Posts from the ‘Chains of Love’ Category

Lock ‘Em Up & Toss the Key

"Your Neighborhood Store and So Much More,?" as the Key Food slogan goes. It's that so much more bit  that gives me pause. I'm not the mellowest person to begin with, but this Key Food makes me violent. When I've lived in raggedy neighborhoods like Sunset Park, I kind of accepted the fact that grocery stores were few and far between, and the ones that did exist were pretty shitty (and even the Fifth Ave. Sunset Park location resembles a normal grocery store, complete with wide aisles and semi-decent produce. Heck, they even have those bottle deposit machines. The Fifth Ave. Park Slope location is actually kind of swank).

I can't figure out what Carroll Gardens' excuse is. I can't see all the demanding high standards mommies putting up with the lameness on Court St. My guess is that all the SUVs lining the streets aren't just for looks and that families are navigating the rough terrain to "real" grocery stores, or judging from the boxes tidily tied on recycling day that there's heavy Fresh Direct usage in the area, or gauging from the number of black nannies carting around whiny white kids that many residents don't do their own shopping and as long as their tykes get YoBaby (that's probably not good enough–YoYo's contain yummy Nutraflora).

I do everything possible to avoid this store, which is difficult because it's the only shop on my way to other thing like the subway (that's not even true, I still have to go a block out of my way. How about some courtesy south of 4^th Pl.?). I'm not a Met lover by any means, but I think it's a tiny notch above the KF, it's just more of a haul. Yes, I know the neighborhood (for now) rife with old school purveyors like Esposito's and Caputo's, but I'm suburban, I want one stop shopping. And honestly, if you want anything non-Italian (which in my case is almost always) you're kind of screwed. Serrano ham and gruyere (which is hardly exotic) have both proven to be tough finds.

I can't decide which component of Key Food is the most irksome. Sometimes I think it's their selection. If there's anything I need they're sure to not have it. Basic things like coffee filters, like I said cucumbers, mint, those stupid long Italian peppers that are everywhere and that I normally have no use for. And if they do have what you're looking for it will be way expensive, in bad shape, or needlessly organic. Once all I wanted was run of the mill half and half, not like $10 special half and half. I was thwarted. Same with that cucumber, I desired a nondescript 50-cent cuke, not a $2.99 seedless hothouse version.  It's about choice, and the fact that there's not a lot to be had in the neighborhood (don't even get me started on the countless mediocre Thai restaurants popping up like lemongrass weeds).

Sometimes I think the people (customers and staff) are the painful part of the KF experience. Like I said, there are a lot of strollers. Narrow aisles combined with clueless new moms, cranky seniors using walkers and those wheeled carts, and shelves continuously in mid-stocked states, boxes piled into roadblocks make for unpleasantness. The cashiers consist of teenage Brooklyn girls who never seem to actually be doing any cashiering. If their back isn't to you because they?re talking to other cashiers or they're not sucking on lollipops, the top of the register is open and there's a problem with the receipt tape.

What I do love about this Key Food is how developmentally disabled folks always seem to find me. I wonder if there is a group home nearby. The other day a large older woman with a gray monchichi haircut accosted me near the yogurt, complimented me on my blouse and then recommended custard-style Yoplait. A little crazy, but at least pleasant. My favorite encounter was the time I was in my usual no holds barred hurry. I started bolting down an aisle only to be blocked by a weird little man that looked like a short pre-op Al Roker, with a giant brought-from-home cart. I started to bust a gasket, but stopped, calmed down, put a smile on my face, and politely waited for him to reach the end of the row so I could head down. He stops, looks at me, then says, "I like your hairstyle. Did you go to the beauty shop recently?" He totally caught me off guard and instead of indignantly huffing off I answered truthfully, "well, about a month ago" to which he added "you're a very pretty lady." Ha, that was a good one. But weirdo complement or not, it totally cracked me up. More of these types please, they made Key Food bearable.

Key Food * 395 Court St., Brooklyn, NY

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Rainbows I Have Known

Fulton Mall: According to mapquest, this location is equidistant to my apt. as the Park Slope store, yet I rarely frequent Fulton Mall except to go to Junior's. I've never been able to figure out why downtown Brooklyn is predominantly black (and why downtown Brooklyn is walking distance from Manhattan while downtown Queens is at the borough's furthest reaches. What does downtown mean exactly?). The area is more municipal and commercial, not really residential, so it's not necessarily like the clientele reflects nearby residents. Shoppers are drawn there for reasons I don't quite understand. The one time I did visit this Rainbow, my scary upstairs neighbor (who happens to be black and recently moved to NYC, which was what got me to wondering about choice of shopping district. Like she'd only been the city a few months and had already decided that Fulton Mall was where she should be or wanted to be. It?s weird. I always try to avoid people like me.) was there and I hightailed it out fast.

Greenpoint: I've only been once, over six years ago to return too tight (Rainbow clothes lean towards short, snug and body hugging, it's often wise to buy larger sizes unless you want to look like a hooker) items I bought during my virgin voyage in Ridgewood.

Park Slope: The lamest I've encountered. Way too small and impossible to squeeze between racks. Poor shoe selection and if you go upstairs to look at them a bell goes off and an employee will follow behind and keep their eye on you while you're browsing.

Sunset Park: Much better now that they've revamped. They only recently got a plus size section and it's housed upstairs in a huge space with plenty of shoes. This new incarnation rivals, and possibly surpasses the one near the Empire State Building. Too bad I don't live walking distance anymore.

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I Know the Neighborhood

I hear about how Fairway's walk-in meat locker is the shit, and it probably is. You won't get a lender jacket for warmth at Western Beef, you'll just have to shiver it out with the rest of the immigrants and all-American freaks who've piled their carts to obscene levels.

I had the great fortune of living in Ridgewood during my first three traumatizing years in NYC. Do't even ask, some things are just not worth understanding. But it wasn?t until the tail end of my stint when I got a boyfriend with a car that I even discovered the beauty of Western Beef. The car is sort of key because it's located in a weird industrial pocket that borders Maspeth, Ridgewood, and Williamsburg (yes, Williamsburg. The hipsters raving about their stupid Tops so don't know what they're talking about). It's not really walking distance from the nearest subway stop, Grand Ave. on the L.

You know when someone has suburban savvy, and it's tough to find that charming quality in the city. When James's college friend moved to Williamsburg from Baltimore, he didn't have much faith in him. Yet on like our first visit to his new digs, he had Western Beef products all over the kitchen. He'd managed to sniff it out in his first week, which was very impressive. (Now the guy is married to the coworker he knocked up on a casual date and lives in Westchester with his new instant family. Sometimes suburban savvy will also get you into trouble.)

I know the chain is scattered throughout the city, but this is the headquarters, and notably different. "We know the neighborhood" is their slogan, they have what may be the cutest logo ever, a cartoon cactus donning a cowboy hat, and you can't ignore their most awesomely low tech website. They rule on all counts. Really, it's no more than a vast, moderately dumpy grocery store, quantity over quality, at least on the surface. You're not likely to find broccoli rabe, rosemary, figs or Swiss cheese that isn't deli-sliced, but that's because Western Beef is about staples, massive selection of those basics, a surprisingly better produce section than most NYC stores contain, and lots and lots of meat, all at very reasonable prices.

Banana leaves, tropical fruit, those hideous little bottles of malta (I?m open minded food-wise, but this beverage is completely intolerable, the only thing other than melon that I can't stomach) and practically every Caribbean root vegetable in existence are easy to score, plus there's a large international section with lots of Eastern European cookies, jellies, pickled items and canned goods–they know the neighborhood, remember? This week they have Haagan-Dazs 1.88/pint, avocados 79-cents each, and turkey butts $1.19/lb, good deals (I don't know if that's a competitive price on turkey butts, but you know, it's not every day you see them). And we just got our Christmas tree out front for $19.99, way better than Carroll Gardens rates.

Plus it's all a great source of entertainment, invariably blaring salsa music will assault you, the manager will get on the intercom and yell violently about needing the keys back (seriously, this happens repeatedly on each visit), there will likely be a screw up in the long check out lines and someone's food stamp debit card will always run out of credit and cause a holdup due to either stupidity or language barrier. And yet I always return, Western Beef's siren song is just too strong.

