As you first learned here, Bonnie was forced out of her long-time Greenwich Village location by a landlord who wanted more rent, or a different kind of tenant, or whatever landlords want when they decide to kick out an enduring and beloved small business.
When word spread, she found a pair of angels in siblings Margo and Garth Johnston, who wanted a bookshop in the basement of their East Second Street townhouse. They heard about Bonnie’s plight and reached out with a sweetheart deal.
Bonnie has spent the winter unpacking, painting shelves glossy white, and organizing what has turned out to be a dream bookshop, much larger than the last, complete with a working fireplace ("I'll probably never light it--fire and smoke don't go well with books") and a backyard perfect for book parties.
She is thrilled to have her books out of storage and back on the shelves. “They’re ready to meet their public once again,” Bonnie says, straightening a few spines. “They didn’t like being packed in boxes. They like being in the light.”
The books are displayed together with items from Bonnie's vast collection of vintage kitchenware. She has just come into possession of a 1950s-era mixer, heavy as a cinderblock, exchanged for a vintage typewriter.
Contrary to what you might expect, Bonnie is not a foodie. She prefers comfort food and does not go in for culinary fetishism. She likes cookbooks as books. They are, quite possibly, her greatest nourishment.
“I like to say that if you’re eating a peanut butter sandwich while reading something by M.F.K. Fisher,” she says, “you’re feasting.”
Previously:
Bonnie Slotnick Cookbooks vanishing
Bonnie Slotnick Redux
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