god meets girl

god meets girl

16.7.03

my dad sent me an article on trader joes from the la times recently. (i'll paste it below because i know the links get archived after a while, and i want to record the article)

its cool when your parents completely understand you and my dad's pretty cool himself. he knows exactly how to feed my hunger for la nostalgia.

anyway, this lead me to poke around tj's website a bit today and i thought i'd share this little nugget of trivia with my loyal readers (hi john and anne!). enjoy -

Italian pasta comes in a wide range of pasta types, most of which were generally named after their shape:

Spaghetti--"strings"
Ravioli--"little turnips"
Cannelloni--"little tubes"
Mostaccioli--"little mustaches"
Linguine--"little tongues"
Vermicelli--"little worms"
Macaroni--from the Italian verb, maccare, meaning a mixture or jumble. Apparently, macaroni originally consisted of mixture of ingredients.

L.A. CENTRIC / MARY McNAMARA
In the aisles of Trader Joe's, a culture all its own
Mary McNamara

July 8 2003

Traditionally, Los Angeles has been depicted in film and on television in two ways: the really violent moral corruption of South-Central and the really tacky moral corruption of Beverly Hills. But in the first season of HBO's "Six Feet Under," there was a tiny ray of hope. Two of the characters — David Fisher and his male lover — were seen chatting and pushing a cart through a Trader Joe's parking lot.

Trader Joe's! A local store not on Rodeo Drive! The brown paper bags rustled convincingly, the cars jockeyed for parking in the signature impossibly small lot ... why, it seemed just as if someone who actually lived in Los Angeles had something to do with the script. Then, two stupid-looking white guys, waiting for David's parking space, shouted out a homophobic epithet. This worked as a plot point but not as a reality check.

Because homophobic-epithet-shouters do not shop at Trader Joe's.

The original idea

It's the late '60s and Joe Coulombe, owner of a handful of convenience stores, is sitting on a Caribbean beach trying to figure out how to fight the barbarians at the gate — that new chain called 7-Eleven. In the grand tradition of Disneyland's Tiki Room, he decides to go with a tropical adventure theme. He decides to focus on low-priced gourmet items, to keep it simple — small stores, few frills — but make it fun — breezy explanations of where items come from, product names that refer to literature and philosophy and often include really bad puns.

Coulombe said at the time, and again in 1988 when he sold the chain to the Albrecht family, that Trader Joe's aimed for "the educated customer." The person who would appreciate sprouted wheat bread and Ghirardelli's chocolate, who might actually be looking for black rice, unpressed soap, soy milk and really good New York cheesecake, a canny Argentine merlot and a frozen spinach lasagna offered by "Trader Giotto."

One could argue that he was appealing to yuppies before there were yuppies, but it has gone much deeper than that. Trader Joe's has changed somewhat since the Albrechts took over. Where there were once 27 stores, there are now more than 200. In 15 states. Many of the original stores have been redesigned — the aisles are wider, there are automatic doors, and in some, the fishnets and nautical-themed tchotchkes have been replaced by colorful but tasteful murals, often depicting the local neighborhood. Trader Giotto and Trader Juan are not so much in evidence, and most of the food labels are free of those windy yet clever back stories. The Fearless Flyer, with its Victorian clip art, is still around, though, and the Web site looks like something out of Monty Python.

But Trader Joe's' expansion has been as spiritual as it has been physical. Over the years, as more and more people picked up those orange baskets and headed through its door, Trader Joe's has created a unique demographic, a decidedly local lifestyle — TJ Culture.

TJ Culture is to food shopping as sort of what the Episcopal Church is to Christianity — a realistic idealism that rejects many of the rules and regs associated with stricter sects. Just as the Episcopal Church borrows some from the Catholics but is generally more liberal when it comes to sin and attendance, Trader Joe's dips into the health food movement, the gourmet food, wine and booze craze, and the ever-popular discount ideal. But all in moderation.

In mixing these three, along with a recognition that you can't have too many kinds of chocolate chip cookies, corn chips or cheap but decent wine, TJ Culture creates a safe haven at the intersection of several groups known for their competitive testiness.

Few people have the time, money or frequent-flier miles to become Truly Educated about Spanish cheese or Chilean wine. And many find mega-store shopping a hellish ordeal that must be limited, like pelvic exams and dental appointments, to once, maybe twice a year.

But a TJ shopper knows that upon entering the store, she'll get a few bargains without having to walk the warehouse equivalent of the Appalachian Trail, and she'll also get enough culinary cred to pass just about everywhere. But not so much that she becomes a bona fide snob. TJ Culture is all about being prepared but relaxed, knowing but never condescending, being clever but not trendy.

This is why, when asked what they are bringing to the picnic or the party or the farewell dinner, many people will simply say: "Dunno. I'll just go to Trader Joe's." They know that whatever they need — a bottle of single-malt scotch, a mess of spinach dip and pita chips or just an armful of really cheerful sunflowers — will not only be available, it will be of the Right Sort.

In return for such bounty, TJ Culture requires, as many relationships do, a large amount of trust. Although some of the stores have expanded lately, most Trader Joe's remain about a quarter of the size of other markets, and so the selection, and the parking, oh the parking, is quite limited. Unless you have the time to run around to other markets, you have to simply surrender to Joe. You have to have faith that what is on those shelves is really, give or take a disposable diaper or too, all you need, that man can live on olive bread, lemon curd and excellent mushroom risotto alone.

"Our favorite customers are out-of-work college professors," says Tony Hales, captain of the store in Silver Lake. "Well-read, well-traveled, appreciates a good value."

Who wouldn't want this description to apply to them?

Members of TJ Culture often share other characteristics. Volvos abound, as does an ability to tolerate Greenpeace solicitors. There are no class or racial tendencies, no age limits — quasi-punks can be seen hefting cat food into the cart of women bearing an uncanny resemblance to the late Martha Raye. But these are people who wear sunscreen, even over their tattoos; who travel on frequent-flier miles and with the Lonely Planet guide rather than a Frommer's. People who play guitar and pay their taxes. Who know their way around Griffith Park and might even play Hacky Sack. Who prefer the Norton Simon to the Getty. Who roller-blade or bike to work on the days they're not driving the minivan. Who dress their kids in tie-dye but have really good car seats. People who don't watch a lot of Fox TV.

Such folks might have unfortunate thoughts about their fellow Americans while waiting in the sun for a parking space, but they would never, ever yell at them out the window.

Because that is just so not TJ.

posted by Paige @ 7:38 AM

0 Comments: