I already knew the stereotype about portion sizes in the U.S. compared to Spain, but it hit me in full force recently when I went grocery shopping in person for the first time since coming home. Up until now, I’d been using curbside pickup, so I hadn’t really faced the sheer scale of it all.
And let me tell you: everything is family size. I mean everything. Chips? Family size. Candy? Family size. Cereal? Family size. Toothpaste? Okay, maybe not toothpaste, but even everyday items feel like they come in bulk here. Step into Costco or Sam’s Club, and you’ll see what I mean. You’re basically training for the apocalypse just by pushing your cart down the aisle.
It feels funny, especially because in Spain I got so used to finishing a tube of toothpaste until the last drop or using my face wash carefully. Everything there was smaller, more reasonable, more manageable. Here, it’s like everyone is preparing for a week-long blackout: buy more, consume more, live more… maybe?
And it’s not just funny, it’s fascinating. There’s a mindset baked into it: abundance is everywhere, so why not embrace it? But for someone who’s lived abroad, it can feel overwhelming. You start wondering, Do I really need six bags of chips at once? And then you remember, you probably don’t, but hey, the option is there.
I’ve started appreciating moderation again, even in a land of excess. I make a point to savor what I have instead of letting the “family size” mentality take over. And yet, there’s something undeniably comforting about knowing that, should the apocalypse strike, at least I’d be well-fed.
America really is a big consumerist country. Walking down a single aisle feels like stepping into a maze of endless options. Just when you think you’re done, another aisle appears with things you didn’t even know you needed. And the checkout line? Suddenly it’s a last-minute treasure hunt of impulse buys, gum, candy, tiny snacks, travel-sized lotions… It’s honestly overstimulating.
Compare that to the simplicity of a Mercadona in Spain, and the contrast is striking. In the U.S., a bag of oranges can come in 6, 12, or 24, organic or not, with endless packaging options. At Mercadona, it’s simple: bring your reusable bag (bolsa), pick out your own oranges, and go.
It’s fascinating how culture shapes the shopping experience. In the U.S., abundance feels like both a blessing and a little exhausting. Abroad, shopping slows down, becomes more intentional, and you’re aware of what you’re picking up and why. Coming back home, I realize just how conditioned we are to excess, to “more is better,” and how even the simplest task, like buying groceries, can feel like an event.
In the end, grocery shopping in America isn’t just about food; it’s a window into the culture itself. It’s about abundance, convenience, and maybe a touch of over-preparedness. Living abroad changes the way you see ordinary things: a tube of toothpaste, a bag of chips, or the humble carton of milk suddenly feels like a cultural experience all on its own.
Love always,
American Girl Meets World
