i walked into las palmas without expectation. my initial reactions were surprise and delight, if mitigated by a throbbing hangover and chills from the damp cold outside. there are just a few aisles, packed to the hilt with food, leading to the butcher case in the back of the store. along the right aisle is a single register with a slick, clean conveyor belt and polished stainless steel. a massive phone card wall, piñatas hanging, fresh baked pastries, a produce display with prices that rival the cheapest in the strip district, with no “marginal” produce. i grab a few limes, a bunch of cilantro, an onion, and two tomatoes. to the left of the aisle are rows of jars and cans: beans, chiles, salsas, sofrito, tomatoes; you name it. and several brands for each variety. i place a can of black beans into my basket.