Monday, April 23, 2007
Whole Foods
Gone are the days of the devil-may-care wino tossing one off in broad daylight; you're more likely to see a man pulling a tofu dog from its bun and flinging it into a freshly-emptied trash bin. More folks are on Atkins than in k-holes; they've replaced their dealers with yogis. Teenagers can be found on stoops drinking Vitamin water, not brown-bagged 40s. Just when you though nothing could compare to the late CBGB, a 71,000 square foot organic food emporium with giant nut machines (where you can churn your own nut butter!) opens up. Score! Hordes of Urban Outfitters-clad thirty-somethings (in their casual Fridays attire) will bust a nut—literally-in this joint! Finally- a two-level comestible wonderland, where just four dollars can buy you one gerbil-sized blood orange! Now THAT's rock n roll. Say farewell to the seedy sex clubs that comprised Houston's dumpster-chic appeal. Adios.
On March 29, at 8AM, Whole Foods opened up on the corner of Houston and Bowery, and the neighborhood, many fear, is forever changed. For years longtime residents have been kvetching about the ramifications of gentrification, while reveling in its by-products: lower crime rates, cleaner streets, and fewer junkies groveling for a nickel, a quarter, a dollar—anything. Please. Then there's the newfound option of enhancing your morning bodega coffee with soy milk instead of clotted half-and-half. Even the rundown corner delis, which may or may not be covers for some illegal operation (expired jar of Meat-flavored Ragu, anyone? How about a heap of moldy yuca or bruised plantains?), offer earth-friendly vegan alternatives for your AM caffeine fix. Sweet.
But elusively, Whole Foods is in a league of its own. For the past five years or so, people in faux-vintage t-shirts and $200 jeans have passed the fancier organic markets and eateries and scoffed (Gracefully, baby. How about Adinah's Farm? Earth Matters? -- all smaller-scale variations of Whole Foods received with significantly less animosity), waxing poetic about how splendiferous the East Village USED to be (you know, when nobody lived there) and then stumbling into those same markets drunk at four am, ordering free-range chicken sandwiches (hold the mayo) on 9-grain bread. THESE people are protesting Whole Foods. I know because I live there. I know because I see it every day. I know because I'm kinda one of those people.
The LES bohemians of yesteryear did not wear Dockers and Aerosoles, nor did they smell like mango-ginger bath beads. If this is what those bohemians have become, then their newfound neighbors want nothing to do with them. How Jagged-Little-Pill of the them: terminally unhip people who inhabit a neighborhood notorious for being hip go on to chide others for not being hip enough.
People like to say that the old LES encapsulated true New York heart: there was a time, not long ago, when buildings were graffittied by Larry Clark-esque kids, not comissioned artists who paint cell phone company ads on walls "graffitti-style." There was a time when shops that sold insufferably trendy Ed Hardy paraphernalia, green-tea scented candles, and $75 haircuts wouldn't have lasted a week.
That's changed. Whole Foods is the epitome of this change. Now the suburbanization of Manhattan has spread beyond SOHO, tricked down from th UES, midtown and Murray Hill, and has infiltrated one of the last vibrant, multi-cultural neighborhoods in the greatest city on earth. So brace yourself for the Starbucks that will surely soon open in the Nuyorican, and the new Keith McNally monstrosity that will open in the space where Katz's redefined pastrami (cause it's a travesty that all those suits have to wait two whole hours to eat brunch at Schillers!). How many months before a Hard Rock Café replaces Max Fish, or a Barnes and Noble moves into the Strand? Only time will tell, but Whole Foods has paved the way for all these changes and more. 2nd Avenue Deli is closed, and surely Veselka will soon be a thing of the past (Chili's, anyone?).
Maybe I'm just bitter that the microscopic cup of lobster bisque I bought at the aforementioned uber-market on opening day (the truth comes out) cost 7 dollars, and didn't even come with a pack of crackers. In truth, I think the resentment stems from how the changes in the neighborhood reflect the evolution of our tastes; it is shameful, somehow, to rejoice in these changes, and we find ourselves doing just that. In theory, we want to stay true to our down-home, Mean Streets roots, and in actuality, we don't. So we play curmudgeon and feign nostalgia for the LES of days long gone.
