Every year for decades, legions of tourists have flocked to the same SoCal landmarks: Hollywood Boulevard, the Griffith Observatory, Disneyland (or Universal, if you swing that way). For a certain subcategory of traveler straddling the line between hippie and yuppie, however, another attraction has recently been added to the mix: none other than grocery paradise Erewhon. The first of these upscale supermarkets was founded by Japanese couple Michio and Aveline Kushi in the 1960s; a 2011 acquisition by Tony and Josephine Antoci, another husband-and-wife duo, has turned the brand into a superpowered chain and status signifier.
Those who insist that LA lags behind the Big Apple in the cities’ never-ending battle for relevance might shudder at the sight of the Hailey Bieber smoothie (now formally the Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie ); pink and packed with complexion-saving collagen, the item has eclipsed local legend to become a memetic symbol. What’s more, even as it remains a fantasy for suburbanites dreaming of guilt-free buffalo cauliflower takeout, Erewhon itself has come to exist as a meme in the collective consciousness. Its name, an anagram of “nowhere,” is taken from an 1872 satire in which poor health is criminalized, and cultural allusions to the chain have been fittingly parodic. Sometimes it’s framed as slightly silly—as in the television series You, where kooky characters shop at Anavrin (from “nirvana”). Other times it’s outrightly spurned, as with the “Fuck Erewhon” totes that popped up at Hauser & Wirth’s bookstore last year. Hence, when the brand announced a pop-up at LACMA’s David Geffen Galleries, I was surprised that I didn’t hear more backlash, particularly with regard to perceived elitism.
I’ll come out and say it: I’m admittedly vulnerable to Erewhon’s charms. I could posture about health, but I’m really just enamored by novelty food; I enjoy the chain as spectacle rather than staple, treating it as an alternative to similarly priced sit-down spots. Some other Angelenos, however, see Erewhon as filling a cultural gap. When I posted an Instagram story fielding opinions on the new addition, one user described Erewhon as “weirdly democratic.” I was baffled until I read a Hollywood Reporter article that reached a similar conclusion, describing the store as “Hollywood’s trendiest accessible gathering spot, where, free of velvet ropes and bouncers, the fit and famous gather to sip, munch and flirt right alongside the tourists.” Indeed, out of everyone I informally surveyed, the only respondents who took issue with the new location were those who felt it failed to live up to Erewhon’s platonic ideal as a watering hole of sorts (boasting sparkling mineral water, naturally). After making my own pilgrimage, I concur that the execution didn’t live up to the high expectations the brand has worked so hard to instill in its cult following. Maybe my rose-
colored glasses are coming off—or maybe this is simply a case of a misleading promotional strategy.
Erewhon at LACMA is situated adjacent to the recently reinstalled Three Quintains (Hello Girls) (1964), a kinetic fountain sculpture commissioned from Alexander Calder for the museum’s 1965 opening. Calder’s rotating mobiles lend the outdoor patio, rife with tables and chairs, a sense of whimsy that Erewhon’s interior lacks. A sunlit room with three long tables and floor-to-ceiling windows evokes the tranquil, rejuvenating vibe of other locations (oft distinguished by glass panels that allow for abundant natural lighting), but this space quickly leads into a dimmer, more cramped subroom featuring a cafe counter as well as prepackaged meals and snacks. Just as you’re coming up on a shelf packed with organic chocolate and artisanal popcorn, one of two outcomes will follow: if it’s a busy day, the area will quickly become overcrowded; if not, you’ll be called to order before you can make a decision. (This, of course, is an architectural debacle rather than a problem with the workers; I’m sure they’re far more inconvenienced by the setup than the customers are). In either case, checking out the refrigerated food section is difficult, sometimes requiring a step out of line and creating frequent confusion about who’s up next. Equally disorienting are the stacks of LACMA exhibition catalogues by the napkins and straws in the corner, tantalizingly within arms’ reach. The books can’t be read unless you only want to give them a cursory glance while other customers continuously reach past you. Nor can they be purchased on site (though a small plaque urges you to order them via LACMA’s webpage). They exist as symbols, much like certain coveted menu items (take Sabrina Carpenter’s limited-edition Short n’ Sweet Smoothie, which costs a whopping $22).
The food was fine. I taste-tested both sweet and savory choices: my pastry was pleasingly gooey, while the tuna crispy rice was passable. Still, I left hungry for more, although my appetite was sated. It’s not that I’m spoiled; I understand that an art museum wouldn’t be the appropriate venue for a 15,000-square foot grocery destination with all my favorite treats. It’s that the pop-up entirely misjudges which aspects of the Erewhon experience define its character. Think back to the Hollywood Reporter quote; mere mortals don’t flock to Erewhon because they trust celebrities’ taste in health food or even because they think they’ll run into them there, but because it’s the kind of place where those celebs would want to spend time. Much has been said about the lack of third spaces—and Erewhon, for all its trappings, offers an aesthetically pleasing environment where guests are encouraged to roam extensively before idling for just as long. Its abundance of options—a cafe emphasizing customizable beverages, a hot bar where you can stack to-go containers to your heart’s content, rows of colorful prebiotic sodas—allows visitors to live in a world where they can pursue every whim, including the impulse to shell out for a $14 jar of pistachios. The point isn’t really to aspire to the stars’ physical wellness, but to think and move as they do, prioritizing serenity and freedom of choice as well as indulgence—even if said freedom is often fantasy in late-stage capitalist LA. Lacking this understanding, Erewhon at LACMA is just another overpriced museum cafe, albeit with great chocolate babka.
