The most stolen product It's not alcohol anymore, it's oil. It's part of our diet, like bread and wine. We don't really know anything about oil because we're not used to tasting it, like the Andalusians, who are. We go to restaurants and dip bread in oil from Jaén (wonderful, of course). There are restaurants where they let us dip our own.
We have the power to buy, if we want, home-grown oil, not for nothing. Because it's so good and unique. So much so, that they send it to Italy to pretend it's Italian. We can't do it. We can't buy fruit that's in season and from the market. So, we can keep some green bananas, green as hell, which will be green tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and the next day... Until the tenth, when they'll suddenly and irreversibly turn brown. They'll be—stained—ready to be thrown away.
The work of shopping, of transacting, doesn't seem important, because until recently it seemed sexist. That's the shame. Since it's a housekeeping job, we've abandoned it. And we shouldn't have done it.
We have the power to buy well, but this is a job, just as checking whether the vegetables in the store are good or ulcerous is a job. We buy tickets to go to faraway countries, and we won't tolerate being charged 600 euros for a trip to Paris, because we don't want to be ripped off. We look, we stir, we check the apartment, the hotel, and the restaurant we're going to (and where we left our account number). And shouldn't we do the same with food? Why don't we look at ourselves with food?
