Irrational love is part of the human condition. We treat our purse-sized Chihuahuas like royalty and talk about our sports cars like the centerfold of a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition (‘Yeah, she has some great curves’ or ‘I rode her pretty hard last night’). Yet it still confuses me how people in this neck of the woods reserve a small cache of nonsensical passion for a freakin’ grocery store.

I’m speaking, of course, about your beloved Wegmans.

When I first arrived at Syracuse, one of the first things I was told was that I had to go to Wegmans for groceries. Person after person recommended it, speaking in gleefully glowing tones that are normally reserved for grandmas angling to get you to look at pictures of their newborn grandchild. (Sorry, Granny, all babies look alike.)

Wegmans love even went national this year when Alec Baldwin, during an appearance on ‘The Late Show with David Letterman,’ discussed his mother’s affinity for the chain. Recounting a tale of how he tried to persuade her to move from upstate New York to reside with his brother Billy in California, her response was trite:

‘And leave Wegmans?!?’

Certainly, with such ringing endorsements, this must be more than a supermarket — it must be the Mecca-market.

You know what it really is? It’s a grocery store. That’s it.

But what of its low prices and extensive organic selection? As my roommate astutely pointed out, these two items contradict one another. He avoids Wegmans precisely because of the organic selection. It’s not that he’s anti-organic — in fact, quite the contrary. He’s the artistic, free-spirited type who is the target demographic of everything green. But the endless possibilities attack a more vital green, namely the kind that exists in his wallet. The bargain prices of the generic names lure him in like Pooh Bear to a honey pot or Eeyore to a Bright Eyes concert, only for him to blow all of his money on the expensive organic selection.

A more personal drawback is selection bias. I’m sure some of you readers from other sections of the country have entered a local supermarket and thought, ‘What?! How can they not have X, Y or Z?!?’ Things that are staples of hometown supermarkets are nowhere to be found at Wegmans. Since Mom can’t be around to make her delicious meatloaf and chocolate snickerdoodle bars, the other foods of home must help satiate you until Thanksgiving or Christmas break. Wegmans isn’t helping on that front.

As a West Coast native, I dearly miss the delicacies of back home. Wherefore art thou Tillamook Cheddar, Nalley Jalapeño Hot Chili, and Franz Milk & Honey Bread?

It’s a frustrating experience having to go through alternative brands of food to determine which canned chili has the same kick. Or which brand of white bread is ideal for crunchy peanut butter and chocolate chip sandwiches (easily the best type of sandwich, and I will bare-knuckle box you if you disagree). Wegmans has yet to provide suitable replacements.

I will give Wegmans this — being open 24 hours is pretty sweet. Though I’m not sure if it’s a good sign when you find yourself mentally straining over which type of rice to buy when it’s 2 a.m. Especially when the place is as sparsely populated as the American National Rugby League’s booth at Comic-Con.

Perhaps you ‘Cuse folk hold Wegmans in such high regard because it’s the best of what you have. I did venture into the disaster zone of a supermarket you guys call Price Chopper. Wegmans seems wonderful when compared to the other local chain, but that’s hardly a fair comparison. It’s like saying modern-day Detroit isn’t that bad when compared to East Berlin in post-World War II ruin. (On second thought, this comparison is terrible — I’d totally go with East Berlin.)

While you’re fawning over Wegmans, I’ll be shampooing Fluffy’s coat and waxing the 14-inch rims on my ‘98 Honda Accord.

Seth Sommerfeld is a graduate student in the Goldring Arts Journalism Program and the humor columnist. He fought the law, and the law won in a split decision. He maintains the judges were paid off. His columns appear weekly, and he can be reached at srsommer@syr.edu.

Published on September 29, 2010 at 12:00 pm