Welcome to this mother-in-law’s upside-down world of grocery snobbery, where the true mark of parental love is not whether you can provide a nourishing meal, but whether your spinach comes in a bag with a designer logo.

Forget nutrition labels or the actual origin of the produce, what matters most is that your carrots wear the right badge, ideally stamped with a supermarket pedigree more luxurious than anything actually found in nature. Taste, effort, and the basic miracle of feeding a family on a budget get thrown out like last season’s kale. Only in this peculiar brand of family drama could off-brand oranges be considered a scandal, and the act of buying store-brand broccoli spark a culinary inquisition. It’s a world where the greatest transgression is not bland soup, but failure to consult the produce runway before making dinner.

In this household, love is measured not by how many home-cooked meals you serve, but by whether you have the audacity to let basic beans in this aristocrat palace, when, obviously, only Louis Vuitton lettuce and Gucci grapes are worthy of nurturing the lineage.