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let's join a cult Finally. Life in other quarters may be edging slowly downward, in fact there's nothing too special about a special little stretch of Seventh Avenue these days, except for one thing. Well, two things, but commoners can't afford the upstairs part. Can't afford the first floor either, but its' a small price to pay for a little thing called civilization. Ah, yes, civilization. The hardest thing to find in a city that has everything.
UP NEXT: The news from Sao Paulo, and a visit to a little place I like to call Rio de Janeiro. Stay tuned.
The guide to Coffee in the United States remains here.
COMING THIS SPRING: Gotham in Ghana -- Our Emily went to Africa, and all we get is her fantastic recount of adventures in Accra, and beyond. Later on, David takes a look at Mexico City post-Bush/Fox summit.
Wait – did I say the good times were over?
That’s all well and good, but pardon me, Grey Poupon, while I pause to reflect on a new development in city life that has me all in a bunch, and not the bad kind of bunch either.
Yep, that’s right – the Great Regression is nowhere near that corner over on 7th Avenue in Chelsea, and it’s not just because that block just happens to house a building with what has to be one of the more impressive facejobs I’ve ever seen in this city.
No, it’s not just the expensive condos, one of which Dennis Rodman apparently rented – it’s what’s happening on the ultra civilized first floor.
What a shame, that it took Texans to teach New Yorkers how to do things in a civilized manner. Austin, Texas, to be precise. We’re talking about the new Whole Foods, the first in this city that’s supposed to have everything you want when ever you want it, but really, actually doesn’t.
Far be it from me to encourage the further proliferation of all-american chain stores in this ever-more not-unique city, I’m a good little camper, I shop at the corner bodega, I have a rapport with my Dominican grocer who calls me Papi and I call her Mami who sells me $1.99 pounds of Mama Inez espresso, but honestly, how much love can one show to a grocery store where the meat cooler consists of Goya Chorizo and what’s probably, most likely outdated bologna loaf.
Yes, that’s right, I love Whole Foods. Always did, ever since it arrived in Chicago, where I once had the good fortune to live, where people knew that food shopping was supposed to be fun, and that there was supposed to be a proper selection on the shelves which preferably should be more than two feet apart.
Sweeping down the aisles (there’s people three deep, and no one’s bumping!) and shopping for peanut sauce and sweet chipotle hot sauce, stopping at the bakery for Rustic Bread and at the coffee counter for a single tall latte – Dios Mio – it’s good coffee!
There’s a scent in the air I haven’t detected anywhere but the West Coast – until now. Apparently, what I’m drinking is Allegro Coffee, manufactured in Thornton, Colorado, which according to my National Geographic Road Atlas 2000 (can’t really afford the 2001) is a suburb of Denver, located not too far from the new airport that isn’t really that new anymore.
But none of that’s important. What’s important is, this coffee comes from far, far, far away from here, and it took a – pardon me, while I repeat myself – T-E-X-A-N grocery store chain to bring proper coffee to New York.
Not too bitter, not too burnt, rich, creamy, the milk is perfectly steamed and I don’t need to tell her not to put foam on the latte, something that most New York espresso jockeys don’t know. They don’t know from coffee, period, and that’s all, all over.
Over, until they get New Yorkers on the job. Clearly, this chick was from elsewhere. In fact, even though it’s clearly a New York staff, by the accents, everyone’s all smiles and helpful and what were you looking for today but not in a cloying, irritating, Georgia way, and dear GOD, let it last.
All of a sudden, I realize. I’m not in New York. I have just entered some strange parallel universe, where there’s crusty bread and silky smooth coffee and twenty different times of olives and spreads and yes, this sounds like Zabar’s but it’s not, and there’s room to breathe and people aren’t grouchy!
No grouches! It’s like some strange mind-control cult, the cult of Austin, the cult of Natural Foods, the cult of Good Coffee, which is a cult I can certainly hang with, especially since I’ve hung with a few that weren’t so very cool.
Has Whole Foods rescued this city from dusty cereal boxes and Goya Chorizo and drink coolers that don’t cool anything?
All I know is, on the way out, somewhere between the flower display and the security guard at the front door, the bubble bursts, and everyone’s walking too slow, lulled into a Pacific Northwest-like stupor, even though New York is bursting through the open exit door.
Move your asses, jerkoffs – what the fuck, this ain’t Seattle.
Email: davidr@lifeingotham.com
Next Update: 19 March