I don’t shop at nice grocery stores (well, not exactly, but close enough). They have bright lights, clean floors, end-cap displays and matching uniforms.

Nope. The stores I go to are old and cruddy looking. They’ve been around so many years they look like deathtraps; old light fixtures, wire-rack displays, beaten up shopping carts. Their prices aren’t listed on LED displays; they’re written in chalk on boards above the fruit. (Note to self; I can never open such a store with my handwriting. I can see it now: Customer – “Is it $3.99 for asparagus or $399 for arthritis?” Me (squinting) – “Yes.”)

But these stores are going, and they’re not coming back.

First there was Plowboys in Fountain Valley. They were actually a full-service supermarket, but they specialized in great produce and a butchery that I still think was the best in the county. That was a long time ago.

Then there was Lucci’s the deli on the corner that made their own bread and cookies, sauces and pastas, and had a deli counter that made my daughter (and my) lunches from Kindergarten through High School graduation. I came up with my Cast Iron Pizza recipe there; when they closed I brought a pizza into their store to say goodbye (please see Cast Iron Pizza ). The owner and I met several times around town after, and she never failed to thank me for the food.

One thing I always admired – they closed the shop between Christmas and New Years to give everyone a break. So imagine my surprise when I went in this year and with one week’s notice I see a sign that says that after 55 years of service to their customers they are closing the store for good and focusing on their wholesale operations instead.

No one saw this coming. Heck, this year they finally got modern cash registers that no longer required you to sign a paper receipt.

You might ask why I took an hour of my week to go get produce that I could get at Vons (which is actually Albertsons another block away or Safeway elsewhere in California) only 2 minutes away.

The answer is simple. Because I wanted to. Because I cook.

The tag-line on this website is “Bad Dad Jokes (yes, they are) and Good Food (well, that’s debatable, but I’m good with it).” I’ve been cooking for about 45 years, ever since I worked behind the counter at Jack-in-the-Box where I made substandard hamburgers and joked around on the squawk box. Yep – you can blame Pet Foods Inc., the company that ironically owned the Jack, for turning me loose on the world.

The biggest lesson I learned over all these years is that good food starts with good produce. Whether you’re making a salad or a beef roast, it is the vegetables you serve it with that really makes the meal whole.

The Ranch was my favorite for produce. I don’t know which came first – the store or the wholesale operation (they have eggs, but no chickens). But the combination always meant that their customers had access to the best and most varied produce at really good prices.

Honestly, I would kind-of wander through the store looking at what was available, trying new things every once in a while just for the fun of it. Watermelon radish in a salad tasted like beets; Honey-nut squash in the fall was the least squashy squash and sat on our Thanksgiving table this year. Those local organic peaches didn’t look pretty but my wife ate them in bunches.

Plus there were grocery products. The heirloom beans from Rancho Gordo that I made into soup (please see LarryLand Bean and Kale Soup ) that my friend Dan still comments on. The Home Town Bakery which makes actual breads that have weight and not air inside, and which makes a great grilled cheese sandwich. El Nopalito salsas that go bad in my fridge because they’re not full of preservatives. Where will I get these products?

Their staff told me that they coordinated with 22 different food producers weekly. That’s a lot of work, and may explain some of the difficulties in running a small store in a big-chain world.

What about their staff? Well, in the big stores, they have dedicated people that stand at a kiosk handing out samples of pre-packaged foods. Here there’s a guy with an apple and a pocket knife telling you what’s good that week while cutting you a piece and thrusting it (knife and all) in your direction. I’m pretty sure he washed his hands and maybe the pocket knife. I’m very sure that I don’t care; I often bought the apple because the guy knew his stuff and it was good. Trust matters.

They did that with all the regulars. For me specifically they should have earned combat pay. The oddest thing happens to me when I walk into a store that I like (any store, not just the Ranch). I actually get happy looking around for stuff to buy. No joke there – the environment of good products and a long relationship with the people makes me glad to go inside and think of what I can do, rather than what I can’t.

Which means that the poor folks who man the building have to deal with me joking around and over-sharing about the food I was planning on cooking or my family adventures. One of the clerks (she left about 6 months ago) saw my daughter’s high school graduation photos, asked me every week how she was doing in Boston, and then New York, and then Connecticut. With a smile. I didn’t get to say goodbye to her, which I still think about.

The joking stopped when I saw the sign. The store was pretty empty that day, and I did not see it until I was about to check out. The check-out clerks saw me, and we talked. They’d seen that response all day. I realized, and said to them, that whatever I was feeling was probably much worse for them. I think they knew that I meant it, which I did.

At the end of the day, when a store closes it is the people that lose their jobs that matter most. I’m sure the owners of the Ranch have their reasons for changing direction. I do not want you to think that I am raging against them. The fact is – I don’t know their reasons and to cast blame (which is a national epidemic these days) is fruitless. (get it?)

As Shakespeare said (but which I learned from George Clooney of all things) – “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.”

The scorched earth that is the remnants of the retail apocalypse can be traced to our own desire for convenience over effort. Years ago, I had a co-worker once rhetorically ask why she should travel to a store for an orange when it can be delivered for free on Amazon.

As I drove 5 miles to the store for my last trip I thought about this, and here is my answer. It is because I can pick out the 25-30 small fingerling potatoes one by one, rather than buying a plastic bag and hoping they’re good but knowing I’ll throw some away. It is because of the guy who hands me a probably unwashed apple slice. It is for a store that stocks local whole foods that I can’t get at Amazon’s Whole Foods Inc for twice the price. It is because the staff asked me about my kid. Amazon doesn’t care about those things. They don’t care about you. There, I raged just a bit.

It takes effort. But at the end, if we support local stores and shopkeepers we give them jobs, we have a place to go, we have people to relate to. Yes, we will shop at the big chains and online; it is unavoidable. I’m an equal opportunity shopper – I annoy my favorite clerks at Vons every week as well as the Ranch.

But I also believe that if we all make just a little effort on whatever our favorite stores are (grocery, dry cleaners, sporting goods, diners) we can make a difference. I ask you to consider this as you shop.

In the meantime, I went to the Ranch yesterday, bought way more than I can eat (and will feel guilty later when some of it goes bad). I asked the staff how they’re dealing with being let go just before Christmas (which really sucks), and surprisingly they’re doing ok. I said my goodbyes.

They asked me if I’m going in Saturday for the “last day”. No. I told them I didn’t need to go to the funeral. But apparently I am providing a eulogy (and thinking of delivering it).

To you – sorry for the downer during the holidays.

As I left, I took a few pictures. I took this last one as their epitaph.