Aussie grocery staple you can’t find in US (2024)

You know that frustrating feeling when you go to a supermarket you’ve not been too before? When you can’t find the one thing you need?

In your local supermarket, everything makes sense. The location of batteries doesn’t baffle you; you know the shortcut to shortcrust pastry.

But in this other supermarket it’s like the store plan has been flung into the air and the products have landed in a muddled mess? You can’t find milk let alone couscous.

Well imagine that perplexing product purgatory and times it by 10 and you have the frustration of a recently arrived Australian trying to make sense of a US supermarket.

And trying – and failing miserably – to find a staple found on many an Aussie bench top. An unremarkable essential that apparently Americans just don’t consume.

Welcome to the wildly disorientating world of Walmart, that US giant of retail. It competes with the likes of Target USA, Aldi and brands like Kroger and Safeway for the hearts, minds and grocery wallets of Americans.

The first time you find yourself in one, give yourself a full three hours to fully make sense of the joint.

That was my experience when I stepped foot into this iconic shopping shed. It was located in North Bergen, an industrial suburb of New Jersey criss crossed by freeways and railways a 30-minute bus ride from the neon lights of Manhattan’s Times Square.

Even getting into the store is a challenge. Which entrance do you choose – this shop is so big, there are three.

Three Australian stores in one big box

That’s because Walmart is essentially three different shops – at least to Australian eyes. It’s the equivalent of a full-size Woolies, paired with a Kmart and topped off with a modest Bunnings.

If you need a slab of cheese, some work shoes, a pillow, a toilet seat and a canoe – this is the place for you.

Maybe that’s why the trolleys are double the size of any you’ll find in an Aussie store.

An American flag flutters above the middle of the three entrances where a sign cheerily advises customers to “kindly refrain from openly carrying a firearm”. You don’t see that at Coles.

So big you can’t see where store ends

Once inside it’s not dissimilar to your average big box – all strip lights and sale sign. But this box is so big you can’t actually see where it ends. And there’s a McDonalds by the check-outs in case you need a pick me up after all the walking.

In the far distance, groceries can be spied.

But it’s a quest to get to them. On the journey to beans, bacon and bread, a wall of TVs is passed, as are several sofas, perhaps one hundred bicycles, a stack of industrial metal bins, an array of bibles and a whoel shelf just full of plastic lids. Where the tubs are is a mystery. Stars and stripes aplenty from US flags to flag adorned “patriotic pyjamas”.

When it comes to food, Walmart opts for basic, bulky and low in price. This is not the place for fancy cheeses and artisan breads. But its perfect if you need to get your cupboard essentials.

Of course, many of the brands are different. The butter isn’t Western Star, it’s Land O’Lakes; the detergent isn’t Surf but Tide; there’s no Moccona coffee but you can get Folgers. Yet some names are familiar – Cadbury and Tetley are both neatly stacked. And there’s a very well known brand to Australians here: Hungry Jack. Although it’s not a burger chain but a syrup for pancakes. Nonetheless, this is where the name of the Aussie fast food behemoth originated – on an American supermarket shelf. To find out the story behind that, dive into this article.

Aussie staple you just can’t find

But try as I might, I couldn’t find my must have kitchen item. There was no Cottee’s cordial – or even an American equivalent.

In Australia, a glass of lemon cordial is my thirst quencher, a bottle of the concentrated stuff on the bench. Nothing extravagant, just something easy to wash down dinner on a non-wine night.

I hunted high and low among the aisles. There was co*ke and Pepsi; there was huge bottles of “Arizona” peach tea and suspiciously sugary Sunny-D. But concentrated cordial was a no-no.

It doesn’t help that while “cordial” exists in the US, it isn’t cordial as we know it. Rather it’s an alcoholic soft drink with vodka. Its sweet and easy to drink, and easy to get drunk on. But it’s no lemon squash.

The closest you get to Aussie cordial it is powdered beverages like Tang and Crystal Light. It’s not a pleasant experience to make. You have to open a sachet, dust powder into a glass and then fill with water.

I prefer not to see a chemical transformation from solid to liquid every time I want a glass of something refreshing.

My double sized trolley got surprisingly full. With big boxes of Kellogg’s, and even bigger tightly wound forests of loo roll.

I took my chances of brown sugar honey (really rather tasty) and honey malted bread (tastes like bland cake, will not buy again). I turned my nose up at an entire aisle of “frozen breakfast” with its row upon row of boxed icy croissants unappetisingly enclosing plastic cheese frozen mid melt around a sausage pattie.

The pizzas were enormous – the largest weighed 1.2kg. There was even a breakfast version topped with scrambled eggs, a “creamy peppery gravy,” and worryingly vague “breakfast crumbles”.

The fruit and veggies were fine but you get better in Australia. It was hard to find a tomato that wasn’t too soft or an avocado that wasn’t so rock hard you could play baseball with it.

And of course, everything is in imperial measurements which means getting your head around pounds and banishing grams.

At the checkout I find myself with a mountain of products, including a mop which I’m regretting now as I’m not sure how I’ll get back on the bus without whacking the other passengers.

Over a revitalising cheeseburger and milkshake at the in store Maccas, I survey the collection of treasures I’ve got for my $130 Australian outlay.

And there at the bottom of a bag is a box of sachets of powdered lemon squash. It’s not cordial, but it’ll just have to do.