Whole Foods Comes to Brooklyn: Did you say Superfund or Super FUN?

by Elizabeth Nelson

 

          The city was under a storm advisory, and one glance upward told me it was no joke. The sky was the same steely color as the slush under my Sorels—requisite winter footwear for Brooklyn moms. Those boots are so huge, they make the rest of you look tiny, even if you’ve been sneaking out to Dale Talde’s Brooklyn roadhouse, Pork Slope, to scarf down tater tots after the kids are in bed.

          But the snow that was beginning to spit down angrily could not deter me from making a pilgrimage to Brooklyn’s first Whole Foods, perched in all its reclaimed-brick glory on the banks of the Gowanus Canal, and opening that very day. My Twitter feed was buzzing with tweets from bloggers who showed up at the crack of dawn to document the momentous occasion and I wasn’t about to miss out.

          I roped my intrepid grocery-shopping companion into coming with me, and not just because he has a car. The new Whole Foods is easily accessible by subway, and I never mind taking public transportation. But everything is more fun with a friend, and driving means you can load up your cart without worrying about how you’ll schlep it home. We easily found a parking spot underneath the imposing solar panels that provide 25% of the store’s power.

          The solar panels, the reclaimed brick, the electric car-charging stations powered by wind turbines, and the wood paneling made from Sandy-pummeled Coney Island boardwalk all seem designed to pander to Brooklynites, suckers as we are for anything that assuages our guilt about destroying the earth. But the eco-dutiful construction is also a nod to the fact that this Whole Foods practically sits on a Superfund site. The Gowanus Canal is one of the city’s most notoriously toxic areas: hardly the place that comes to mind when you want to buy organic baby food and wild-caught salmon.

          Stepping inside, we were engulfed in cinnamon pinecone-scented air and all thoughts of PCBs were dashed from our minds. A holiday display of Hammond’s candy canes and chocolate Santas was front-and-center, and beyond it the bakery and hot food bar beckoned. Smiling staffers milled about with trays of samples.

          Sushi rolls, Roberta’s pizza, sweet and savory scones, small-batch ice cream, hot crusty bread dipped in marinara, fresh-baked apple pie, sharp English cheddar dotted with fig chutney, fair-trade coffee and organic energy drinks: we tried it all. I filled my basket with eggnog and whoopie pies, bypassing Red Hook’s famous Steve’s Key Lime pie, while my more sensible companion chose a rotisserie chicken and some bright green avocados that looked like they’d take longer to ripen than my patience would allow.

          We lingered at the fish counter; it must have been twice the size of Fairway’s. An unabashedly pushy fishmonger urged us take home a piece of his beautiful fresh salmon. Lobster tails were on sale, two for $10. Red snapper, monkfish, and something called opah, from Hawaii, gazed at me from their icy beds.

          “I bet Fairway is empty today,” I said to my friend. “It’s a heck of a lot easier to get here than to Red Hook,” he agreed.

          There was no line at the register, in spite of the crowd. After checking out and bantering with the bagger, who approved of my organic and locally-sourced eggnog selection, we headed upstairs to get a look at the greenhouse, patio, restaurant and bar. Greeted by the screams of a toddler, we made a too-easy crack about knowing we were in Brooklyn. The café area was populated with oversized strollers and apple-cheeked babies suckling organic and hyper-local meals straight from free-range Brooklyn mothers. I’m not bothered by babies eating, having nursed my own, but my companion might have strained his eye-rolling muscles.

          As we bundled up to head back out into the snow, he exchanged texts with a friend:

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