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ICO NYC vs. “The Fuzz”

I have a binary relationship with the police.

On the one-hand, my brother-in-law is a good cop, a great one actually. He’s the police chief in Lunenburg, MA and he rocks a solid Tom Selleck mustache that has proved to be a beacon of the law.


Then there was the police chief in Harvard where I grew up – Officer Newman. I’m sure he’s a riot when he’s on a fishing trip or at a BBQ, but the dude made being a troublemaker a lot harder than I would have liked. He used to pull up next to my car and say:

“1992 White Volkswagon Cabriolet – last name Grady. It’s only a matter of time, kid”.

This inspired a direct effort to park my car at upstanding places like church parking lots or bake sales and then walk off to do whatever I shouldn’t be, just to bother him.

But the NYPD is a whole other kettle of fish. First of all, they’re literally everywhere – which I respect and understand. There are good cops who are required to bomb check, search, and loose trained dogs on our van – all sorts of activities that make me grateful the bags we carry only have oysters in the them. I don’t mind it, or take any strong position about it – they’re serving and protecting as promised and a little excitement in a long day is all good.

And then … there are the bad cops – known simply as “the Fuzz”.

“The Fuzz” does not want you to have your oysters.

“The Fuzz” will go out of their way to impede the long journey from our farm to your belly. “The Fuzz” dislikes our van and all we represent – fun, happiness, pleasure, and fresh air.

Exhibit A: On Saturday, Officer Fuzzworth was leaning against a building ripping on a cigarette while I idled at a light after just pulling away from a delivery – my window was down so could take in the marginally less freezing breeze and spread a little Dolly Parton love to the good people of Chelsea … when I heard him make fun of a homeless person -Seriously?  *Boos*

I must have made quite a face in reaction (I’m super subtle with the faces*  *not at all) because he looked over, saw I hadn’t fastened my seatbelt yet and pulled me over on foot while smoking a cigarette to give me a $138 dollar ticket – not 137 or 139. $138 seems a tad egregious for forgetting to buckle up the nano-second you leave a parking spot, but I guess for this guy the price was right.

I was telling this story to Tayler during our cozy 5am cooler chat, and he told me about Exhibit B: “The Fuzz” had exploded at him while delivering to the Dutch for, well – delivering to the Dutch. Just for existing and driving a van with a neat picture of a farmer on the side.  When I asked Tayler how he responded, reminding him that at Island Creek we pride ourselves on not getting riled up about these sorts of things (though I did cry once when I biker spit on my window), he said and I quote –

“Well I just said a civilian shouldn’t have to tell a police officer to calm down”  –

That’s our boy Tayler – making moves with peaceful protest.

So let’s think of it this way – every time we get our oysters past “the Fuzz” and to your table in the big city  – you’re rebelling a little bit against them, the “Man”, and other ineffectual bureaucracy that break up a good party.

And we like that.

NOTE: if you’re a NYPD officer who loves oysters – Truce. Also, we love you Chief Marino.

★ Hannah Grady runs the whirling gyre that is Island Creek’s Brooklyn shop.  She arrived on this island of misfit toys only recently, so please welcome her warmly and follow her on twitter:@grady_train ★