Another of the concluding excerpts from my readings, and commentings, on "Animal Vegetable Miracle," Barbara Kingsolver's 2007 book in which she and her family became mondo locovores for a year:

Altered routines were really the heart of what we'd gained. We'd learned that many aisles of our supermarket offered us nothing local, so we didn't even push our cards down those: frozen foods, canned goods, soft drinks (yes, that's a whole aisle). Just grab the Virginia dairy products and organic flour and get out, was our motto, before you start coveting thy neighbor's goods. A person can completely foreget about lemons and kiwis once the near occasion is removed. [Page 342]

You may have heard that it's safest and wholesomest if you stick to a supermarket's perimeter because that's generally where they put the products that need refrigeration — keeping all that wiring along the walls is a sensible building plan. I grant that Kingsolver's talking about local, not fresh, but of course they often overlap. 

As a food addict, I can relate to the counsel of not even entering aisles that don't have something I need. For people like me, it's akin to standing with the fridge door open, looking. If you look long enough, you'll find something. Based on advice I've received from peers, I take the notion a step further: If I do have business in an aisle that is mostly filled with foods I don't eat, I just focus on the middle of the aisle's floor, or keep my eyes on my carriage until I get where I think I'm going. It's not often that I can be triggered into food lust anymore, but if I've got the slightest willies, why feed 'em?