In other countries, buying groceries is just a chore. The supermarkets are all designed the same: efficient but unimaginative, whereas, in Beijing food shopping is an event, by virtue of both necessity and variety.

To get the most out of the experience, you're best off making three stops. It only takes about half a day, but what else are you doing with your Sunday afternoon - surf the Internet?

First stop: A farmer's market - those noisy bazaars of tiny stalls capped high above with corrugated iron roofing. A farmer's market is your mecca for produce and protein, so the more of your diet that you buy here, the less of your diet comes from plastic-bagged, chemically preserved junk food and the longer you'll live.

If you're not sure where your neighborhood farmer's market is, get up early on a Saturday and follow any white-haired woman pulling an empty handcart. She'll lead you to a place where oranges are 1.5 yuan per jin, the tofu is hand-made, and the leafy greens come in so many shades and shapes even a plant specialist couldn't identify them all.

Yes, the pistachio-vendor's Mandarin may baffle you, and selecting a particular cut from a side of bloody beef may make you feel like going vegetarian. Some smells will stop you in your tracks; others will assault you and send you scrambling for the exits. It's all in the name of cultural immersion though, isn't it?

Stop two: On to Carrefour. Yes Americans, you can go to a Wal-Mart, but then you might as well be back in the United States, driving a pickup truck with a brash bumper sticker on it. Leave Wal-Mart to the Chinese still boycotting French goods on conscientious-objector grounds.

Who can object to all those western staples and goodies at Carrefour? Lindt chocolate, La Fermiere yoghurt, Barilla pasta, what a guilty pleasure to scoop up the best that European has to offer, with none of the in-fighting or high taxes.

If you're feeling adventuresome, aisle 10 has the brownie mix and you can buy a toaster upstairs to bake it in. Add to that more reasonably-priced skin care products than you can shake a stick at, and it's no wonder Carrefour takes in more money from the Chinese in a day than Shanghai's French Concession did in a year.

Of course, foreign colonies take on Chinese characteristics. It's doubtful the Carrefour in Paris has employees touting wonder mops with bullhorns, and no way will a Parisian Carrefour worker kill your Tilapia and clean it for you. The constant rugby scrum around the produce scales screams "China" as well, but you can steer clear, you've already bought all your fruit and veggies at a farmer's market, fresher and cheaper.

Third and last stop: Jenny Lou's, Ol, BHG Market Place. Call them what you will, they're the specialty stores. Unless you're one of those few endangered species expats who still get combat pay for living in Beijing, your purse should be too light from the first two phases to do much damage to your bottom line.

Then again, you expat moms out there have no choice; sugary breakfast cereal and family-sized bags of Doritos are the only way to buy your children's temporary cooperation.

For fans of budgets and value, however, such shops are the snifter of brandy after a satisfying meal, indulged in sparingly if one is to remain healthy.

You can begin by chuckling at the cellophane-wrapped avocadoes priced at 40 yuan each, indistinguishable from the naked ones sold at the farmer's market for 10.

Sample the little cups of organic milk and yogurt, or get a few toothpicks of cheddar on bread.

That way, you'll resist the temptation of that 200 yuan hunk of camembert, and settle for a nifty little bag of Bonbel cheese balls.

"Ooh and ah" over that bottle of wine that equals an Elantra down payment, and treat yourself to a liter-size can of German pilsner, the one with more syllables in the name than a newly-discovered bacteria.

Such are the treats with which to wind down after half-a-day's food shopping, the kind of expedition that makes Beijing yours, body and soul.