The Colors of Grand Central Market
I began this post feeling compelled to say that I am obsessed with Grand Central Market, but since I'm trying to overcome the habit of speaking in casual hyperbole I will refrain from making such an excessive claim, though my feelings of ardor for Grand Central Market are undeniably quite strong.
When I have time for a lunch or coffee break in the middle of my work day and no errands to complete, I often find myself gravitating towards Grand Central, especially in cold weather. I inevitably end up stalking up and down the market aisle, doing the food equivalent of window shopping; looking and looking and staring excessively and maybe drooling a little bit but hardly ever buying, because these foods are too perfect to be consumed, and everything in Grand Central Market is perfect. The breads and baked goods, the shiny fruit, the fresh pasta in delicate coils, the glistening fish on ice. If food were art, this would be The Met.
I find myself wishing for an excuse to splurge; for instance, if Barack Obama were coming to dinner, perhaps I could justify that $12 box of strawberries, and that $30 hunk of cheese. Won't you please come to dinner, Barack? These strawberries are unbelievable.
But alas, not much could convince a regular person with a regular income to spend money in Grand Central Market... unless it was the holidays and you wanted to impress your family with an only-in-New York specialty item, or it was a Wednesday and you just really couldn't live without that $8 box of crackers, because yeah, they're that good.
And then I find myself dreaming of a fantasy future life where I am an absurd person with an absurd income and I can do all my grocery shopping in Grand Central Market like it ain't no thing. I will buy the art and then I will take it home and eat it.