Pretty, but meh.
One of the many things I have a love-hate relationship with about Texas is
Central Market. For those of you not in Texas, or who have never been to Central Market while visiting the state, it's the Anti Whole Foods. Or at least that's how it was marketed back in the mid-90's when
HEB started building these massive, polished concrete floored, upscale warehouse/butcher/fishmonger/wine and cheese/import/luxury food behemoths, first in Austin, and then in Houston in March of 2001 and then in other Texas cities. CM has since eclipsed WFM in market share of their common demographic shopper. They no longer need to be the anti-Whole Foods. Their reputation now stands on it's own.
At the time, though, it seemed they truly were the anti-WFM. I and many people like me assumed they were, anyway. The concept was fresh, it was edgy, the economy was amazing in Texas in the late 90's and Central Market took all that to the bank. In 2001, for me and many others in Houston, things were still better than nationally after the bubble burst. In our case we were young, had no kids, and $20 went pretty far. Gas wasn't, like, $.99 anymore at the 40-bay behemoth service station out Bissonnet near Beltway 8 (we lived in Montrose), but it wasn't yet $1.25 either. That was an outrageous price for gas.
No, we had graduated from excellent universities more than 5 years before, had no credit cards, and were beginning our careers way ahead of the game. We were blessed and gifted and had really good luck, and I, for one, was sick and tired of Whole Foods by the time CM came along. Like lots of folk in our social set with just a few extra bucks for cheese and beer to enjoy with our half priced books, it was just the ticket to a slice of extravagance without it costing our "whole paycheck". In a nutshell, I was spoiled fucking rotten.
Over the double Burnt Orange cream horns for pootie porn (I'm shameless).
Back in the mid 90's I had several friends who worked at the old Whole Foods Market on Shepherd and then even more friends who later worked at the New WFM on Kirby, in River Oaks and I thought that made me The Shit. When the old one closed the old timers were pissed. I wasn't an old timer, but I was pissed, too. I was too young and hadn't been living in Houston since I left for college years earlier, but how dare they do that!. I had never lived in Austin to be able to run into Willie Nelson at the old WFM on Lamar (an entirely different scandal with and entirely different set of pissed off old timers with whom I commiserated), but seeing Willie at the store used to happen sometimes, or so I'm told. I knew people who had met him there.
So my original love/hate as a foodie was with Whole Foods. Loves? That I had TWO friends working in cheese. That was very convenient for when the cheese was rewrapped and repriced down to match friend prices. I liked that I knew someone in beer and wine, too. That was sometimes a handy discount as well. I especially liked that I knew cashiers.
Cashiers are our friends, people. They ring up our groceries, are underpaid, overworked, have to put up with people like us. I've always talked to cashiers, but in those days, when they were people I knew, people I worked with and partied with, it made me feel at home. Checking out at the WFM was like being part of an "in crowd". It was, without a doubt, a significant perk in my eyes. I assumed it meant that everyone knew and cared that I was part of the creative set.
By 1999, though, I was souring on WFM, and by Spring 2001, my Hates were on full display. I had a lingering grudge after never being called back by the Ann Arbor store several years earlier while living in Michigan. I was tired of patchouli and white dudes in dreadlocks, snobs and "rich people". I was OVER the cost of it all, even with friend prices. In short, I had become jaded and biased in the twilight of my twenties and was ripe for a new experience.
Thats when Central Market came along. When they opened the one on Westheimer Rd. and Weslayan St., not far from the old Summit-that became Compaq Center-that became Lakewood Church ("an Oasis of Love") (only in Texas, folks) I was officially getting divorced.
Sure, I would have occasional one-night-stands with an old flame. On 9-11, it was my first stop after hearing about the first plane hitting the tower. As my wife and I pulled out of the driveway, asking each other through our open windows, driver to diver in the middle of our street "Is this real?" I headed directly there. It was a day off for me and my friends were there, it was inevitable. That rekindling lasted a while, until the events were no longer new and we needed to stop talking about it all the time. When we invaded Afghanistan, or Bush submitted a new low in character defects to the American public on television, I'd be at the checkout counter just long enough to register my opinion. Which I assumed was important for my friends to know about. My evolving culinary needs, however, were no longer satisfied.
That was the genius of Central Market. They knew their urban, self-hip, well off or aspiring-to-be well off, foodie demographic. They had picked up on a growing frustration with the Austin powerhouse empire of organic lifestyle and supposedly great tasting prepared foods and in brash Texas style, began to show them the door.
No snark involved, I am indeed showing my bias, here. I have never liked WFM prepared foods, or at least very little of it (and IMHO it has gotten even worse). Central Market knew I wasn't the only one, though. Part of their initial draw was hiring disgruntled chefs away from WFM and letting them be creative in their seasonings and preparation, not binding them to organic ingredients. Not mandating kale. It was a really smart play and it worked for a lot of people. Beyond that, Central Market was about meat. Fat. Sweets. Veggies and fruits too, and lots and lots of them on display, but the CM ethos was pure Texas excess at it's very best. And it is still that way. No granola veneer. Pure foodie, no holds barred.
