By Mark Baker

If we get an Albert, I'm outta here. That was my first thought on hearing the news that the Belgian company that owns the Delvita supermarket chain is pulling out of the Czech Republic.

Apparently it can't make money here. That seems odd, since the Delvita in my neighborhood on Letenské náměstí is always packed during the after-work rush hour. I try to get there by 4 p.m. so I don't spend an hour in line.

I owe a lot to Delvita. Five years ago, when I first moved to Letná, the shopping scene here was still very "pre-Velvet." One place for meat, another for vegetables and another still for bread. I bought milk and eggs at the corner nonstop. It was quaint, but time-consuming and frustrating. I ate out a lot more then than I do now.

Delvita saved me and — by the looks of the long lines there — at least 5,000 other people who live in my neighborhood. Suddenly, everything was available under one roof. And not just meat and milk, but fresh spinach, broccoli, Haagen-Dazs ice cream and an "international" section at least as good as the downtown Tesco's.

Delvita really tried. That's the refrain I hear time and time again when I raise this subject among friends.

So what happened? You mean, after all of these years, there's still not a market for luxury ice cream in this town?

It wasn't supposed to be this way. In the mid-'90s, the grocery business began what everyone believed would be an inexorable march onward and upward. International giants like Tesco, Carrefour and Julius Meinl appeared on the horizon with the tantalizing promise of a never-ending supply of peanut butter, real brown sugar and canned chickpeas. It wasn't a stretch to imagine that, by 2020 or so, there would be a Whole Foods outlet on every corner.

And, for a time, the situation did improve. A few years ago, I even brought back a bunch of cookbooks from the United States, confident that, within a few blocks of home, I could find at least 80 percent of the ingredients I would need to make anything in the books.

And then the clock started to turn back.

I can't pinpoint it exactly, but, sometime around 2002 or 2003 — about the time Julius Meinl shuttered its local operations and retreated to the relative safety of Vienna's Ringstrasse; Meinl never did mount a serious effort here — apparently they concluded the Czechs were a hopeless bunch of canned-pork and packaged-dumpling eaters. Anyone who's ever been to the Meinl am Graben in central Vienna can attest that it's the most dazzling and decadent supermarket between the German border and Vladivostok. But the Meinls here were always lifeless, stuffed to the gills with canned goulash and bottled water.

Now, Carrefour is gone too, apparently after cutting a deal with Tesco to divide up the developing world between them. I wasn't privy to the agreement, but I can imagine it said something like, "I promise not to open a decent grocery store in any of your markets if you promise not to open any in mine."

I have nothing against Tesco, it's just that I can't see any benefit from an apparent noncompetition clause between major competitors.

And, now that we're on the subject, whatever happened to Tesco? Forget about anything approaching your average Tesco in the United Kingdom — the Tescos here are not even as good as they were five years ago. It used to be fairly common to hop the metro for the long ride to Zličín to fill a few bags with hard-to-find baking mixes, fresh fish, cheese and Hob Nobs. Now, I don't think anyone does that anymore. The last time I was there, I bought a few discount CDs and some pita bread. I couldn't find anything else that wasn't available at my Delvita, and in a store about one-twentieth of the size.

Over the years, I have tried to forestall this day by loading up my shopping cart with whatever piece of exotica I happened to find. My cupboard is lined with sauces and salsas from around the world — things I haven't the faintest clue about what to do with.

My reason for buying was to "create a market." I figured, whenever I bought something, some data point would show up on a computer somewhere, and the guys in the ordering department would simply order more of it. Maybe I was doing someone somewhere a good turn and they were doing the same for me by buying my favorite products.

I have no idea who will take over the Letná Delvita, but I can't help but think it will be a step backward. I can imagine that both Billa and Albert are eyeing the location. Someone the other day mentioned in passing that they thought it could be a Lidl or, heaven forbid, a Penny Market that goes in there.

Those in the grocery business say the current consolidation is inevitable and even good for consumers by giving the surviving chains room to breathe. I'm not so sure. The guys saying that are probably the same ones who can afford to do their own grocery shopping in Germany.