One of the best things about our location in Paris was the store next door. Monoprix is a supermarket. It’s also a microcosm, the contemporary equivalent of old-fashioned general stores in small towns. Flour and butter and eggs and really good merguez sausage and coeur coulant chocolate cakes beckoned from the back. Clothes, books, office supplies, make-up, toiletries and kitchen gear lured people in from the street. If Monoprix didn’t stock something, that meant you didn’t need it. And yet the store wasn’t big.

Not like Giant. That’s my local supermarket here in the States. The physical space is as huge as its name, with aisles wide enough to drive a pick-up through. They sell only food and toiletries.

I have fidelity cards for both stores, so I receive e-mails from Giant and Monoprix, sometimes on the same day. The contrast makes me laugh.

Giant’s e-mail today says “Feed a family of four for $7 or less with budget-friendly recipes. This week is tuna and vegetable stove-top casserole: 1 box Rice-a-Roni Broccoli Au Gratin, 1 cup frozen peas, 1 can tuna. Mix.” Last week’s missive was a three-ingredient recipe for turkey chili.

Monoprix’s newsletter features breakfast made from three sale items: braided brioche, mango preserves, and orange juice. It reads, in French: “Add to your table a few cravings, a hint of indulgence and a lot of balance for breakfast. A slice of brioche will start you off on the right foot.” Bread, jam, and juice cost 9.26 Euros, or almost twice as much as the $7 dinner-for-four from Giant. Coffee costs extra, especially if you get a chatpuccio, or cat cappuchino, like the one Monoprix sent me (pictured above).

Or, for about the same amount as the tuna casserole or turkey chili, you can buy from Monoprix several “men’s beauty” items, the e-mail says. I can’t imagine my supermarket with the big, burly name ever daring to put the words “men” and “beauty” in the same sentence.

Because we had such a small pantry and refrigerator in Paris, I shopped at Monoprix every day. At least that’s how it felt. If I stayed away too long, I’d joke about going through “Monoprix withdrawal.”

We loved that store so much we are even considering naming our not-yet-adopted dog for it. Monop for short. It’s got a ring to it, doesn’t it?

Or do you think we should name our dog Giant? Such a name might be confusing, since he won’t be a big dog. He’s got to be small enough to slip into a handbag. Then we can take him grocery shopping.