Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

The Parsley Principle applies when there’s no real need to buy anything. The only “need” is to escape the house. Enter the parsley.

“Woman, I’m going to get some parsley!” my father’s voice would boom as he stepped out the door. Or, “Fah, what do I have to buy today?” he’d shout from the hallway, tying his shoelaces, ready for departure. (The booming voice was a recurring theme, as was “Fah” – a Romanian term of endearment.)

And from somewhere deep in the kitchen (a kitchen in any house, in any country, on any continent) came my mother’s sweet, almost childish voice: “My dear, go buy some parsley.”

A couple of hours later, Dad would return. Usually without parsley, but occasionally with a random item or two. Most often with nothing at all, which, for some unaccountable reason, surprised everyone. Every time.

I remember this especially vividly in Scottsdale, that snobbish, immaculate neighborhood we once lived in. He’d head out on foot, empty-handed, as sleek BMWs and polished Land Rovers cruised past him. Fit, tan, and dressed like a retired rugby player (which he was), he looked the part. Drivers would slow down and shout encouraging words: “Good job, man!” or “That’s the way to good health! Bravo!”

So why the parsley?
Because you can’t just walk aimlessly for hours. You need a mission, a goal, a destination. And parsley, well, it’s small, light, healthy, and universally available. Perfect.

I’ve even adopted the parsley principle myself, though on a more modest level. My cousin, on the other hand, has elevated it to the art of an epic cycling odyssey. His local shopping center is just three miles away, but he rides his bike around an entire mountain – forty miles – just to end up back at the market by his house, where he finally buys what he needs. All for a sprig of parsley and the bragging rights of being called “The Legend” on Strava.