Midnight Smack BY FU

Your Friends Are Already There

And

Size 10.5 Is Normal(-ish)

You hear it all the time: shop local. And yeah, there are the usual reasons—support your community, keep money in town, all that jazz. But honestly, the real magic of shopping local isn’t just the principle. It’s the customer service you get—service you’ll rarely find at a box store.

Nine times out of ten, the owner is right there in the trenches, making sure your experience is everything they intended their business to be. And that part matters more than people realize.

Here’s the thing: I run a little passion project called Food Union, and I’ve basically given up on making a fortune. I’m okay with that.

Kind of. 

So instead, I’ve decided I’m going to spend the rest of my time having fun with it.

Now—to be clear—that doesn’t mean there aren’t realities. I have four years left on my lease. I still owe on my build-out, a car I bought, and the never-ending flow of inventory—because I have zero self-control when it comes to ordering. I want everything.

And realistically? Within those four years, we’ll probably see Whole Foods roll into town. Honestly, that might be the best thing that could happen to me. I’ll probably throw in the towel when that day comes. But until then, I’m here—fully invested in giving you service like no other… and chatting it up the whole time.

Because at the end of the day, I want you to leave happy, understood, and maybe even a little spoiled. I want you to taste something new. These are the things I could talk about it all day—and often do.

And I’ll admit, sometimes that service is fueled by a little chaos. I order more than I should because I hate the idea of someone walking in, heart set on something, and I have to say, “I don’t have it.” I price things on the fly. I take shortcuts just to keep the day moving. Technology is a challenge—and it’s only getting harder—but I keep plugging along.

Like today: without exaggeration, I spent three hours on chat with three different “experts.” In the end (thanks to Stef), she found the issue on the “back end”. We actually taught the big tech company something. A rare win but, I’ll take it.

For me, it’s all about making sure your experience is top-notch—from “just” browsing, to building your own snack, to putting together a full-on cheese and charcuterie spread, to finding the perfect gift. And if you come to an event? I try to make it even more interesting.

Some of you have become regulars—borderline groupies—and I am desperately trying to remember what you’ve tried and what you haven’t. Repeats may happen, but hey… consider them my cover songs. And really, who gets tired of Bohemian Rhapsody?

So that brings me to a couple of stories from my favorite spots in Zumbrota—places where I’ve experienced customer service that I could say goes above and beyond but it’s really service that makes you feel special.

Back in November, I drove out with a very clear intention: buy my daughter a birthday present and absolutely nothing for myself.

Because let’s be honest—I am the person who goes Christmas shopping and somehow ends up with a pile for me.

Ask JZ if I need shoes. He’ll say my closet is full. What he doesn’t understand is my feet have grown another half size. Again.

How does that even happen? My feet are now just a hair smaller than his, which feels… just big. . And I’m starting to realize that owning the “cutest shoes ever” era might be in the rearview mirror. Sigh.

The thought of Hokas? Just no. (Sorry to all the great stores that carry them.) In a size 10.5, they feel… substantial. Let’s just say that. I’m not ready for orthopedic sneakers with Velcro or even clogs.

I swore I’d never wear Birks. I now own two pairs.

But if you’ve never been to Luya Shoes in Zumbrota, the store is filled with shoes that are both extremely comfortable and genuinely cute—which feels like a minor miracle.

On past visits, when I was just a mere size 10, I could walk in and immediately find multiple pairs I wanted to take home. The store is inviting, and because of Connie Hawley, the owner, it feels like you’re hanging out with your best friends.

You can be trying on a pair of shoes, studying them thoughtfully, and another customer will chime in: “Those are so great.”

Well. Enough said. Sold.

I’ve had purchases fully completed, bag in hand, only to be asked at the counter what I got—and of course I immediately open the bag to show off my newest prize. Suddenly there’s a small gathering, and everyone approves. I don’t need JZ for any of that now.

Connie once referred to her shop as the “ZZest of shoes,” and she’s not wrong. She has a knack for display, she’s always warm and ready to chat, and she understands shoppers like me—the ones who need to do a quick lap, then circle back again slower and more deliberate. She lets the process happen.

The sale room alone is worth the trip—surprisingly well stocked, even in larger sizes (if you’re lucky enough to still be a 10). In the shop there are hats, purses, socks, little extras like slip-resistant pads and foot cushions. I have a scarf from there—bold sun-gold with a purple, pink, and green bird—that is still my favorite summer piece.

