Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ and

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Whole Food Goodness

Just when I thought I was done with Whole Foods (for their policy of bleeding-heart concern for the poor suffering lobsters of the world), they open a new store at Bowery and Houston and knock my socks off.

First, it is HUGE. You folks who live out where there’s actual space are well used to gigundo supermarkets (and I make you take me to visit them whenever I stay with you, just so I can envy and weep). Us’ns in Manhattan, not so much. Space is at a very expensive premium, and what largish ones do come available are immediately snapped up by freakin’ Duane Reade, freakin’ CVS or some damn bank. So supermarkets are a thing of wonder to us.

And this Whole Foods is beyond that. It’s sparkling, has a sort of gold aura to it, and goes for MILES. The veggie section looks like a jewel box, so pretty is the produce. And it’s got cases and cases of prepared meals, a BARBECUE STATION (for lunch I had bourbon pulled brisket and cornbread, enough for two meals, for a grand total of 6.28). There’s an Italian food station (‘cause I can’t stand the Indian and salad one up at Union Square WF), a pommes frites station making them fresh and hot, an enormous fish section and even more enormous fresh meat section, and oh so much else.

And it could be on my way home from the gym, if I walk south a couple blocks and then over to Second Avenue. Work out first, pig out later. Sounds both virtuous and perfect.

See, Wal-Mart? THIS is what New Yorkers want to come to dwell amongst us.


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