolutely refused to eat the homemade version even though I tried to convince him that it was so much better.

So this year I presented both versions and relayed the story to relatives after my cousin and I nearly killed ourselves using the vacation rental's wonky can opener to open the precious can of cranberry sauce. Glenn dutifully ate the cranberries shaped like a can.

Then I walked into the kitchen before going to bed and found Glenn standing in front of the open fridge eating the leftover homemade cranberry compote with a spoon out of the tupperware bowl. Victory is mine!