In 1972, what used to be Nick’s was Your Father’s Mustache — peanut shells, sawdust on the floor, banjo bands, Sunday afternoon jam sessions. Now, that same spot is a Gourmet Garage . . . packaged sandwiches, Brie, crackers, olives, canned tuna, leaf tea.
As much as I appreciate upscale grocery stores, I think the descent from Nick’s to Gourmet Garage can be traced in a straight downward-pointing vertical line.
Somehow I doubt that anyone will walk past that square footage on Seventh Avenue South fifty years from now and say, wistfully, “You know, when I was young, this was a Gourmet Garage. A great cheese department.”
May your happiness increase.