Last summer I went for a run down by the East River, and met up with my friend Dee soon after. Sweaty and famished, I stopped into a deli to buy an apple. Dee, a long-time local LES celebrity (who spent the better part of the nineties in and out of Rikers Island) waited for me outside. As I emerged, she watched in disgust as I wiped the waxy fruit off with my sweaty t-shirt. "You know," she said, wagging a beat-up tattooed finger in my face, "you should really eat organic."
On March 29, at 8AM, Whole Foods opened up on the corner of Houston and Bowery, and the neighborhood, many fear, is forever changed. For years longtime residents have been kvetching about the ramifications of gentrification, while reveling in its by-products: lower crime rates, cleaner streets, and fewer junkies groveling for a nickel, a quarter, a dollar—anything. Please. Then there's the newfound option of enhancing your morning bodega coffee with soy milk instead of clotted half-and-half. Even the rundown corner delis, which may or may not be covers for some illegal operation (expired jar of Meat-flavored Ragu, anyone? How about a heap of moldy yuca or bruised plantains?), offer earth-friendly vegan alternatives for your AM caffeine fix. Sweet.
But elusively, Whole Foods is in a league of its own. For the past five years or so, people in faux-vintage t-shirts and $200 jeans have passed the fancier organic markets and eateries and scoffed (Gracefully, baby. How about Adinah's Farm? Earth Matters? -- all smaller-scale variations of Whole Foods received with significantly less animosity), waxing poetic about how splendiferous the East Village USED to be (you know, when nobody lived there) and then stumbling into those same markets drunk at four am, ordering free-range chicken sandwiches (hold the mayo) on 9-grain bread. THESE people are protesting Whole Foods. I know because I live there. I know because I see it every day. I know because I'm kinda one of those people.
The LES bohemians of yesteryear did not wear Dockers and Aerosoles, nor did they smell like mango-ginger bath beads. If this is what those bohemians have become, then their newfound neighbors want nothing to do with them. How Jagged-Little-Pill of the them: terminally unhip people who inhabit a neighborhood notorious for being hip go on to chide others for not being hip enough.
People like to say that the old LES encapsulated true New York heart: there was a time, not long ago, when buildings were graffittied by Larry Clark-esque kids, not comissioned artists who paint cell phone company ads on walls "graffitti-style." There was a time when shops that sold insufferably trendy Ed Hardy paraphernalia, green-tea scented candles, and $75 haircuts wouldn't have lasted a week.
That's changed. Whole Foods is the epitome of this change. Now the suburbanization of Manhattan has spread beyond SOHO, tricked down from th UES, midtown and Murray Hill, and has infiltrated one of the last vibrant, multi-cultural neighborhoods in the greatest city on earth. So brace yourself for the Starbucks that will surely soon open in the Nuyorican, and the new Keith McNally monstrosity that will open in the space where Katz's redefined pastrami (cause it's a travesty that all those suits have to wait two whole hours to eat brunch at Schillers!). How many months before a Hard Rock Café replaces Max Fish, or a Barnes and Noble moves into the Strand? Only time will tell, but Whole Foods has paved the way for all these changes and more. 2nd Avenue Deli is closed, and surely Veselka will soon be a thing of the past (Chili's, anyone?).
Maybe I'm just bitter that the microscopic cup of lobster bisque I bought at the aforementioned uber-market on opening day (the truth comes out) cost 7 dollars, and didn't even come with a pack of crackers. In truth, I think the resentment stems from how the changes in the neighborhood reflect the evolution of our tastes; it is shameful, somehow, to rejoice in these changes, and we find ourselves doing just that. In theory, we want to stay true to our down-home, Mean Streets roots, and in actuality, we don't. So we play curmudgeon and feign nostalgia for the LES of days long gone.
Last summer I went for a run down by the East River, and met up with my friend Dee soon after. Sweaty and famished, I stopped into a deli to buy an apple. Dee, a long-time local LES celebrity (who spent the better part of the nineties in and out of Rikers Island) waited for me outside. As I emerged, she watched in disgust as I wiped the waxy fruit off with my sweaty t-shirt. "You know," she said, wagging a beat-up tattooed finger in my face, "you should really eat organic."
# posted by Katie @ 9:32 PM 
