I just wanted to have a jar of brown beans. Of course this is not the best raggningsrepliken or the sense that I want to define me forever. If anything, it is a way to date a man; he who pronounces these words is most likely a male, white and older than högertrafiken.
But tune me – I like brown beans. And now, I wanted to buy them, the Big Store south of the south.
in this shop. There were large white beans and small white beans. Black eye beans and lima beans. Edamamebönor and mixed beans. Broad beans and kidney beans. Fava-, cannellini and borlottibönor. There were no brown beans.
There were, however, several kinds of sauerkraut, which I first thought should be even gubbigare than my beans. But then it hit me: sauerkraut is hipster. It is almost criminal to stay in Stockholm without having their own favoritsyrning and then invite all your friends and eat it to Romanian getkorv.
the brown beans may was just the end, in this store that had so many other things. But the sales woman I asked looked like she never heard of the phenomenon. Perhaps they are just on the way out, to rot in history's compost heap along with radiokaka, glasmästarsill and oxtail soup.
In this large, cutting edge store, they were not. However, what was found, which further demonstrates the new age of final judgment, was a small sticker at the store's självscanningskassa: ”Thank you”.
Erik Helmerson is an editorial writer and very fond of calves liver anglais and scottish haggis. Also read his chronicles to be dependent on the bowler hat and Marievik, a place he knows all about and never visited .