There is a battle brewing in south Minneapolis, and its combatants are fueled on parsnip chips, muesli and cheap hootch. If someone doesn't stop it, people will be pummeling each other with organic loofahs before it's over.

Trader Joe's, the ersatz South Seas grocery store embraced by suburban soccer moms for its low-priced necessities -- such as peanut butter stuffed pretzels -- reportedly has eyes on the Bohemian Whittier neighborhood.

On the surface, it's the traditional development story, with locally owned stores worried that the chain will get a variance to sell wine and thus have an unfair competitive advantage. But it's also a sociocultural snapshot of the geopolitical landscape, a tussle over political correctness, sustainability and the general Mother Earthiness of the Minneapolis shopper. Oh, and "two-buck wine that tastes like four."

"Joe's," which itself started as a 60s alternative, now calls itself Your Neighborhood Grocery Store. It is, if your neighborhood includes Düsseldorf. It's now privately held, owned by one of Germany's wealthiest families.

"Joe" is apparently interested in a location just down the street from the Wedge Community Co-op, a neighborhood institution that likes to tell you that the apple you are buying was purchased from Ole down in Belle Plaine just this morning.

When a straightforward development story appeared in this paper last week, readers responded in the comments section as though Rush Limbaugh had crashed their hookah party.

Critics of Joe's complain of everything from secrecy (NO PHOTOS IN THE STORE!) to excessive packaging to simply being "the man." People love Joe's because it boycotted Canadian seafood (something about seals), but hate Joe's because it banned Salvation Army bell ringers and because a worker once died picking grapes for the famous "Two Buck Chuck" wine.

But hey, those Cranberry Pistachio Biscotti sure are tasty.

Another issue is the already chaotic traffic pattern near Lyndale and Franklin, a few blocks from my home. Personally, I'm as concerned about a sanctimony gridlock as shoppers sniff derisively at my cart because of a reckless disregard for my carbon footprint.

Ramin Ganeshram, chief food strategist for Iconoculture, a cultural trend research company, said that when Joe lands in a community without a traditional co-op, it's seen as a savior from the pricey and mundane. But when it lands in proximity to one, look out.

"The irony is that the traditional co-op buyer is changing," said Ganeshram. They're growing families or downsizing and begin making compromises between price and a wide range of ethical issues that influence buying. "They see Trader Joe's as a cheaper way to continue a lifestyle," she said.

She said shoppers run a continuum from people who could care less if slave labor raised their veal to a guy in New York who promised to eat food only from people he can meet personally. (I sure hope he found the address for Mr. Manwich). Those ideals shift over time.

"It's revenge of the Chic-est," said Marcia Mogelonsky, a research analyst with Mintel International in Chicago. "Trader Joe's is the Gestalt, the personification of what clean hippies want in a store."

As for the Wedge, "I can almost smell the patchouli from here," Mogelonsky said. "I'm sneezing." (Unless of course she's talking about the "no fragrance" checkout. Yes, they have one).

Carl Willat, a San Francisco commercial director, was so intrigued by the cultish nature of Joe, he made a hilarious unauthorized "commercial" for the store by sneaking video with his palm-held Treo (tinyurl.com/cqn8xv). While he makes fun of Joe's foibles, from horrendous parking to "cylindrical salmon" to yoga moms to that wine that tastes like it's worth four bucks, he loves the quirk.

"All the stuff that's weird and negative about it, we don't mind," said Willat. "We sort of like it more." Even the obvious psychological conditioning of randomly discontinuing popular products. "Instead of getting mad, it reinforces us to return: Maybe it will be here next time."

Willat's commercial is set to the tune of Tom Jobim's "Waters of March," kind of an ambivalent recitation of all that's wonderful and bad in the world; it's all just part of life and death. He suggests that's how Whittier should see the potential arrival of Joe. And he has one more piece of advice:

"Stay away from the maple cookies. Once you starting eating them, you just can't stop."

Jon Tevlin • 612-673-1702