Anyone who has been into the Wellesley Ville on a warm summer day knows of the scent that makes their eyebrows furrow, yet few investigate to examine the source of the smell.  Eager to explore the stench that reminded me of my AP French classroom after lunch, I dragged a friend along into The Cheese Shop (also known as Wasik’s).

An early confession is in order—the reason I dragged my friend in wasn’t because I wanted company.  Rather, it was due to my fear of judgment from the store owners.  This was influenced by a negative experience at Legal Sea Foods the other night, where the young age of my sister and I deemed it ok for the waiter to treat us like shit.  Then again when a group of my friends and I went out for dinner and were treated like shit.  Having been made aware that my Asian identity automatically makes me 5 years younger in the eyes of others, I wanted to be prepared should I have to face this uncomfortable scenario again.  And with these two experiences still fresh in my mind, I wasn’t willing to take any chances.

The store was a quaint one.  A modest-sized shop that carried all sorts of gourmet, local goodies.  The door jingled as we made our way in, and we received a stare from a woman who was assisting an older lady with the jams.  Great, we’re going to be judged again.  Not paying attention to the store employees, I instead focused my attention to the awkward store layout.  Right as one enters, there is an awkward corner that separates the storefront from the main area.  Normally, I would be irked by this disturbance in the flow.  But I welcomed this little hideout, pretending to examine the local chutneys until the coast was clear.  The two ladies began making their way towards the back of the store, so I decided to emerge from my hiding spot and proceeded to make my rounds.

At this point, my friend who had accompanied me was pinching her nostrils so tight that I thought her cartilage was going to break.  She sign languaged The Body Shop to me and ran out of the store.  Alright, I nodded, and let her venture off.

Unimpressed by the merchandise that was sitting on the dry counters, I turned around and was immediately drawn in by the handwritten cheese selection on the chalkboard.  There’s something special about handwritten items because it suggests that the merchandise is fresh and always changing.  Whenever we go on family vacations, my dad always seeks out restaurants with handwritten menus because they are more “authentic.”  Makes sense to me—why waste money and paper creating print menus if the items are constantly going to change?

I must’ve spent a good 5 minutes or so just staring at the menu when one of the employees interrupted my focus by offering assistance.  I’m still deciding, I informed her and picked up right where I left off.  She left me alone with my thoughts, but not before she offered samples of the two new cheeses that came in today.  Oh, this changes things!  As I nibbled on the generous slices she offered me, I lost my place on the chalkboard and was overcome with the changing flavors between bitterness and saltiness.  I’ll take this one!!, waving the slice of Abondance Cheese that was waiting to be devoured.

After I made the transaction, I began to feel more at ease.  Was it due to the fact that I had proved my worth as a customer?  Or maybe it was some ingredient in the cheese that was making me relaxed?  Or perhaps it was the smile that I received from Mrs. Wasik herself?  Whatever it was, all the nervousness that I carried with me into the store had been dispelled, and I enjoyed a friendly conversation with the employees.  I shared my love for charcuterie and how I was from a family of carnivores, and they shared stories about their family-run business and how many of the cheeses, jams, and chutneys were made in store.

If you’re a cheese enthusiast and enjoy a friendly conversation, be sure to check out Wasik’s in the Ville!

Oh, New England.  One day, bikini-clad students bask in the sun, enjoying the 60 degree weather, and the next day, well, yields students covered from head to toe in rain gear and puffy jackets that came out from the depths of their closets.  This rapid fluctuation of climate over the past couple of weeks can easily disturb one’s immune system.  And despite having lived in New England for the past 4 years, I still had not learned this important lesson: always be prepared for anything.

A consequence of believing that the presence of the sun’s rays equates to warm weather is the onset of illness.  My throat became scratchy, and I found myself chugging gallons of water.  However, this hydration proved to be useless.  As the scragginess in my voice increased, I was forced to turn to my favorite remedy: hot tea.  When I reached for my tea stash, it was completely empty!  Noooo!  The fact that this past winter was especially brutal escaped my mind, thus causing me to clear out my supply within the first two months of the semester.  Oh well, guess it’s time to get more.

