The cult of Whole Foods


I made the mistake of asking two drinking companions if they had been to the new Whole Foods, the only one in this state.

It went off the rails from there.

As mentioned before, I’m in a epicurean existential crisis. My paralysis stems from an inability to decide which food will kill me most slowly.

I have begun frequenting the organic foods section of the neighborhood Publix, staring in disbelief at (in no particular order) ingredient lists, wacky health claims and inflated prices.

Naturally, I’d be a prime candidate for Whole Foods.

Which is why I haven’t gone yet.

But I like keeping up with singles joints, and this frou-frou supermarket seems like it would be the Studio 54 of the postmodern suburbs — only instead of snorting coke in the bathroom, you can imbibe organic ‘shrooms right there in the aisle.


The women went into a tizzy just describing the experience of exotic soaps and artisanal breads and the glories of this marketplace. Most confounding was the paradox of the organic wine.

The sample lady poured cups for wandering shoppers, and according to them, it was horrid, akin to licking a rotted prune. My companions and apparently every shopper around them nearly trampled the clerk for their awful samples.

And while many items are considerably pricy, this wine was a mere $3.86.

So they bought it, this cheap foul-tasting wine. My friends, they drank the Kool-Aid dressed up in a pretty bottle and a haughty “organic” label.

They raved about the nifty shopping carts, complained about the Saturday crowds, went on and on about the tour and the cheeses, oh, the cheeses. It’s not even supermarket as theater.

It’s supermarket as compound.

So load the rifles and hoard the soy milk. If the feds or the Russkies or the zombies ever invade the parking lot, a large inappropriately well-fed band of culinary cultists will stand at the ready.

They will defend those aisles with their very lives, their sporty carts and their pesticide-free cantaloupes. A Whole Foods, defended by halfwits.


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