Diogenes of Sinope Visits Erewhon

★☆☆☆☆

Would I return? Only if I was cast out by every tavern, bakery, and sewer in the city.

With great skepticism, I entered this so-called “Erewhon.” At first I assumed it was some sacred temple of the gods, given the gold-illuminated letters above the door and the gaggle of citizens clutching identical green juices as if they were holy relics. Alas, I soon discovered it was nothing more than a glorified agora for spoiled mortals: an overpriced grocery market for those who tremble at the thought of being typical.

The first thing I saw: a 24 pack of “carbonated spring water, canned at the source, Shasta Springs, CA” selling for $80. That much for water! Back in my day, I drank rain straight from the sky, free of charge and with fragrant mineral notes. Disregarding this atrocity, I turned to the cashier and asked “do you sell fig?” She gestured toward a wooden bowl with six figs carefully arranged in biodegradable packaging, priced at $9.99. (I see what they did there; they made it 9.99 so that they could keep the extra cent in cash for 10 dollar bills — how ludicrous.) These figs were glossed like they had been blessed by Apollo himself, and yet they tasted no better than the ones that fell off the tree outside the brothel.

Further inside, I stumbled upon a section labeled “Adaptogenic Snacks.” Curious, I inspected a bag of “sea moss gummies” for $34. They promised clarity, longevity, and heightened mental abilities. I ripped the eco-friendly seal open and ate three, and I can assure you that no philosopher’s wit was sharpened that day. In fact, I felt duller — possibly from realizing that some poor soul had traded half a day’s wages for a snack that tasted like decomposing fish goop. 

At one point I wandered into a crowd of citizens taking photographs with their smoothies. Not drinking them, mind you — photographing them. They rotated, tilted, and tipped the cups this way and that, praising the “color palette” as though it were a mural in the bath-houses. I lit my lantern (yes, the very same one I carried in the stories) and declared, “I am searching for an honest man!” A young girl turned to me, adjusted her sunglasses indoors, and asked, “is that a vintage prop?”

The pantry counter was the most offensive. A small box labeled “immune elixir with liposomal vitamins & black elderberry” boasted a price tag of $75. The man behind the counter explained that it was “crafted with organic ingredients, without animal-testing, and hand-produced.” I told him I preferred my elixirs “crafted without absurdities.” He laughed.

To cleanse myself of this corruption, I walked outside with nothing but a bruised apple I had liberated from a discount basket. It was the best part of my visit. The apple was honest: bruised, imperfect, cheap. It reminded me of my beloved barrel.

Moreover, rows in the marketplace were lined with radioactive substances that, upon further inspection, revealed themselves to be sea moss gel. I don’t know what it is with the obsession with sea moss, but there were jars of every color in the rainbow titled misleading names like “Neptune Blue,” “Venus Vibes,” and “Mother Earth.” Do they not realize this slander could incur the wrath of the Gods?

Erewhon is not a marketplace but a theater of vanity, where mortals audition for roles as enlightened eaters and instead reveal themselves as fools. They pay a fortune to ingest powders, capsules, and juices in the hopes that they might live forever. I once saw a man choke on a fishbone and perish instantly — so much for immortality by adaptogen.

These are my final thoughts: save your tetradrachms, eat bread, drink rain, and sleep in a barrel instead.

One star for Erewhon.