Ode to my corner deli

Call me nostalgic. But, you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Especially - remembering the little things. That’s how I feel about the death of my corner Deli. For years, the Bread Deli brightened my New York City block. Patricio, a.k.a. ‘the flower guy’ would get fresh blossoms every morning, their seasonal colors decorating the sidewalk. He’d hold onto my dogs while I got breakfast.

Inside, Jose would prepare an order of egg and cheese on a roll before I reached the food counter. He just knew. That’s customer service – remembering the little things. Everyone smiled, greeted each other in English or Spanish; a morning ritual of intimacy amongst strangers.

Sure, prices on various items fluctuated wildly. Sure, a pack of Advil could go for anything from .75 cents to 3 bucks. But, no matter what you wanted, whenever you wanted it, there it was. And, though not everyone knew your name, everyone knew your face - which in a city of 8 million people, provides a lot of wordless comfort.

All of which is gone now. It happened in stages. First, Patricio. Gone. Then, the flowers. Then the outside ATM machine that was near the flowers. Then, the inside salad bar. Then, the fruit. Then, the counter guys. Then, the chocolate. Then, the Bread Deli was no more. Boarded up. Darkened. Scaffolded over. Making way for the Condo Management company that bought the building and kicked out the remaining tenants and the Bread Deli. To transform the corner into something else. Something new. And, most likely - not as friendly.