Somewhere in the realm between the mom-and-pop restaurant and the chain grocery store exists a community-sustaining life force, a small but mighty cog in the urban economic wheel whose significance has perhaps never been more apparent than it’s been during the COVID-19 pandemic. The neighborhood market, where hot meals, pantry staples and the once-elusive roll of toilet paper can be found, has experienced a pandemic-induced revival of sorts.
When restaurants closed their doors and big box grocery store shelves were picked clean at the onset of the pandemic, North Texas communities turned to the neighborhood markets they previously visited on occasion for specialty items in order to replenish their pantries while avoiding crowds and sticking closer to home. These markets, which provided essential food services and kept neighborhoods afloat during the darkest days of the crisis, are hoping the surge in business is here to stay. Maybe it’ll even kickstart a new era of shopping small and local.
Ann’s Health Food Center, which recently opened its fourth location in the city’s southern sector, has been feeding the community for almost 40 years. The health market that sells everything from meat and produce to Irish sea moss and wheat grass shots has operated since 1984 in South Dallas, where fresh food is hard to come by and grocery stores are few and far between.
Micah Munchrath, grandson of the late Ann Munchrath who founded the market, runs the main location on Zang Boulevard. He says business surged last March when the virus began to shut the city down. Regular customers came in looking to stock up on vitamins and grab cleaning products. Dozens of new faces streamed in looking for milk, eggs and paper products. Since then, business has remained steady, and many of those new customers are sticking around, he says.
Neighborhood markets like Ann’s have a unique pulse on a community and develop intimate, almost familial relationships with the people they serve. Munchrath has driven customers to bus stops so they don’t have to walk in the rain with their groceries. And he has listened to people tell stories of loved ones they just lost, and how they want to get their own health on track in hopes of living a longer life.
“People come in to start taking vitamins and supplements because their family member got [COVID-19] and passed away. It was happening on a weekly basis last year and has since slowed down,” Munchrath said. “On a weekly basis our hearts were being broken with these conversations.”
These catch-all neighborhood shops, many of which have been around for decades and tucked inside unassuming strip malls, are invaluable cultural havens that reflect and support the diverse communities they serve. In the northern suburbs, markets like Sara’s Market Bakery in Richardson and Madina Market in Plano offer Mediterranean food for takeaway as well as spices and a full grocery selection. In Garland, Asian markets such as Truong Nguyen and Hiep Thai sell heaps of specialty produce and fresh seafood.
In East Dallas, Jimmy’s Food Store is a mainstay for imported Italian goods, handmade pastas and deli sandwiches. Milk and Honey Kosher Market in Richardson offers a variety of kosher and imported goods as well as fresh falafel and shawarma. Gipson Grocery in West Dallas is one of the longest-running Black-owned stores in the nation. And Indian markets like Swadeshi and Sabu’s Indian Market and Kitchen dot the communities of Plano and Irving, offering endless selections of rice and halal meats. The Afribbean Market in Plano is a go-to for African and Caribbean goods, and Mexican meat markets and grocers can be found throughout North Texas, from La Michoacana in Oak Cliff to La Paisana in The Colony.
For 60 years, Kuby’s Sausage House in University Park, a restaurant and market duo, has been a destination for people looking to buy German goods and sausages. The modest corner market smells of beef and baked potatoes and hums with activity, even with strict capacity limits in place and the restaurant portion closed. Customers commonly visit the market to pick up cold cuts or steaks and side dishes for special occasions, but when the pandemic hit, people started to flock to its doors to stock their freezers with meat and buy pre-packaged meals and staple items like antibacterial wipes and canned goods.
The market never ran out of meat and was able to stay ahead of demand for all of the pantry items during the biggest surges in business, owner Karl Kuby Jr. said. Kuby, whose father opened the market in 1961 after immigrating to the U.S. from Germany, grew up in the shop and runs the business now that his father has retired.
He felt a sense of responsibility to get food and essentials to as many people as possible, especially the customers he knew were at high risk of getting severely ill from the spreading virus. Every now and then after closing up the market, he’d drop off food to elderly customers so they wouldn’t have to leave their homes.
“I just thought that customers needed to see that the owner of the business was there doing everything he could. The ones who know me were so thankful, and I was so thankful for them,” he says. “We are all in this together.”
Throughout the pandemic, Kuby’s has adapted quickly to carry items customers come looking for like Clorox wipes and dried pasta — a benefit of being a small, nimble operation. Kuby says he’s seen a shift in business and that people come to the market to buy much more than the few items they used to purchase. Personal customer service is a big part of what Kuby thinks has kept new customers coming back long after big box grocery stores restocked their shelves.
“The only way I can compete with the big boys is with customer service,” he says.
Although Kuby never worried about the market closing, losing revenue from the restaurant, which reopened in April 2021, has been difficult and personally taxing. He’s eager for a much needed break, but says the pandemic, overall, revitalized his business and himself.
“It’s kind of revived me a little bit actually,” he says. “There were moments when I would have a customer in the store or someone picking up a curbside order say they really, really appreciated what I was doing. Those things, that’s what you do it for. It makes you feel like you’re doing it right. It’s more than just a job to me. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s a happiness.”
Sixteen miles south in Oak Cliff, Ly Food Market rode out the worst of the pandemic quietly serving up takeout boxes of Lao and Thai food, and keeping its few refrigerator cases filled with homemade noodles, sauces and produce to feed its community, as it has for nearly a decade.
The small, inconspicuous restaurant and market, owned by Kam Southammavong and his wife Ly, is regarded as one of Dallas-Fort Worth’s top spots for authentic Thai and Lao food. Throughout the pandemic, people have continued to show up to the counter in steady streams to order plates of pad Thai and larb salads, but the pre-made goods and fresh produce became hot commodities as people in an area with few grocery stores looked for food.
Southammavong, who is a jeweler by trade and runs a little jewelry shop out of the market, says they’ve done well considering the difficulties of running a small business during the pandemic. They never worried about losing the market, he says, but they’ve never been in the business for the money. Their purpose is simple – to share good food with people.
“We don’t have a big business plan. We’re not planning to make tons of money. We just want to help the community,” he says.
Ly Food Market is situated in a lower income part of Dallas where food insecurities existed well before the pandemic. It’s a reality that has shaped Ly Food Market and its relationship with the community as long as it’s been in business. When customers come in and their cards are declined, they’re told to take the food free of charge and pay it back one day if they can.
Operating expenses have increased significantly since the pandemic started, but Southammavong says they never considered raising their prices to make up for lost revenue. They know what that would mean for many of the people they serve and how it would impact the business in return. It’s a delicate, symbiotic relationship they both need to survive.
“If the customer cannot survive, we cannot survive,” he says. “When we make less profit, it’s OK. We’ll get back there again.”
Southammavong quickly wipes tears away from his eyes when he talks about the community around him and the need he sees every day, which has only been exacerbated by the global crisis. He knows those needs will persist long after the pandemic is over and the country has moved on, so he and his family plan to keep doing what they’ve always done – taking care of people through food.
“No matter what, people will need to eat,” he says. “And as long as we make good food, people will come.”
