How to Shop Like a Spaniard
Supermarket Edition
Dios mío, the Spanish supermarket. Less a place to buy food than a stage for embarrassing interactions and confidence loss. You might think you’re a fully functioning adult, until you find yourself getting judged by the maruja* at the fish counter, berated by security for daring to bring in your carrito (personal shopping trolley) or giant bag, and pitied by the cashier who really didn’t mean “¿No más queso?” or more cheese? but rather “¿No más que eso?” or anything else? (My poor husband is still recovering from that interaction).
All of our most endearing quirks and worst defects collide in this prosaic part of Spanish daily life: the crass directness, the obsession with hyper-local everything, and the national sport of turning small questions into full-blown oratory. (English speakers love small talk; we prefer ten-minute dissertations on why garbanzo pedrosillano (a type of chickpea) is the only legume worth a soak.
You might be able to dazzle your friends by talking “menu-Spanish” like a pro or correctly guessing all types of sherry blindfolded, but none of that translates to navigating the legume section or correctly asking for filleted fish at the counter.
Before even stepping in what we weirdly call Grandes Superficies or big surfaces let’s make a quick summary of the most popular ones.
Grandes Superficies or Supermarkets
Mercadona
Zara for food. Efficient, utilitarian and beloved case study of Harvard Business School. Pays its workers more than its competitors and trains them for all store roles which makes you feel virtuous for buying Hacendado everything (a brand that you will find in most people’s pantries and fridges). Just don’t become “el pesado de Mercadona” or the Mercadona bore - that person who won’t shut up about how amazing and smart they are for shopping there.
As a side note Mercadona is also the new Tinder for teens, where flirting happens via strategically crashed trolleys and a carefully placed upside-down pineapple.
Carrefour
French layout, Spanish chaos especially on the weekends. You will get lost. The supermarket of middle-class suburban families.
Carrefour Express
Spendy and also known as the Airbnb pantry. No one shops here on purpose except my Dad, see Dani below.
Lidl/ Aldi
German pricing, increasingly catering to Spanish taste buds. Similar to all the stores across Europe.
Sánchez Romero (Madrid)
A social class more than a store. This is where footballers’ wives and property tycoons buy €120/ kilo gamba blanca, which they pretend they know how to cook. The supermarket where you are most likely to hear someone calling their daughter Cayetana (a posh name but also slang for rich girl).
El Corte Inglés / Hipercor / Supercor
Spanish bourgeois grocery shopping at its finest. Walking out with one of their green and black bags is a statement: “I could’ve bought this cheaper elsewhere, but where’s the fun in that?” El Corte Inglés is the only place (possibly in the world) where you can get a blowdry, a washing machine, find hundreds of colored threads and buy a rabbit for paella. Actress Julianne Moore agrees.
El Club del Gourmet or Gourmet Experience (part of El Corte Inglés but sui generis)
Where Spaniards pretend to be French and buy foie next to niche Spanish sweets that you have to search for in early 20th century cookbooks. Credited (possibly by themselves) for launching the conserva chic wave. Worryingly moving towards private labelling.
El Dani (Andalusia)
Ugly, gloriously tacky color schemes/ fonts, and very cheap. Where smart abuelos and broke students argue over the last of the €1 tomato frito tin. So unglamorous that my Dad, who is an engineer with a love of mental maths, prefers to go to Carrefour express.
Eroski
Basque-owned, somehow huge in Galicia. No one understands why.
DIA
National behemoth. The shelves are chaos with the products still in their cardboard boxes, the lighting is from a horror film, and yet we end up here more than we care to admit.
The Carrito and Bags: Supermarket accessories
If you like to do your shopping on foot, the role of the carrito de la compra is twofold, announce to the world you live in central Madrid, Barcelona, Málaga (with their jaw dropping euro per sq. meter stats) and that you shop frequently for the freshest food.
This is especially important in the supermarket of El Corte Inglés or Sánchez Romero but essential when shopping in food markets which frankly elevates you to another level of shopper and which topic is reserved for another Substack.
Shopping trolleys sport cult brands too - and if yours isn’t a Rolser, you’re simply not cool because it is the defining shopping trolley. While it is available in the UK in places like John Lewis it does not carry the same cultural and social significance. Foldable format and large frozen food pocket are a plus.
In terms of color don’t even consider getting the tartan one unless you ironically have one and live in Malasaña (ground zero for hipsters). One chic and popular option is red or pink.
You’ll see carritos parked near supermarket entrances like tiny sports cars, locked with a key system that confuses newcomers and delights thieves.