Western Beef * 47-05 Metropolitan Ave., Ridgewood, NY

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Homogenize Me, Please

Ok, they treat women and minorities unfairly, kill small business, ruin the character of neighborhoods, are taking over the world and promote fat disgusting American values. But c'mon, they're cheap, and fun. Who else still has a notions section with fabric, yarn, buttons and craft supplies, and also sells hunting equipment and fake Dr. Pepper (Dr. Thunder) for 35 cents a can in vending machines? No one, that's who.

The world's going to hell in a hand basket, so why not save some money and revel in aisle after nice wide aisle of freedom of choice while you can. And don't tell me New Yorkers truly love overpaying for crap bodega and dusty drug store shit that you have to ask for from behind the grimy counter. If that's keeping it real, you can keep it.

Plus, Wal-Mart is the only store in the U.S. to sell Rimmel and Mary Kate and Ashley cosmetics. Talk about exclusive. And Wal-Mart in China is insane because they have food (I think they do in parts of the U.S. too), deli cases filled with tendons, organ meat and spicy marinated odds and ends. I would kill for that here, though we'd probably just get Boboli and Smucker's Uncrustables.

Not in my backyard, they say. That's just because New Yorkers don?t know what they're missing and like to think they're unique. I?ll be the first to admit I?m not special. Wal-Mart come homogenize my city, please.

Wal-Mart * everywhere except NYC

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Suburbanization is OK if it Means Cheap Soy Cheese

This will have to be looked into, I've heard rumors of a proposed Trader Joe's in either the Upper West Side or Union Square (or heaven forbid, both spots). A year ago I might've been rejoicing, but as an increasingly jaded crab of a person this news doesn't fill me with elation. The New Jersey locations have become nearly unbearable; I can't even imagine how this will translate in Manhattan. Maybe I secretly revel in reverse exclusivity, the ability to frequent out-of-the-city locales, and now any ol' NYC riff raff will have equal access to peeled chestnuts, lump crabmeat or Plugra butter for a fraction of Dean & DeLuca's (or shitty Met and Key Foods, for that matter) prices. It's so indecent.

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Color me Cheap

Ah, you always remember you first. Rainbow has been there for me since day one, literally. I hadn't even been living in NYC 24 hours when I tagged along with near strangers on an L journey from Williamsburg's then outer boundaries to Ridgewood, Queens.

I was totally freaked out, it was too everything, noisy, stinky (the girl we were visiting lived down the street from someone who kept chickens in their apt. and that part of the block smelled like a serious coop), chaotic, pushy. The crisscrossy intersection with relentless traffic that zooms underneath the Myrtle-Wyckoff station had me paralyzed with trepidation (or maybe it was the realization that I'd just moved across the country to a beast of city where I didn't really know anyone or have any permanent place to stay had started to sink in with full force). Salsa music, too many people in too little space, and hotter May weather than I was accustomed to, started unsettling me.

It must've shown on my face. A random guy sidled up next to me, "don't be afraid of the cars," he repeated over and over in a forceful manner that I tried not to interpret as aggressive because I'm sure he thought he was being helpful though he wasn't.

The only thing that soothed me that day (in addition to breaking down and having a cigarette, all hopes of starting out smoke-free in New York dashed) were the dingy little, almost all alike discount stores that line Myrtle Avenue. I'm still not clear how so many 99-cent stores survive in such close proximity. Dee & Dee perked me up a bit, then Rainbow totally boosted my spirits much in the way a real rainbow pops up after a storm and makes everything pretty. They had lots of cheap juniors-styled clothing, but in plus-sizes too, and a big shoe selection. Never mind the lack of air conditioning, I still felt comforted.

A month later I moved into a ratty but good sized apartment of my own in Ridgewood ($580 for a one-bedroom, no references, no job, no questions asked). Who knew I'd get stuck in that freaky isolated section of Queens for three years' At least Rainbow and Lerner turned New York & Company (where I promptly got a credit card for new work-friendly clothes and somehow still have a balance of over $600 six years later) made the neighborhood a little more bearable.

Now I live in a part of Brooklyn that thinks it's too good for a Rainbow (they're rarely in gentrified neighborhoods). Luckily, I now work walking distance to the best stocked location I think I've ever encountered. Fifth Avenue is supposed to be known for its shopping, right? Upstairs is a whole mini floor devoted to shoes, mostly under $25 and mostly crafted from man made materials. Downstairs is 80% plus size, 20% intimate apparel, which is frankly where I draw the line. The main floor is irrelevant to me.

