Losing an UWS Supermarket, Big Deal

By Yvonne Vávra

Routine is one of life’s great luxuries. It gives you the gift of time and energy, and I know this because one of mine was just ripped away from me. A routine centered around one thing that, in this city, can become an oddly all-consuming undertaking: grocery shopping.

I had a perfect route through Trader Joe’s on 72nd Street, and without it, I’m not entirely sure I’ll remember half the things I need each week. The store itself had become my shopping list. I knew exactly when to go to avoid empty shelves and lines so long they required crowd control. Most importantly, I felt safe there, financially speaking, in a neighborhood where 32 ounces of Greek yogurt can cost $5.49 at Trader Joe’s, $7.49 at Fairway, $9.99 at Pioneer, or $10.99 at Key Food.

Now the store is closed, with no reopening date in sight, and I find myself surprisingly destabilized. I’ll need a new system, new routes through unfamiliar aisles, and a new mental map of what I can afford where.

Sounds a bit dramatic, I know. The problem hardly seems catastrophic — after all, we’re among the luckiest New Yorkers when it comes to supermarket options. There’s even another Trader Joe’s just 20 blocks north of the closed one.

But I’m not the only one in distress. On neighborhood forums like Reddit and Nextdoor, I found passionate fellow Trader Joe’s mourners discussing new shopping strategies. As it turns out, many Upper West Siders depend on an affordable supermarket where a 12-ounce box of cornflakes costs $2.99 and not $9.49, as it does at Pioneer. People exchanged tips on how to stay within budget, debated the best alternatives, and worried about the displaced 72nd Street shoppers now marching north toward the Trader Joe’s on 93rd Street.

I’ll be among them, schlepping up and down Columbus. All I need is a bigger back.

In times like these, the German in me fully reemerges. Even after all this time living in New York, I still find myself bewildered by how exhausting grocery shopping here can be.

Years ago, when I wrote my book about New York, I told my German readers that Trader Joe’s was the only “normal” supermarket in the city. I simply couldn’t wrap my head around the prices at the others and considered them an impossible option for everyday groceries.

But normal? Nothing is normal about supermarket lines so long they require ushers to manage them, politely informing you that yes, this spot here at the entrance, two miles from the registers, is where the line begins. With a smile.

In Germany, having five people ahead of you means you’re unlucky. And if you realize, just before the register, that you forgot something, you simply go back and get it. You do not fall into a panic, calculating whether you can sprint to the frozen foods section and make it back in time before your trusty cart loses its place in line.

No chance. Impossible. No spinach this week.

In German cities, grocery shopping is something you do in passing — spontaneously, casually, even before every meal if you feel like it. There’s no squeezing through crowds, no cart jams, no strategic maneuvering, no waiting for someone to move aside so you can reach the carrots. That’s because there are so many supermarkets. I honestly can’t think of a neighborhood in Berlin that doesn’t have at least one option in each affordability category right around the corner. There are the cheap ones, where you might have to rummage through still-unpacked boxes; the regular ones; and the more expensive, prettier ones, for people willing to spend an extra euro on neatly arranged cans and produce aisles with a mood-lifting color story.

Of course, the biggest cultural grocery shock I experienced came at the Trader Joe’s register. The cashiers spoke to me! About favorite products, recipes, dinner plans, my day —I thought I was on the moon. There’s no time for niceties, or even eye contact, at a German register. As soon as it’s your turn, the checkout race between you and the cashier officially begins.

They scan your groceries at alarming speed, launching them onto an almost aggressively narrow strip of counter space where you’re expected to bag everything immediately before it falls off the edge or your sanity gives out. There is no hesitation, no mercy. The game is on.

If you enter the challenge with weak nerves, succumb to the pressure, and get stuck, you’ll receive an evil look. And be expelled from the country, I think. I can’t remember.

Here’s a pro tip, if you’re ever there: Put loose fruit in between your other items on the conveyor belt. The cashier has to enter the code manually, which buys you precious seconds to catch up.

Oh well. That particular sport is no longer my problem. But I will have to catch up with a new Upper West Side grocery routine. It’s not a big deal that one supermarket is temporarily closed. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. It certainly says something that the loss of a single affordable supermarket feels like such a major disruption to so many people. A city where the grocery system is so affordable and well distributed that no one would even notice if one store closed for a summer of renovations — that would be a very big deal.

Yvonne Vávra is a magazine writer and author of the German book 111 Gründe New York zu lieben (111 Reasons to Love New York). Born a Berliner but an aspiring Upper West Sider since the 1990s (thanks, Nora Ephron), she came to New York in 2010 and seven years later made her Upper West Side dreams come true. She’s been obsessively walking the neighborhood ever since.

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