Just like WFM took granola to the extreme, however, CM took foodie to extremes and it started to irritate me. I thought that was what I wanted but I guess I am snobby about my snobbery being too in your face. Case in point: the Hatch chile. Anyone who has ever stepped foot in Texas in August since the last 8 years or so and bought groceries knows what I'm talking about. It is an outlandish display of agricultural superiority, the kind of total dominance of a single ingredient like people assume can only happen in Texas and which is pure CM culture. Brought to you by HEB markets, and their Central Market bran in particular, Hatch chiles are a delicious, spicy pepper, but like the wiki says, they are a variety that used to be available only locally in New Mexico. Until, that is, the heirs of Howard Edward Butt came along and started promoting them as a crop, boosting local production (and without a doubt spreading the wealth to local Hatch Valley farmers) and saturating the Texas marketplace with an almost un-consumable amount of produce. (Someone from NM chime in here who knows the details, I am no expert in things Enchantment.) This is one example of the Hate side of things for me about CM. I love the peppers. The manufactured marketing of the culture is obnoxious to me. Hatch toothpaste is surely next.
So, CM shoppers have a massive volume of high quality produce to choose from, a shining example of Texas surplus and wealth. The whole world should be so lucky, right. What the hell am I complaining about anyway? Does who I thought I was in 1998, or 2001, or 2013 matter to anyone but myself? Not likely. Have I even changed at all over the years? A lot. And maybe not enough.
These are White People Problems, to be sure. Kids are going hungry in the neighborhood in which I teach. CM and WFM might as well be on the other side of the world from East Austin let alone the other side of I-35. I should be ashamed of myself.
But flash forward to last evening. After work I headed to Central Market to buy some stuff for my kids and for dinner to watch the President's address. I don't shop there nearly as much as I used to. Though I can afford it, money is tighter, prices are going up and the sheen is long worn off. I am not as dazzled by shiny objects, nor am I as much of an insane foodie as I once was. I have become my parents, as parents are wont to do. I have become a little boring, probably. I don't get out much anymore., and frankly my tolerance for The Entitled is pretty thin these days (like I'm not entitled). You know who they are, the people who leave their cart in the middle of the aisle without a thought in the world ( I bump their carts hard). People who talk loudly on their cellphones in queue for the deli while their toddler is unattended. The guy who takes a sample by hand from the olive bar and gives you the dirty look for noticing. "These people" are the reason WFM exists in the first place, right?. But they are at CM, too. It's why I prefer Fiesta Mart again, my original market, when I can be irritated by standard bad supermarket etiquette, not the snobby kind.
Alas, my kids needed fruit, and I only buy them organic, because we can afford it and I'ma snob and it's healthier and, well, they are my kids.
So there I am pulling into the checkout at CM S. Lamar, here in ATX when out of the corner of my eye I see a guy with three items in his hand basket. I had, like, 20 items so I said "Hey, man, go ahead. You have three items, I'm in no rush." His response was a curious.
"Hmmm, that's a very generous proposal." he said as he slid into line, paid for his items, and walked out without a thank you.
I knew he would do that. I was waiting for it. I assumed he would leave without a hint of recognition beyond acting on my "proposal" and I was right. I was thrilled that it happened. I had apparently gotten my fix.
As he walked out the door the cashier, a middle aged woman began ringing up my goods. Cashiers are my friends, people. I talk to them because their jobs are monotonous, tiring and labor intensive. They work hard for people like me. I talk for a living, so I am definitely talking to my check out person (and bagger) no matter what store I am in.
"Hey, you know that guy's was a lawyer, right?" I said conversationally as she looked up from her display. "No, really? Why do you say?" she asked.
"I let him in with three items and he walked out without saying thank you. He was entitled to it." I said, smiling, a little self-satisfied.
"Hmmm. What do you do, are you a writer or something?" she asked.
"A little surprised, I said, "Uhhh...no, not really, kind of. I guess. Why do you ask?"
"You are very observant." she said, tapping at her nose.
It was then that I knew my assumptions had been misplaced. I was focused on the expensive shoes, the platinum Rolex, the Ken doll look and the opportunistic sense of entitlement, and I assumed she would share in my delight?
In reality, I was the arrogant bastard, self-absorbed and sure my friend on the other side of the counter shared my perspective, was my co-conspirtator in pointing out the obvious. Like she was going to risk her job by agreeing with me. Riiiight.
As I thanked her and smiled a little sheepishly, the bagger said as he handed me a paper sack, "I figured you knew him from around the courthouse."
Ouch.
When I got home I told my wife. And my cat. Neither were impressed.
People behaving badly in the supermarket, indeed.
Assumptions.
You are a jackass, Bastrop.
-----------
PS. Hey, Wisconsin. Seeing Tammy Baldwin last night on MSNBC tonight was a reminder of the character of Wisconsin Dem voters. Thankfully she has a full term left, huh? You guys rock!
PPS. Everyone listen to yesterday's episode of Fresh Air. Woodrow Wilson in the house.