One of my favorite places in Brooklyn is ..."Three guys from Brooklyn"--very truthfully subtitled "The Original Poor People's Friend." (In an age of rising obesity and crummy chips-and-soda bodegas, a place that sells fresh fruit and veg at rock-bottom prices is more truly the poor people's friend than any groveling politician, harrumph.)
One great thing about 3 Guys is Moshing for Diversity over the greenbeans and eggplants...with little old Chinese folks, Muslim housewives, paleo-Italian neighborhood types, you name it. (Fort Hamilton Parkway and 65th Street is the crossroads of the universe.) Another used to be listening to one of the guys--I thought of him as Andrew Dice Clay--bawling wildly at the Mexican help over the PA system. ("Yo, PACO. Tomatoes out here...NOW.") I read somewhere, however, that Diceman is deceased from exhaustion, and I believe it.
But I also love the poetry of 3 Guys (or perhaps, now, only 2), to be found in their signage. It's always "Snow-White Cauliflower" or "Juicy Ripe Strawberries." There are flights of fancy too: "Spinach--for the Baby" and, brazenly in the dead of winter, "Coney Island Corn." (I love the thought of a winter corn harvest in Coney Island, perhaps carried out by members of the Polar Bear Club.)
But today brought a new level of delight: The Guys have tried to name flowers. Well, tried a bit and then given up, since the correct nomenclature of blossoms is not a Guy sort of talent. My shot of the sign that said "Classy Red Roses" (yo, guys, whatta we need to do, spell it out for you?) came out blurry, but do enjoy these:
'Gerber' daisies. Feed 'em to the baby--with the spinach.
'Larkspray.' Yeah, it's somethin' like that.
I dunno--'Purple Stuff,' okay? You got a problem with that?
And when botanical knowledge fails, make something up:
That's what they look like, right? And they smell kinda weird, too!