A few days ago, I popped into my local grocery store. It’s about the size of a 7-Eleven and, on a humid summer afternoon, smells like watermelon, cured meats, and a whiff of mop water. Quaint? Yes.
In much of the world outside the U.S., including here in Portugal, you don’t do the once-a-week mega grocery haul that ends with a cart stacked deep, a receip…