Mr. Kims

Actually, Mr. Kim no longer has anything to do with the little shop on the corner in Adams Morgan, right downstairs from where I live. I think he died of stomach cancer several years ago. The new owners are another Korean family and three brothers take turns manning the counter. I think a few of them are putting themselves through school. Until this past new year’s day, I had never seen a day when Mr Kims wasn’t open. Ever. And it’s not like your usual crappy corner store, either. In between the Doritos, lottery tickets and cigarettes, you can find a bunch of treasures you would think could only be found at whole foods. They carry swanky cheeses, fresh pasta and smoked clams. Those boys have saved my sorry arse on many an evening when I was missing only one ingredient for another botched Aquavit recipe. They always let me slide if I don’t have enough dosh on hand. I was thinking of moving to a small house, but you see my options are limited: I can only move somewhere within one block of Mr. Kims.

I can’t stand, though, that the old Comet Liquor–the cornerstone and meeting place of Adams Morgan life for a zillion years–has been replaced by a cheap sports shoe company.

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