Shopping trolleys are also pushed by an army of underpaid domestic workers (Spain has more domestic workers per capita than almost anywhere in Europe after Italy - it's in the stats and in Almodóvar films).
While some artsy people opt for bags like the one sported by Santa Margarita below you can only really get away with this look if you are a) an aristocrat with a huge instagram following b) live in Malasaña or Lavapiés or/and c) are buying a leg of Ibérico ham.
The Legume Gauntlet
This aisle is not for amateur hispanophiles. Legumes in Spain is what pasta is to Italians (just don’t mix with tomate frito!)
There are two camps in one aisle:
Dry legumes in bags: Where the real gastronerds hang out. If you know your garbanzo (chickpea) pedrosillano from your fuente el sauco, you’re halfway to a cocido. The bags can come in boring plastic or rustic sack cloth.
Origin is key, so essentially PDO and PGI, EU protected origin products, are the Cayetanas (or posh girls) of the aisle with a certificate of origin, taste and classiness that the rest can only aspire to.
Cooked legumes in jars: The best shortcut no one tells you about. Jars = classy. Cans = you have no clue.
And then there's the existential dread:
Why are fabes €24.95/kg? Is there a mistake on the price label.
What is the difference between a PDO and PGI?
Who can afford to make fabada?
Why do I suddenly need a degree in botany?
The Fish Counter that will get you in Boiling Water
Even the dinkiest town’s supermarket will make you feel like you’ve accidentally signed up for a scuba diving expedition. Spaniards are obsessed with fish and seafood and hold the title of Europe’s number one consumers. We eat everything from goose barnacles that look like dinosaur toes to tiny boquerones and giant, spectacularly unattractive beasts like monkfish (rape).
Before even thinking about approaching the fish counter and preferably the night before do your homework.
Rule #1: Find the ticket machine. Fast. Don’t be shocked if the number on the screen is twenty numbers behind yours.
Rule #2: Understand these key terms:
Limpio: Cleaned (guts and all).
Fileteado: Filleted.
Sin piel : Skin off.
The fish counter is not for the faint of heart, especially vegans and vegetarians should create an alternative route which also bypasses the pork leg/shoulder section.
As for you, you’ll be quizzed. Judged. Maybe even corrected. If your Spanish is shaky, head to the pre-packaged section to maintain your dignity.
Tomato Aisle Confusion, Decoded
When it comes to tomatoes, Spain is both passionate and prolific: the country is the largest consumer, producer, and exporter of fresh tomatoes in the European Union. . But I'm not here to talk about the fruit itself but about what we do with it. Yes I know in terms of difficulty this is supermarket kindergarten but this guide is for influencers who don’t have the guts to hit the fish counter.
Tomate Frito: the most perplexing item for non-natives as it is a salsa de tomate kind of. Think silky, slow-cooked tomato sauce, often better than anything you’ll make yourself depending on the brand. De pera tomatoes have to be peeled, chopped and sautéed with garlic and onions and carefully reduced to be finally blended. Can be used in countless recipes from arroz a la cubana to empanadillas de atún con tomate. I love the brand Hida.
Tomate Triturado: Crushed tomatoes. Acceptable in cans.
Tomate en Conserva: Whole tomatoes but more artisanal, more snobby. If it’s in glass, it must be good. (Usually true.)
Salmorreta: a paste of ñora pepper and tomatoes used in Alicante for rice dishes.
Gazpacho/Salmorejo: this refrigerated section keeps on growing with permutations of both in different flavors.
Tomate rallado: grated for spreading on bread if you are supremely lazy or can’t locate rubbing tomatoes or tomates de penjar, which are the traditional way to make pa amb tomàquet.
Pisto: Spain’s answer to ratatouille, but sassier.
Sofrito: A base used to build flavor in other dishes.
Like Italy we take tomatoes very, very seriously.
Final Thoughts
Spanish supermarkets aren’t just to shop use them as a cultural obstacle course where you have to interact with real life human beings and yes talk (if not in the mood head to Carrefour Express like my dad). You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. But you’ll also learn more about Spain than any tapas crawl could teach you and make a friend of the fishmonger.
And when you finally manage to order “medio kilo de lubina fileteada sin espinas y un kilo de rape en rodajas” give yourself a pat in the back or get yourself a Rolser. If not just point to the fish, it will come with the guts but you can always create a still life.
maruja is pejorative for housewife or a diminutive of Maria. I’ll let you decide.
Funny and true.
I’m inside día every other day since it’s the closest supermarket near me. Wish I could shop more at Mercadona but día has most of what I need. I also go to Mercado de la cebada and brave the marujas getting fish