Mayor Candidate Catsimatidis Hopes to Make Voters Happier Than Shoppers The career of John A. Catsimatidis, the billionaire Republican, was catapulted by Gristedes, which he now calls a headache. Katie Couric was discussing the New York City mayor's race with Donald Trump in the Pool Room of the Four Seasons the other day when the topic of John A. Catsimatidis, the billionaire Republican candidate, came up. For a moment, she drew a blank. Who is that again? Ms. Couric asked, before a look of recognition flashed across her face. "Oh!" she exclaimed. The Gristedes guy! A Greek immigrant worth $3 billion, Mr. Catsimatidis has aggressively jumped into this year's mayoral contest, needling rivals, rounding up party endorsements, and tapping his personal fortune to begin a radio advertising campaign, the first candidate to do so. But before he can follow Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg as another idiosyncratic, new-to-politics businessman in City Hall, Mr. Catsimatidis must first confront the public's often-strained relationship with the company for which he is best known: Gristedes, the unloved uncle of the New York City grocery scene. Garishly lighted, expensively priced and home to a dusty décor that several Yelp users have labeled "depressing," Gristedes has suffered mightily in the face of flashier rivals like Whole Foods. Sales are down, stores have closed, and the company has paid out millions of dollars to settle lawsuits over allegations of unfair labor practices and consumer safety violations. Mr. Catsimatidis himself does not mince words, saying the store that once catapulted his career is now predominantly a headache. Even his 23-year-old daughter, a regular customer, has concerns. "She comes and complains about everything that was wrong," he said. "I've run this company for 40 years," he said in 2011. My life would be better without Gristedes. In his political ads, Mr. Catsimatidis, 64, has made no mention of his supermarket, eager to pitch himself to voters as a worldly executive with deep experience in oil and real estate concerns, which make up a vast majority of his business holdings. But while he is quick to point out that Gristedes is only a tiny fraction of his empire - and insists he has not set foot in a store for years - Mr. Catsimatidis remains deeply sentimental about the dwindling grocery chain, sometimes tearing up when devoted customers say hello. At his campaign kickoff, he described himself as "a grocer" and pledged, as mayor, to take a supermarket-friendly salary of 99 cents. Since starting his long-shot bid in January, Mr. Catsimatidis - whose smiling photo still appears at the top of Gristedes coupon fliers - has proved an exuberant and disruptive presence, bringing a salesman's brio to an often humdrum municipal race. He swore at an audience member who questioned him at a Young Republicans" meeting, expressed skepticism about global warming at a sustainability event (he was booed), and once trailed off midsentence at a candidate forum, telling the puzzled audience, "Sorry, lost my train of thought." He has spent more than $100,000 on radio ads, robocalls and campaign fliers, pitching himself as a "common billionaire" who will create jobs for the middle class, assist small businesses and protect public safety. He has pledged to spend millions by the primary election in September - not at Mr. Bloomberg's level, but still a formidable sum against opponents who, lacking personal fortunes, have agreed to abide by spending limits in exchange for public matching funds. In polls of Republican primary voters, Mr. Catsimatidis lags behind his establishment opponent, Joseph J. Lhota, a former deputy mayor in the Giuliani administration, although most Republican voters are not familiar with any of their party's candidates, and even Mr. Bloomberg was little known at this stage in the 2001 mayoral race, which he went on to win. Still, whether New Yorkers want the proprietor of a maligned grocery chain to run City Hall remains an open question.