A classic of downtown snootiness:
The Bowery Whole Foods tells us something remarkable about its shoppers: how ignorant they are of where they are and how alienated they are from food. Perusing it, the thing that impresses you most is the pervasive labeling, the enormous amounts of information appended to everything. Everywhere are little identificatory notes, signs overhead, brochures on what to do with their sausages (eat them?), glossy photos of the smiling man who supposedly dredged up your mussels or baited the hook upon which your (always already headless and filleted) wild salmon met its end. This is food shopping for people who have come to trust only that which is mediated by text, addenda, explanations, certifications. It is a website come to life, or a piece of life for those who prefer websites: each piece of signage functions as the hyperlink that clicks through to a capsule review.
I once served some sliced raw albacore tuna doused in soy to a friend. I had bought the fish not far from Whole Foods from Alex, the fisherman who had caught it and brought it the next day to the Greenmarket. I’m lucky to live in a city where this is a humdrum and everyday transaction. My friend, a film producer, remarked, "This is great! But how did it get sterile?"
"Sterile?" I asked.
"Yeah. How does it get safe to eat?"
Food? Sterile? This is the alienation on which Whole Foods depends.
I guess I’d rather be alienated than puking my guts out.
The Dish 