Francie Nolan, the teen-aged protagonist-nerdy, plain, and secretly ambitious, like me-loved the smell of coffee, one of the family’s few luxuries, but she seldom drank her serving-“at the end of the meal, it went down the sink.” It was Francie’s mother’s comment, in particular, that stayed with me: “I think it’s good that people like us can waste something once in a while and get the feeling of how it would be to have lots of money and not have to worry about scrounging.” Unlike Francie, though, I gulped down king-sized cups of boba without leaving behind a single drop. (“Why are we wasting money when I can just pour sugar and gummies in your tea?”) What I savored was the illusion, ever so rare for a bewildered young immigrant, that we, too, could afford a few pearls of leisure.Īt school, a fancy one that my mother toiled to afford, we were reading “ A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,” Betty Smith’s semi-autobiographical novel about a family fighting indigence and hard luck in early-twentieth-century Williamsburg. It didn’t matter that the bits of chatter I picked up were not exactly juicy-the crowd at Taipan was mostly elderly grandmas or weary parents and their children-or that I had to contend with my mother’s complaints about my indulgence. This provided a solid excuse to sit down at one of the bakery’s unwiped chrome-rimmed tables, where I’d sip my tea and indulge in my second-favorite activity in Chinatown: people-watching. There was only one flavor of boba back then-black tea with sweetened condensed milk and balls of tapioca-and the cups had annoyingly flimsy lids that leaked at the slightest jostle. Yet every time she relented and let me buy one, and the victory tasted as sweet as the drink itself. An order cost about three dollars, half of my mother’s hourly wage cleaning houses. At some point, it also began selling a newfangled drink, served in plastic cups with jumbo straws and what appeared to be shiny marbles piled on the bottom. ![]() Invariably, our last stop was Taipan Bakery, which offered an end-of-day discount on goods such as red-bean buns and sponge cake, my favorites. ![]() Behind her I’d trudge, up Canal and down East Broadway, a weary foot soldier weighed down by growing satchels of fish tofu and Chinese cabbage and hoisin sauce. ![]() These were not leisurely shopping trips but carefully strategized plans of attack, during which my mother practiced bargain-hunting as blood sport. A few times a year, my mother and I would take the Metro-North an hour south to New York City for the sole purpose of stockpiling Chinese groceries. It was the early nineties, and I’d been in the United States only two years, living and going to school in Connecticut towns so uniformly white that soy sauce was still considered exotic there. Oh, and loving the vertical plant wall you’ve got going their Teeamo (yes, pun intended).I first discovered zhen zhu nai cha, as bubble milk tea, or boba, is known in Chinese, when I was ten. Whilst there, you can also enjoy one of the cute little snack cakes they’ve got on offer. Oh, and if you’re in the mood, go for the Cheezo topping – it’s one wild, creamy ride. You can mix ingredients and toppings to your heart’s content, so be sure to go for it and create your own Frankenstein of a tea. They offer everything from Milk Teas, Fruit Teas, Sodas, Pure Teas and Smoothies, with all the toppings you’d expect on offer. We love this place for its looks and the people that work behind the counter (they’re often looking as tastefully and outlandishly styled as the interior of the store. ![]() Yep, you can slurp up your tapioca balls amidst the charming streets of Vienna’s city center. TEEAMO is a pocket-sized place (ok, you wouldn’t be able to fit it in your pocket, but it is cute and small and you’ll want to after you’ve tried their teas) located in the 1st district of Vienna, right at the St.
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