I finally bought a whole fish from Joey.
When I moved to Bed-Stuy, I spent time getting a feel for the neighborhood, learning what local businesses were around, and well, convincing myself that I made a good choice in this city’s vast selection of unique neighborhoods. Naturally, I was thrilled to learn about the small, well-curated seafood shop around the corner—Shipwreck Seafood Boutique. After years of occasionally buying slightly sad-looking seafood from grocery stores, I finally had a noticeable upgrade. Yet for months, I seemingly avoided the shop.
Joey operates his business on a rare set of ethos. When there is a block party, Joey hires a band to perform and offers everyone free shots of top-shelf liquor. When the frigid New York winter hits, he offers free hot chocolate to his neighbors. In the spring, he leaves out a bucket of fresh cut flowers with a sign that says “take one.” When the heat of summer becomes unbearable, he uses a hose attachment outside of the shop to produce a steady mist to cool off foot traffic. Most importantly, during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, he was giving away meals to his neighbors in need. There are no ulterior motives; even if there were, they somehow didn’t work on me.
In marketing, it’s said that it often takes at least seven touchpoints to convert a lead into a customer. That means seeing a brand on a social media feed multiple times, seeing the brand’s product on shelf at a store, and then perhaps a bus stop ad or YouTube commercial—and then maybe, just maybe the lead converts.
I had far more than seven points of exposure with Shipwreck Seafood Boutique. I walked by it almost every day. I love seafood. I have a career in seafood. For better or worse, I love buying things. I’m the perfect customer for this business. What was the hold up?
Sure, I had once gone in and bought a delicious soft-shell crab sandwich, and on multiple occasions, I had purchased a couple pounds of PEI mussels to steam in my apartment. On those few occasions, I would walk out and say, “next time I’m buying something else, something that I have yet to cook.” I’d believe myself, too. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to make other purchases. It was as if I was afraid of ruining the experience I had mentally cultivated before ever walking in.
On a snowy, yet sunny winter day, I made the plunge. I had just received a new oyster shucker and knew this was my moment. I walked in, chatted with Joey, and picked out some oysters from Prince Edward Island and a large rainbow trout from Idaho. It wasn’t much, but it opened the door. Joey told me about the sourcing of each product and how he likes to prepare his trout, all delivered in his cool, direct New York inflection.
It’s strange, but I felt like I accomplished something—even before shucking an oyster or roasting the trout. Overall the experience coupled with a Brooklyn-winter-rooftop-cooking party and delicious results gave me a high that lasted a while.
This isn’t really about fish. Unfortunately, in most communities local fishmongers are few and far between, and nothing lasts forever. That band you’ve wanted to see that’s coming into town on a Tuesday night, the restaurant that is in a neighborhood that you don’t frequent, your relationships with others—they can vanish at any time.
Keeping a business afloat is challenging. Each customer’s business is valuable. As a consumer, support your fabricated fantasies because they tend to be much better in real life.
Shipwreck offers a heartbeat to the community. I made the right choice by moving to this neighborhood, but without Joey’s presence, it might not be quite as clear. So please, support your local fishmonger…even if it’s not a fishmonger.