I set out on a quest to find a local tea shop (so that I could also write this review).  However, that search turned out to be unfruitful, as most of the locations were only accessible by car.  I decided to forgo that option and instead retreated to a well-known tea shop: Teavana.

Just to preface this visit, I want to start off by saying that I’ve never been a huge fan of Teavana.  There are many branches of this shop in California, but due to the high population of tea-loving nationalities in Northern California, I prefer to scout out the mom-and-pop tea shops instead.  The only reason I would ever stop by a Teavana is for the free samples that they hand out at the front of the store.  After obtaining my my pixie cup, I would pretend to browse through the products and then leave as soon as my cup was empty.

This time, however, I had another purpose: to buy tea.  I swung by the branch in the Prudential Center, as that was the most convenient location.  As usual, the cheerful (though almost too cheerful) employee offered me a sample of their latest tea: Mango Oolong.  It sounded fantastic on paper, but it tasted like candy water—ew.  Eager to make a sale, the employee followed me around the store trying to figure out what type of tea I was looking for.  I figured that if he was going to pester me while I was trying to make a decision, then I was going to milk this interaction as much as I could.  Can I get a sample of this?  Could I get a sample of that?  How about that one wayyyy up there?

As I walked around, I noticed how tiny the shop was.  I bumped into employees left and right as I made my way around the store.  This store is way overstaffed—there are more employees than customers!  As soon as I processed this information, I noticed that now there was not one, but two employees following me around.  What is this?!  While I was perusing the selection of tea leaves on the opposite wall, I suppose heard the second employee whisper to my initial assistant to return to his territory. Territories?  What is this—a plot of land for sale?  I finally made my decision and settled for some Jasmine Dragon Pearls and was excited to soon be leaving this cramped store.  Instead, the second employee ushered me to an idle third employee, who seemed to be both startled and excited by my presence.  A countertop separated me from my new host, who immediately began to point at the assortment of teas neatly filed away in the wall display behind him.  Ok, this seems redundant.  Why can’t they just give me the tin of tea I was looking at?  Counter Boy then proceeded to explain the pricing policies to me: buy tea by the ounce with the option of buying various containers as well.  He wrapped up his spiel by informing me that the smaller tins that I had initially chosen were out of stock.

“That’s fine.  Can you fill up half of the big tin?”

“Ok, but you’ll get a better deal if you fill up the whole tin.”

“Alright, how much would that be then?”

“Only $80.”

Holy shit, $80 for tea?!?!  And what do you mean only?  Do I look like someone who uses $100 bills to wipe my butt?!

“Can you just fill up a quarter tin?  I don’t even need that much tea.  I’ll be drinking this by myself.”

“Ok, that’ll be $15.  But it’ll be a better deal if you just get the whole tin.”

-Calculates in head.  Wouldn’t the total be $60?–

“Are you suuuure you want to only get a quarter tin?  It’s a better price per pound so essentially you’d be saving x amount of dollars!”

–Recalculating-  15 x 4 = 60, right?  I know I haven’t taken a math class since senior year of high school, but 15 + 15 = 30 and 30 + 30 = 60, right?  And 60 < 80.

“Yeah, I’m fine with just a quarter tin.”

“But seriously, you’ll be saving x amount of dollars!  And this means that you won’t have to come back for a while!”

It was at this point that I could no longer tolerate their mathematically incorrect sales pitch, got up from my stool, and proceeded to leave.

Except I couldn’t.

I was trapped!  I turned around and wanted to make a grand escape through what I thought was a second exit, but no such door existed.  I felt like a fool when I was met with a pane of glass.  Whoops, that was awkward—so much for storming off.  I tried to weave through the employees to get to the front, but there were too many of them blocking the tiny pathway!  They all bombarded me with special offers and exclaimed that this was my opportunity to score a limited edition tin can!  Even when I got to the front door, I was blocked by the sample station and the various customers who were there trying the water candy.  Man, this place was a serious fire hazard.  At first, the layout and size of the store irked me because I had to take baby steps in order to avoid crashing into the table displays and the employees.  But now, my dislike of the layout stemmed from the fact that it was designed to keep you from exiting the store!

