The proprietor of Martin’s Passover food store on Columbus Avenue understands the hard economics of his business.

“It’s about products,” Martin Mayer said, standing between rows of cardboard boxes. “Do you have what I need or not?”

His customers, as he explains it, don’t expect or want the typical supermarket experience, with tasting stations and olive bars, not to mention automatic sliding doors. They want kosher-for-Passover food products to stock their food cabinets in time for the Jewish holiday, which begins at sundown Saturday.

Mr. Mayer’s store is a seasonal fixture of the neighborhood but a fleeting presence, like the bundled pine trees on sidewalks in December. In the weeks before Passover for the past 10 years, he has opened shop in various vacant storefronts at the Upper West Side. Last year it was in a hardware store on Broadway and 88th Street, and this year he’s swept into a shuttered Associated supermarket that’s sandwiched between a clothing boutique and a video rental store.

Mr. Mayer promotes his store with two creased fluorescent-yellow signs, taped behind the storefront’s windows, that promise customers “over 1,000 Passover items.” The old supermarket’s sliding door is wedged open, its glass pane shattered and held together with transparent tape. A frayed Associated awning is pocked with holes. Pulled-down security chain gates obstruct most of the storefront windowpanes – and one of the signs.

Why doesn’t he pull the gates up? Mr. Mayer is asked.

“For what reason?” he said, surveying his store. “It’s concept. We got two signs. That should do.”

At the same time, he said he has promoted his store with leaflets in synagogues and advertisements in Jewish papers in the city.

The inside decor matches the outside. Customers walk on cracked and smudged tiles and wooden planks. The walls have been sliced open, leaving exposed water pipes, wires, and cement blocks. Many of the ceiling panels are missing, with browned insulation poking through. Food products are stacked on eight-foot office tables, individual shelf units, and the floor. A cardboard-and-marker sign announces one of the few “sale” items: “Marshmallows 2 for $5.”

For all the rough edges, Mr. Mayer offers his customers service that many supermarkets don’t match. One of his employees, who is known as Shlomi, delivers groceries to apartments using a Chevy van. Yesterday, an elderly customer burdened with a couple of heavy bags expressed her gratitude when another employee hailed a cab for her.

Many of the customers greet Mr. Mayer as a familiar acquaintance. Dressed in black corduroy pants, a fleece jacket, and a blue cotton shirt, Mr. Mayer – a New Jersey resident who said that during the rest of the year he works in the takeout food industry in the Garden State – paced around with a bit of anxiety, occasionally tossing empty cardboard boxes at two yeshiva students, on break from studying in Israel, for them to break down for disposal. Indeed, vacationing yeshiva students constitute most of Mr. Mayer’s workforce. His 15-year-old son, Aryeh, was working the register with three college-age young men.

As far as Mr. Mayer is concerned, he’s cornered the local market for kosher-for-Passover groceries. Other supermarkets may sell matzo or gefilte fish, but they can’t match the variety of products that he offers. He was somewhat disappointed, though, at the level of business yesterday, expected to be the peak day for Passover shopping. By afternoon he cheered up as a steady flow of customers filled the aisles.

At one point, a beefy young man wearing a Yankees T-shirt and shorts strode up to him. “Do you have any egg kichel?” he asked Mr. Mayer. Yes, he does, Mr. Mayer answered. The egg kichel is on the third shelf on the right. Martin’s also sells diet egg kichel, made with saccharine, which comes with a cancer warning on the package.

Mr. Mayer sells a half-dozen brands of matzo, stacked from floor to about eye level in one row. Manischewitz, of course, is the standard choice. He pushes the hometown brand, Streit’s, the “thinnest and lightest” of the bunch. There’s also Yehuda Matzo, which the package says was “voted by the San Francisco Chronicle as the No. 1 tasting matzo.” For those with “wheat allergies,” he also offers “certified organic” spelt matzo – both handmade and factory-produced varieties – which goes for a bit more.

Some of the more innovative products are selling well. The “Fresh & Go” toothbrush with “mint flavored” toothpaste and a “snap-on-cap” is one such item.

Others, not so well. “These are not good items,” Mr. Mayer said, pointing to packages of pizza crust and ice cream cones.

The most popular items, he said, are the tea products. And this year, customers have fewer cereal choices than last Passover season, a result, Mr. Mayer says, of tough competition.

“T. Abraham’s is the survivor of the cereal war,” he says, pointing to the honey-flavored and fruit-flavored cereals.

Asked how he would describe his typical customer, Mr. Mayer said: “I would call them Jews.”