How to break up with Costco::

OR : The Fallacy of Volume Price Discounting when cooking for two instead of a Nordic ski team.

Let me remind you that I am not compensated to endorse any product or service. My opinions, sketchy or not, are all my own. And thank you to my book club, who inspired this rant.

That said, for the first 5 or so years of our 20 year Costco membership, they basically paid us to be executive members. It has such a nice exclusive sound to it, doesn’t it? But really, diapers and formula (don’t judge) alone paid for the annual fee. Once we factored in the gas discount, the mom who doesn’t give a shit wardrobe, the Christmas presents and books and cheese and eggs—they cut us a check for nearly $1000 every year. Thank you, Costco.

I love everything about Costco, other than the lines and getting out of the parking lot. My wife has been fond of saying “if they don’t have it at Costco, I probably don’t need it”. You almost never suffer decision fatigue: if you need ketchup, here it is. In a 3 pack. Who doesn’t need a jumbo bag of Doritos when your teens crash with their friends? (Sorry, kids, no Cool Ranch. Costco only has Nacho Cheese.) Or a sneaky jar of chocolate caramels when they clamor for dessert?

Yes, I learned the hard way that our family isn’t going to eat that much plain Greek yogurt before it turns pink. More than once. My mother is probably the only person I know who can actually use a half gallon of heavy cream before it turns clumpy. And my then picky children would happily eat anything given to them in a tiny paper cup by a woman with a hairnet and a Russian accent: “You try. You like.” Eye contact turns to mom: “You buy.” Only to turn up their noses when we had 40 of them in the freezer.

I know it’s time to leave when the cart is so heavy I can hardly push it, and it includes both of my favorite “you cannot make it for this price” deals: the pumpkin pie (which everyone but me eats) and the hot and delicious rotisserie chicken (which only I will eat). For the record, we’ve never wasted either of those items.

I still get excited about the mailbox flyer pushing things I don’t need. Another Kitchen Aid? An air fryer /toaster oven /pressure cooker combo? Giant box of Ritz crackers? (Maybe those.) 40 frozen crunchy shrimp to go in my air fryer, when I’m the only one in the house who eats shrimp? You see my dilemma.

First of all, the nest isn’t truly empty. We’re still nurturing one to the extent that she will let us, and after they are both gone, we still live and eat here. But how to go from cooking for 4 (or however many show up) to just 2? Without eating the same thing over and over, or wasting food, or feeling like some sad version of our former selves?

What about the increasing number of our friends and family who now live alone after children and spouses have left? It would be tempting to sit down with a pint of Tonight Dough for dinner and call it a day. I mean, ice cream has protein and dairy.

BC (Before Children) I made a resolution to try a new recipe once a month. If it failed, we always had frozen pizza--or delivery if we had the funds. The experiments weren’t always hits, or organic/free range/ cruelty free/ kum-ba-ya.

I discovered Jenny Rosentrach’s awesome Dinner: A Love Story when the kids were little and learned the art of the assemble-your-own adventure sandwich/salad/bowl/pasta/taco/baked potato bar. Genius. Thank you for getting us through finicky eaters, food allergies and part time vegetarianism. I should look again at the blog, as I’m sure she’s mastered how to downsize the DIY meal.

Now we have the means to dine out when we want, but our metabolisms balk at this.

Meal kits eliminate the what-to-make-tonight dilemma, at the expense of packaging and shipping. They aren’t a long-term solution for me.

Aldi is like Costco lite for us. It’s closer, smaller, manageable. It’s really hard to spend a lot of money there. And the Aldi finds aisle is a treasure hunt.

We could join a co-op, but they don’t sell sweatpants.

The large grocery stores nearby have too many choices—until the one thing I want is out of stock due to the supply chain. Same thing with Target. I go in for milk and Fresca and come out with candy corn, lip balm, and pj’s. Whole Foods is lovely for some, and overwhelming for me. The frozen food aisle at Trader Joe’s gives me fits–so much to look at in so little space. Ninety products per side every step I take. How to take it all in without filling my cart with cookies and chocolates and frozen soup dumplings?

I am certain that there are countless blogs, books, and experts on just how to transition and downsize dinners smoothly.

Perhaps Costco and I will limp along, co-dependent, and not break up after all. I can practice some restraint, right?

Rotisserie chicken, anyone?