Teavana—never again.

In my spare time, I enjoy browsing through the aisles in grocery stores or through racks in clothing shops.  However, this is an experience that is fairly universal, as shopping for food and clothing is done out of necessity, rather than out of luxury.  Therefore, I decided to test out the waters of an unfamiliar place by visiting a bicycle store.

I have actually never been to a bicycle store before.  When I was little, I bought my first bike at a large sporting goods center, and while I was studying abroad in Copenhagen, Denmark (aka cycle central), I bought my bike from a sweet grandma who was selling hers on the Danish version of eBay.  Therefore, I had no idea what to expect on my visit to this new territory.

According to Google Maps, the shop that I chose to visit was tucked away in a little neighborhood near Fenway.  As I made my way down the street, I recognized familiar sites—REI, the Elephant Walk (one of my favorite restaurants), and the view of the Pru.  On my stroll, I couldn’t help but appreciate the rays of the sun that had been missing from the gray winter months.  However, the bright rays ended up flushing out the teal façade distinguishing the bike boutique, and I almost missed the entrance to the store.  A doorbell jingled as a tall man scootered out the door on his white and teal ride.  Ah, here it is—Superb Bicycle Boutique.

I proceeded to enter the store, yet struggled significantly with the door (it swung outward).  Doesn’t it make more sense to have the door swing in to the building, so it is continuous with your flow?  I am easily annoyed when I have to take a step back to accomodate doors that swing outwards.  I digress.

As I clambered in, bright teal walls emphasized by the beaming natural light invited me into the space.  The dainty, scallop-shaped shelves coupled with the vibrant colors reminded me of the cupcakes on display at Sprinkles.  The lady at the front—she looked about my age, with a thick cat-eye and multiple piercings—smiled and asked if she could be of any assistance.  After nodding in her direction to indicate that no, I was just here to browse, I began my journey around the store.  To be completely honest, I had no interest in the bikes.  To me, the pattern of the wallpaper and the color scheme were more interesting, but I felt awkward poring over the walls.

Ah, finally done with the bike section.  The change in scenery gave me an excuse to genuinely be interested in the accessories, as I shuffled through the biking outfits and examined the u-locks on the sale shelf.  Oh!  I see backpacks!  I immediately shuffled over to the section and found myself looking up at the desired item of interest.  Man, I hate it when I can’t reach the items I want to look at.  Why is it so high up?!  Why am I so short?!  But as I held my gaze upward, I was surprised to see interesting patterns on the beams.  I leaned my head back further (I don’t know why I didn’t just turn around and look up) and saw several chandeliers.

Yes, chandeliers.

In a bicycle store.  I was more captivated by these shiny adornments than the bicycles on display, so I completed my procession around the store with my gaze held up.  I didn’t even notice the maintenance shop on the floor below or the two people staring at me, trying to figure out what about the ceiling was so fascinating.

The layout of the store was easy to follow (basically a donut with the bikes in the center and all the accessories lining the walls), but the restrictions of the space made the placement of the products very awkward (re: backpacks at unreachable heights).  Supposedly, those who come to the store to purchase new bikes are allowed to ride them around the store, but I don’t see how that is possible given the size limitations (and the “luxurious” ambience.  Squeaky bike tires in a room with chandelier lighting and Beaux-Art couches?  Nope, don’t think so.)

After coming back home and doing more research on the store, I found out that Superb was the sister shop to Cambridge Bicycle on Central Street.  I had always been frightened by the original store because it seemed grungy and unapproachable, but decided to venture over to do a comparison of the two stores.  However, when I reached the storefront, I was unable to convince myself to enter.  One peek into the space revealed a cluttering assortment of bikes and dudes in tight black skinnies, tattoos, and multiple piercings.  The lack of enticing features in the store coupled with my unfounded fear of ear gauges encouraged me to move on.

If you’re looking for a place to get your bike serviced/repaired, check out Cambridge Bicycle (qualified by the various “Best of Boston” stickers on the window).  However, if you’re looking for a place to be amazed (or stretch out your neck), Superb Bicycle Boutique is the place to go.