IN ITALO CALVINO’S wondrous, ever-quotable Mr. Palomar, there’s a scene in which the title character, browsing in a Parisian charcuterie, laments the "automatons of mass civilization" that "have dismantled the old shops, one by one, and replaced them with anonymous supermarkets." But unlike Mr. Palomar, most of us here in 21st-century Boston don’t know what we’re missing. We’re decades — in cultural terms, millennia — away from a time when grocery shopping was a peripatetic, leisurely, even intimate activity. Between the pace of modern life and the array of conveniences that facilitate it, the idea of wiling away a whole day in store after store in search of the meatiest chops, the flakiest rolls, the bluest cheese, seems needlessly time-consuming and old-fashioned.

Then again, if ever there were a holiday season to renounce schedules and fashions, to muffle the clangor of the world and heed our internal clocks — trusting instead our own five senses — this would be it. This year of all years, it seems appropriate to give presents that celebrate the human gifts we already have: the ability to see, hear, smell, touch, taste, and synthesize; we’re doing no less when we prepare a feast that is, above all, a shared experience, a collective memory in the making.

Since such meals depend on their ingredients, we’d best begin by spending a few hours — surely all our time-saving devices have afforded us that much over the course of the year? — on a capital-S Shopping Trip, a sensual quest that will take us through the historic streets of Boston in search of a little of the best of everything. (And keep in mind that when you start with superb ingredients, you don’t have to do much to them, so you’re going to make up in the kitchen the time you’ve "lost" on errands.)

To start off, here’s a guide to some of the neighborhood bakeries, confectioners, wine boutiques, and cheese, meat, and seafood counters that put the "special" in "specialty shop." For this virtual walking tour, I’ve supplied the facts; it’s up to you to fill in the imaginative details — pale winter sunlight or lampposts in snowfall, a pealing church bell, or the hum of faraway traffic — along the way.

WE BEGIN in the Back Bay, at the suitably named Seasonal Table (61 Mass Ave, 617-236-7979). Essentially a corner store for the gourmet set, it’s the kind of residential outlet you don’t seek out so much as impulsively duck into — if it begins to pour, say, or for some last-minute purchase. But now that you’re here, take a look around: among the jars of preserved lemons and hot-pepper jellies, the retro soda pops, and a whole host of seed and nut oils, is a small yet smart cheese counter. Behind the glass, a sort of United Nations summit of cheeses is in session, attended by a delegate or two from many a country and spokescheeses for every dairy herd. They’re a mixed group of standard-setters (Brie, Stilton, and so on) and whippersnappers — black-pepper-and-cocoa-coated Sonoma Jack, for instance ($10.99/lb.), or paprika-rubbed San Majorero ($13.99/lb.). In short, the selection is nicely varied, but not so huge that you can’t see the forest for the trees (or the hors d’oeuvres for the cheese). The surrounding assemblage of sausages, crackers, olives, and fruit pastes is similarly modest yet elegant. You could say that the Seasonal Table is one that, while graced with delicacies, isn’t buckling under their weight.

Not that dizzying arrays aren’t sometimes wicked joys to behold, especially when they’re composed of chocolate. So as we head down Newbury Street, keep your eyes peeled for Teuscher (230 Newbury Street, 617-536-1922), where a profusion of handmade confections, flown in weekly from Switzerland, is on permanent, dazzling display. Enormous artificial-tropical-flower bouquets form a gay, if vaguely incongruous, backdrop for tray upon tray of dainties, from chocolate-dipped pretzels, nuts, and candied fruits to solid chocolate bars, marzipan, nougat, and, of course, truffles — 21 kinds of truffles, in fact, including cocoa, caramel, cinnamon, kirsch, and extra butter (after all, why stop at plain butter?). Here, then, is the perfect dessert for the preoccupied party-planner, since the unwritten directions on a box of chocolates are a mere three words long: just add champagne.

Which brings us to our first stop on Beacon Hill’s Charles Street, Boston’s own Postcard Way. Lined with red-brick buildings, wrought-iron accents, boutiques, and bistros, the street maintains an aura that blends the posh and the quaint. Actually, though, the Wine Cellar at DeLuca’s (11 Charles Street, 617-227-2117) emits an altogether different vibe — one that’s underground in every sense; the place is "on top of things without being trendy," says an oenophile friend of mine. Downstairs from the market, it’s cool and relatively quiet, like a wine library. Check out the alcove full of Chiantis, next to shelf upon shelf of ports; considering the store’s space restrictions, you get the sense that the buyer purchases what he or she damn well pleases, even at the risk of limiting the selection — an insubordination that’s quite refreshing. Amusing, too, are the occasional placards that suggest someone’s getting a real kick out of writing about wine: one Barolo is said to have a "wide orange rim on a garnet base," while a Pomerol promises "aromatics consisting of pain grillŽ, lead pencil, and smoke." Can’t you just smell it?

You can’t miss the aroma wafting from Vanille (70 Charles Street, 617-523-9200) a few doors down. The unassuming little bakery turns out a sort of mix-and-match of bite-size, individual, and full-size pies, cakes, and quiches. While any variation on the ever-homely and sincere fruit tart — Vanille has about seven — is a sure thing for casual get-togethers, a formal dinner party calls instead for the drama created by, say, individual cakes as they’re set before each guest. Particular crowd-wowers include the sophisticated Diva, made of chocolate-caramel mousse cinched by an almond-sponge-cake "cummerbund" ($4.95 each), and the richly hued Valencia, with orange and chocolate mousses layered beneath an orange glaze ($2.75 each). Or, for a charming accompaniment to coffee or dessert wines, consider a sampler platter laden with baby Žclairs, Linzertortes, and assorted petits fours such as the surprisingly light-tasting Opera, made of gossamer layers of coffee and mocha buttercream and chocolate ganache. Just be sure to stockpile a few of the mini–Boston cream pies, adorably patterned with chocolate polka dots and so meltingly smooth that you’d make like a squirrel and stow them in your cheeks to protect them if you had to.

Then again, having more than enough to go around is one of the blessings that this sort of shopping trip reminds us to count. On that note, welcome to Savenor’s (160 Charles Street, 617-723-6328), an old-school neighborhood grocery literally jam-packed — as well as dip-, spread-, and syrup-packed — with goodies, floor-to-ceiling and corner-to-corner: beans and rice, mustards, dressings, golden beets, zucchini relish, herbal sugar, fireweed honey, and 13 kinds of p‰tŽ, to name a few. But most of all, the place is meat-packed: bear and mountain-lion loin, rattlesnake and musk-ox rib eye; camel, turtle, kangaroo; guinea hen, hearts of veal, and buffalo on a stick — here, game is the name of the game. Whether your guests are willing to play is another matter, but even if alligator tail is not their idea of a refreshing change of pace, you can still give the turkey a twist: Savenor’s procures them wild as well as domesticated.