Andy Warhol misunderestimated New York. Get your 15 minutes and die and someone will spring up to knock off your schtick in about 5. The old boy with his vegetable peelers at Union Square has already been replaced by a woman with a British accent and something of the same spiel for the rubes (I only heard what could be heard in trying to push past the clot of gawkers into the market). I guess it shouldn’t be so surprising. Look how many little chefs have sprung from one Big Homme, and he hasn’t even vacated the premises.