Jonny McCambridge: I want the finest aubergines available to humanity...and I want them now

My wife and son tend to lie-in then, but I'm not much of a sleeper so usually rise early. It is the only few hours of the week which are not filled with scheduled tasks or activities.

It is logical that I would use that time to get things done. My mind turns to chores which I can tick off then which will assist me through the rest of the week.

I've spent most of my time the last month in court covering a trial. The days have been long and punishing and my ability to cook fresh family meals has diminished. My habit has been to prepare something substantial in advance at the weekend which will last through a few evenings.

However, before I can cook, I need to shop. The easiest time for me to do the weekly food shop is during that Sunday morning window.

Of course, that is the time when the larger supermarkets are closed. This nudges me in the direction of the smaller stores which have a narrower range of products but broader opening hours.

I like to vary the menu and this week have decided I will prepare a moussaka, surmising that the Greek casserole is something I can make in a large quantity and then divide into portions and freeze to ensure it provides dinner on three evenings.

I've cooked this dish before and know what ingredients are needed. A slight concern is that my wife doesn't like lamb, so my habit is to substitute minced beef. With the addition of bechamel sauce, this brings the dish dangerously close to a lasagne, its Italian cousin. This means that the layers of potatoes and aubergine become even more important as I strive for some level of culinary authenticity.

It is just after 8am when I enter the store and begin to place items in the basket. I am making progress until I reach the fruit and veg section. The potatoes are easily located but I can't see aubergines. Worse than this, I find the sign which tells me where the deep purple vegetables are supposed to be, but the items in that display space are instead tomatoes. I've been around and I know the difference; I am not to be so easily fooled.

I find a shop assistant and ask her where are the aubergines. She responds firmly and immediately, which suggests that this is a stock answer: “We don't sell aubergines.”

I don't want to be contrary but am forced to point out there is a sign which suggests they do sell aubergines, but she is firm and steady in her position.

“That's wrong, we don't sell aubergines.”

This seems to bring the exchange to an end. I pay for my items and leave the shop, slightly deflated. A moussaka without aubergines is a prospect too grim to consider. I know there is another store under the same ownership a few miles away. Despite the denials, I earnestly believe that they do sell the vegetable. I drive there and go to the fruit and veg section. I can't see any.

I go to the young man behind the counter.

“Do you have any aubergines?”

“What are aubergines?” he responds. I leave the store. I have to drive further from home to broaden my search. I enter a third shop, I enquire again about the supply of aubergines.

“We don't have aubergines, but we do have courgettes,” the woman helpfully advises.

Other than inviting a conversation on how an aubergine is not a courgette, I am not sure how to answer this remark, so I leave the store and drive further away.

Now I enter a town where I know there are a couple of small supermarkets. I enter the closest shop and go straight to a woman stacking shelves.

“Do you have aubergines?”

'How many would you like?'

My heart leaps.

“Could I have four please?”

She walks away, only to return a minute later.

“Sorry, we've run out.”

I go to a fifth store. Now I am on the point of desperation and perhaps close to a nervous breakdown.

I go to the woman there and declare, like Withnail, as I pound my fist on the counter: “I want the finest aubergines available to humanity. I want them here, and I want them now!”

They don't have aubergines.

I walk through the town. There is a small grocer shop but, as it is Sunday morning, it is not open. I peer through the window, I can see the aubergines there on the shelf, purple and plump, teasing me with their magnificence. I press my face against the glass. I notice there is a woman at the rear of the shop. I begin to frantically knock on the door.

She spots me, shakes her head and mouths the words: “We're closed.”

I persist, making a circular gesture with my hands and mouthing “au-ber-gine...au-ber-gine.”

She responds by making a hand signal which suggests she may be on the verge of calling the police. I decide I had better move on.

I am crushed and defeated as I drive towards home. Without the proper ingredients, I know I can't make a moussaka.

I am mumbling sadly to myself: “I don't want to make a flipping lasagne.”

There is a small corner shop, just yards from my front door. I had not considered it before as it has a very limited range of goods, but I decide now I might as well check, just for completeness.

I walk into the little shop and the first thing I see is a proud and tall pile of aubergines, pear-shaped, glossy, deep in colour. The overhead light is reflecting off their smooth and taut skins.

I grab an armful, I'm not sure how many, and stumble madly, towards the counter. “The aubergines are on offer,” the kindly older man who works in the shop advises me.

I might be crying a little.