But in the end, it’s all about the shoes and boots. Just like for me, it all starts with cheese. For Connie, it’s shoes

So that November day, I couldn’t resist stopping in. I figured, now that I had officially graduated to a 10.5, my choices would be limited. Maybe—for the first time—I wouldn’t find something I couldn’t live without.

What could it hurt to just take a peek?

I was warmly greeted, we exchanged a few business updates, and I did my usual fast lap… followed by a slower one.

Nothing was jumping out. As expected, 10.5 wasn’t exactly abundant. So I asked Connie what brands typically carried that size.

Instead of just listing names, she got to work—pulling boxes, scanning shelves, grabbing anything that might work, even a generous size 10 that could possibly stretch.

At one point, she handed me a pair of black wedge boots. In the box? Not impressive. On my foot? Completely different story. Comfortable. Surprisingly flattering.

I didn’t buy them. I already owned three pairs of black boots—obviously four would be ridiculous.

I regret that decision. Two of the three I own aren’t even that great. I should have replaced them.

But then I spotted a pair of L’Artiste boots out of the corner of my eye. Unique. slightly retro, almost Victorian. Embossed leather. Sculpted heel. Burgundy, gray, green—colors that somehow go with everything.

And—miracle of miracles—a 10.5.

One very quick try-on, they were back in the box and heading to the counter.

They’re not everyday shoes—the heel is a bit much for that—but every time I wear them, I love them.

Turns out, there are options in a 10.5. For better or worse.

I’ll be heading back soon for spring. I need new sneakers—all three of mine are too short now. I’m hoping for a camel leather Taos side zip in a 10.5… but even if that exact shoe isn’t there, something equally great will be.

Because Connie will find it. And the rest of the store will approve.

Just down the street is Wild Ginger.

That November day, my goal was simple: find something for Lindsay. I figured it would be a quick pop into Sticks and Stones  and then be on my way.

The two stores Wild Ginger and Sticks and Stones connect on the inside, and I could have easily gone in and out of Sticks and Stones through the front door. But instead, I went through Wild Ginger—because why not.

And that’s when it happened.

The moment I walked into Wild Ginger, a sweater began its campaign.

It was lightweight, perfect for layering, with birds (apparently a theme for me), and colors that would go with everything. It was… more than I wanted to spend on myself that day.

So I avoided it.

I found something perfect for Lindsay at Sticks and Stones. I should have left through their front door. But those birds started their siren song.

I tried to outsmart the sweater—walked the opposite direction, scanned every other rack… and somehow ended up right back in front of it.

During all this, I was asked if I needed help—which I always appreciate. On a previous visit, they gently nudged me to try things I never would have picked myself—a linen skirt and jacket I still can’t wait to wear this spring.

Owner Roxanne Bartsh has a knack for hitting the mark—selecting pieces that are flattering, unique, not too young-looking, and not too old either. She brings in great local jewelry, fun little novelties, and an especially strong assortment of dresses (the kind you end up living in all summer whether you planned to or not). You can feel her influence throughout the store—even when she’s not there—but it’s even better when she is, pulling out the pieces that have been flying off the racks and helping you find the ones you’ll really love.

The bird sweater would probably go perfectly with that skirt, and you could wear it into the spring, whispered the sweater.

“Fine,” I responded. “I’ll just try it on.”

I grabbed my size and headed to the dressing room.

And then—disaster.

It wouldn’t button. Well, I could button it, but it was pulling and gapping.

Shock (this rarely happens), followed by horror (have I also gone up a sweater size now?), followed by a weird sense of relief (well, that solves that).

Slightly defeated, I told the sales associate I was just too big for it—honestly, I probably said “fat.” She smiled kindly, and I left.

I got all the way to my car. Hand on the door. Ready to go.

And then my phone rang.

“Hi, this is Wild Ginger calling…”

Oh.

“I just wanted to let you know—that sweater is in European sizing. What you thought was a 10 or 12 is actually more like a 6.”

The relief. Immediate.

I slammed my car door shut and ran back to Wild Ginger.

The birds won.

The sweater was now mine.

This is why it matters. Not the “shop local” slogan—the actual experience. The extra effort. The “wait, don’t leave feeling bad, that’s a European size” phone call. You are not the only one that were size 10.5. The digging in the back room. The honest opinions, the shared excitement, the small moments that somehow turn into the reason you come back. These places start to feel less like stores and more like friends you stop in to see—the kind that know your habits, cheer on your choices, and occasionally save you from the wrong size sweater. You’re not just another transaction—you’re the whole point. And that’s something no big box store is ever going to scale.