I stopped into Madison Market last night to pick up some groceries. In the process I managed to learn three things. Those things are these:

1. You can get Dinah’s cheese by the half wheel: Madison Market now cuts the circle of Camembert-style cheese into two half-moons and sells each separately. I asked cheesemaker Kurt Timmermeister why, and he said it was the store that repacked the cheese that way, not Kurtwood Farms.

But it’s a convenient thing to know if you’re planning a cheese plate that will include—but not be limited to—Dinah’s.

2. Madison Market sells Ethan Stowell’s pasta line, Lagana, and it’s excellent. I bought the radiatore and had to eat it practically plain (I threw in a little pesto but not much) due to a sad stomach. It was plumped-up, freshity fresh perfection. Seriously, this is your new dinner-party secret.

3. People cause scenes at co-ops. Usually the worst thing that happens at Madison Market is that you have to wait in line forever because someone forgot to label the twisty on his organic farro. But last night the worst (slash best!) thing that happened was that a middle-aged woman went “all banshee”—as my Australian relatives like to say—and started yelling at this cashier about how rude he was, and about how she always tries to avoid his line because he’s so freaking rude.

And the funny thing about that is that said cashier is like the nicest person ever. Even by the high, happy-hippie niceness standards of Madison Market employees he is nice. Irate lady: If you think Madison Market employees mistreat you, you might try shopping anywhere else in the world besides an upscale organic market in Seattle. Not five minutes before, I saw a store worker, upon noticing a customer with too many items in her arms, run across the shop to get her a cart. And that employee who got the cart? He’s not even as nice as the guy at whom the banshee was shrieking.

Still, I have to admit, I appreciated the show. “Who needs TV?” asked the guy in front of me, clutching his pointy bike helmet and employing a bit of a British accent. Certainly no one at the co-op needs TV! I thought. And then I shoved my groceries into my purse, so as to avoid the shame of a plastic bag (or “devil sac” as we call them at the co-op), and went home to eat plain Ethan Stowell pasta in front of the boob tube.