The first time I walked by a branch of France’s frozen food emporium Picard, I was not overtaken by a desire to go inside. The outside was nondescript and the windows were shaded, and the glimpse that I got through the automatic sliding doors showed a rather sterile-looking interior eerily filled with freezer cases and nothing else. The name, which I had previously associated only with Star Trek: The Next Generation, did not do much to change my disinclination, nor did the words underneath the geometric snowflake logo: “Les Surgelés.” It’s French for “deep-frozen,” but it bore enough of a resemblance to “surgery” in my mind to evoke images of disembodied organs in coolers.

When I heard people rave about Picard—of which there are about 700 in France—and its unbelievable selection of frozen foods, I still wasn’t interested. Having been blessed with a mother who knew how to turn a fresh head of broccoli into something truly palatable, I hadn’t eaten much frozen food growing up. I had internalized the widely-held prejudice among those who care about food that’s “fresh” is infinitely better than that which is “frozen.” Furthermore, I had come to France with dreams of doing my food shopping at farmers’ markets, bakeries, and specialty shops—what use did I have for a food store that took after a cryogenics lab?

The months passed, though, and my good locavore intentions faded as I got caught up in school, work, travel, seeing friends. As it turns out, trying to do all one’s shopping at the farmers’ market requires planning and dedication. I ended up picking up most of my necessities and the occasional fresh vegetable at the supermarket on the fly, though I sometimes let my fresh vegetables sit gloomily in the crisper until mold and mushiness forced me to throw them out. And yet I still never considered buying frozen vegetables.

And then, as I was out jogging one morning, I tripped and fell spectacularly in front of a bunch of firefighters who were taking a cigarette break outside of their firehouse, and I ended up with a bruised ego and a painfully swollen knee. I went to the supermarket and bought a big bag of frozen romanesco cabbage, eggplant, bell peppers, and green beans to prop on my leg as I sat moping on the sofa, and, after the swelling had gone down, I sautéed and ate the vegetables. And to my surprise, they were actually pretty good, and all I had to do to cook them was throw them in a pan and stir occasionally for five minutes.

So, intrigued by the possibility of good frozen food, I decided it was time for a field trip to Picard.

When I first walked in, I couldn’t shake the discomfort of being inside a food store with no food to be seen—only linoleum floors and hip-high freezer cases. But once I looked into the freezer cases, my heart rate picked up. I found case upon case of frozen vegetables: chopped, whole, mixed, solitary, seasoned, plain, organic, conventional. One case was devoted entirely to mushrooms.

But there was so much more beyond the vegetables. Bagels and dinner rolls. Quartered figs and lychees. Kebabs and sushi. Macaroons and clafoutis. All cuts of meat, all species of fish. Butter. Herbs.

I wish I could accurately convey the bounty of Picard, but I have a word limit, so let me say this: if it’s edible, Picard has probably put it in a box and frozen it.

Self-control is not one of my virtues, and, though I tried to keep in mind the atrophying dollar, the fact that I would have to carry all my purchases several blocks back to my apartment, and my modestly-sized freezer, I still couldn’t resist filling my shopping basket to the brim. As I approached the check-out, I felt sure that I’d have to pull out my bank card for the purchases, but my total for two boxes of creamed leeks, ten croissants, a package of truffled mashed potatoes, eight cruciferous vegetable croquettes, four rounds of breaded goat’s cheese, a bowl of pesto-vegetable soup, two praline cream-filled ring-shaped pastries known as Paris brests, a packet of seasoned Moroccan lentils, a sack of quinoa and vegetables, and a Provençal vegetable gratin was only €31.40.

Consider me a convert.

I can’t pretend that the convenience of frozen foods doesn’t come at a price. Any food loses its sex appeal once you’ve seen it covered in frost, and there’s nothing worse than biting into a reheated vegetable only to find that it’s still ice-cold in the middle. Furthermore, the personal relationship that an eater has with ingredients that he or she has chosen and prepared is lost when the only thing standing between you and a meal is a few minutes in the microwave.

But still, finals are coming up, and there won’t be much time to cook. And it’s nice to know that, thanks to Picard, I can have everything I could possibly hope to find at a farmers’ market, bakery, or specialty shop, waiting for me in the freezer.