Whenever I need a cheap pair of colorful shoes to match an outfit or a cute sleeveless going out top that might get worn a mere handful of times, Rainbow rarely disappoints. It's a reliable, trendy for two months, go to, the way some might view Marc by Marc Jacobs or chains like H&M and Zara. But this is really cheap, as in $7 shoes and shirts cheap. Sure, the clothes are shoddy, there's an abundance of unnatural fibers, and the style leans towards um, 'urban' (think basketball jersey mini dresses) but if you're selective, affordable accent pieces are there for the picking.

There's no way around it, Rainbow rules. The motto on their almost-as-low-tech-as-Western Beef's website says it all: 'We sell attractive fashion at moderate to popular prices.' Yes, moderate to popular is a great qualifier.

Rainbow * 380 Fifth Ave., New York, NY (and throughout the city's finest neighborhoods)

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Traitor Joe?

I don't recall Trader Joe's opening with much fanfare, it just started existing in Portland sometime in the mid-'90s and has continued ever since. At the time there was only one location, over in that out-of-the-way S.E. Portland pocket near Holgate and 39th streets (actually, I'm embarrassingly over familiar with that area since it was where my teenage stalkee lived). I'm pretty sure they've multiplied since I left in '98.

Though I only spent a few brief years getting to know Trader Joe's, it made an impression on me, and I've discovered I'm not alone. It's one of the few stores I can get staunch New Yorkers worked up over. None of these everything's-better-in-the-city types get my fascination with Wal-Mart, strip malls, or even Target (which I'd mistakenly thought was the new Manhattanite darling since opening in downtown Brooklyn). But when Trader Joe's is mentioned, eyes brighten, heads nod, I've made a breakthrough. It seems that practically everyone has had the opportunity to visit the store somewhere in the U.S. and with this little taste, know they're missing out.

I've always viewed Trader Joe's as a source of cheap, semi-healthy and passably gourmet/specialty items. Honestly, that's not a huge deal in Portland since the city's bursting at the seams with organic crap, but in NYC, inexpensive quality food is a rare species, indeed.  But TJ's (ew, that sounds gross, but I've heard people refer to it as such) ain't what it used to be, at least not in my nearby travels.

So far, I've tested Scarsdale and Hewlett (the only one really accessible to New Yorkers via LIRR) in New York and Westwood and Westfield in New Jersey (why the two wests, who knows'). Westfield has become the Trader Joe's of choice, if not because they're the only branch that sells alcohol, but also due to their proximity to the most kickass Hong Kong Supermarket I've ever seen (to be written about soon).

I'm not sure if it's Westfield that's been clouding my Trader Joe's nostalgia or if the store itself is just changing. On my most recent visit I felt like they'd hired character actors to populate the store. The nasal New York accent (or is that New Jersey' I can't tell. Think what's-her-name, that girlfriend of Chandler's on Friends–not that I ever watch lame sitcoms, of course) was rampant. I guess it's my own fault for doing the NJ trek on weekends, but in typical tri-state fashion the aisles are always so jammed you'd think they were giving away free Trader Giotto's marinara or some shit.

Level-headed shoppers have been replaced with zombies mobbing the back corner for cases of 'Two-buck Chuck,' geriatric couples with wives who loudly lecture their hubbies on what the doctor said they can and can't eat, the ladies who low carb, fervently checking labels and creating cart jams in the bagged nuts section, and the fresh off the turnip truck crowd (do they even have turnips in NJ'it is the Garden State, right') who act like they've never been in a store that sells faux health food before, "would ya look at this–chocolate-covered soybeans."

I never thought I'd miss those free trade coffee swilling, Tom's of Maine using, soyrizo-scarffing Oregonians, but they're benign in comparison. Quaint. I used to pine for an NYC Trader Joe's, but visions of Park Slope 40-year-old first time mommies, or worse, Williamsburg parents who think it's cute to dress their babies in deconstructed rock tees from the '80s, snatching up lunch box-sized chocolate soymilk with glee keep my dream in check. I'll suffer sans Trader Joe's if it means keeping precious NYC riff raff at bay.

Trader Joe's * 155 Elm St., Westfield, NJ

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