High on Meat

                                                  High on Meat[1]

   Today’s New York is a conglomeration of neighborhoods, almost all of them “revitalized” and “gentrified” avatars of their former selves. A prime example is Soho, 30 years ago a grungy district of factories and warehouses that was almost magically transformed first into an art colony and then into a chic center of yuppie chain stores and hip restaurants. But the same thing has happened in: Harlem, Washington Heights, the East Village, Tribeca, Hell’s Kitchen, Chelsea and the Flatiron District. The paradigm: a formerly ugly, industrial, blighted, crime ridden slum has overnight morphed into an urban resort for the super-rich, who not only can afford to park there but have erected architecturally breathtaking living spaces out of former lofts and sweatshops. New York is fast becoming a city without a middle class: an uneven battleground between the desperately poor (most of whom has been displaced to Queens or New Jersey) and the ultra-rich.

    A fine example of the current trend is the so-called “Meat-Packing District” on the lower West Side, known as the Gansevoort Market historical district. Imagine a huge cast iron and brick warehouse, with a large loading dock covered by a metal awning. Trucks pull up alongside and proceed to disgorge countless carcasses of half the specimens on Noah’s Ark. The aroma is what one would expect. But then walk half a block and you encounter the most chicy-chicy boutique, windows filled with mannequins sporting the latest outrage for only $1000. Go a bit further, and you find yourself in front of the hippest (and most outrageously expensive) restaurant featured in Zigat. The smell of cooked filet mignon mixes somewhat tentatively with the smell of recently slaughtered filet mignon.

   During the years when I formerly lived in New York, this area was blighted jungle, largely frequented by junkies, prostitutes, and a throng of non-traditional sexual pleasure seekers. The stench of rotting piers mingled with that of the huge abattoirs.

   The “High Line.” During the 19th century, the slaughterhouses and markets were served by an elevated railroad line, at times running through the buildings themselves. After trucks replaced railroads as the major means of hauling food, the rail lines fell into decay, and we almost removed. By a great stroke of luck, a number of concerned residents started a move to preserve the stretches of elevated track that remained, by this time mostly overgrown with various lush weeds and flowers. The successful result was “the high Line,” which will eventually stretch north from Gansevoort Street to 30th. People will be able to ascend staircases and find themselves in an elevated park, with spectacular views of the Hudson River waterfront. The “boardwalk” winds along beside the old train rails, through buildings, and beside luxury condos. This was a great coup of urban planning, a classic piece of preservation that will provide years of pleasure a diverse number of grateful citizens. http://www.thehighline.org/

[1] I’ve recently been stimulated into thinking a bit about urban planning and related topics by Michael Sorkin’s Twenty Minutes in Manhattan (London: Reaktion Books, 2009). Sorkin is a Professor of Architecture, who lives in the West Village and bases his insightful discussion on his walks through the neighborhood.