Over the Internet came the call for help: my expatriate Upper West Side sister, living now for twenty years in a European capital, was soon to cook a Mexican meal. All the ingredients were to be had in the vast marketplaces of Amsterdam, all except the peppers.

Not being one to leave a sister in the lurch, I took a stroll to the little supermarket, Thrifty’s, across Broadway from where I live. The sign actually says Thrifty Supermarket, but locally it is known as Thrifty’s. It is too grand a term: supermarket. It is far too small and sells almost no fresh produce or meat, but it does have a reputation for stocking every common foodstuff (cereal, milk) and oddity (foil lined cupcake pan liners) one might need. The big question: would they have chipotle peppers?

I began my search in an efficient grid pattern, searching the four aisles for the mysterious spice. I was not really sure what they would look like so I inspected every likely wrapped, canned, and potted item I saw. Having no luck in the spice or pepper departments (impressive in itself as a complete rack of ten varieties of devilish looking dried husks) my sprits began to fall and I sulked over to the clerk.

I asked, “Do you have chipotle peppers?” and then, when he looked blankly back at me, I repeated “Chipotle” five more times. The apparent hopelessness of the conversation did not deter the faithful clerk from leading me on a fruitless second inspection of the spice and pepper departments. He then led us to the previously undiscovered Mexican department, which somehow I had missed during my solo tour. The Mexican department consisted of two shelves of authentic looking and oddly proportioned cans and jars. Pointing excitedly the clerk declared, "Chipotle!" exactly as I had said it him, and left me to attend to matters while he went back to the cash register.»