It Wheels You In: Knewzaba Bike Cafe Hooks the Antiques Enthusiast
Rims as gleaming as Wiz Khalifa’s gold tooth, polished, caramel leather, and lightweight aluminum dipped in mint and turquoise hang suspended in mid-air, catching the rays of the afternoon sun. Those who dream of cruising Beijing’s streets the way Eddy Merckx might have tackled the hills of France might be inclined to stop for a closer look. But it’s a trick.
Ma He and Lao Yu have collected the petite, vintage vehicles of the racing cyclist for three years with no intention of selling them. They display them at the front of their shop, instead offering a collection of trinkets, urban gear, tools, and cycling books in a raw space reminiscent of dad’s workshop. A rustic wooden workbench hosts kitschy forest animal knick-knacks, old light bulbs, and antique car horns. A mantle clock and a miniature, brass telescope overlook corduroy outerwear from Manastash, a Seattle brand. Metal cabinets feature aged scales, a cash register fit for a saloon, and a model tank.
“A bike is like a mirror. It can reflect social phenomena,” owner Lao Yu responded when asked what sparked his interest in hoarding his taunting bicycles. What he speaks of is reflected in the ever-so-slightly-mismatched themes that make up his shop. They suggest Beijing’s youth can be likened to that hip uncle with an antique tool shed in his basement, who sports a leather cross body bag and stylish, suede lace up boots and collects Star Wars paraphernalia. He drinks aged whiskey from Waterford crystal, but could also sip oolong prepared atop a petrified wood tea table.
That same uncle also fancies complimentary truffles and DIY capsule espresso served in lab beakers, rides a motorcycle, supports the environment, and collects coffee table pop-up books. He likes Gladiator and scantily-clad women in heels straddling bikes, much like Knewzaba’s mural-maker, Shangdong illustrator Zhou Qi.
Okay, so their market likes a bit of everything. Or they don’t know what they want. Anyone who spends time browsing Beijing’s boutique start ups is familiar with this. If Knewzaba had a smell, it would be a cheating boyfriend’s musty cologne. It’s a space that, for the Western consumer, is both unsettling and soothing. Yet for Chinese, Knewzaba’s introduction of a vast array of niche labels must be exciting.
Perhaps more disappointing: Those looking for beans from Soloist Coffee Co., won’t find them here anymore. No doubt, though, the spot whose name Ma says means something along the lines of “To eat knowledge” has plenty else to offer for consumption.
Knewzaba
Tue-Sun 1-9pm. 52 Baochao Hutong, Gulou Dongdajie, Dongcheng District (159 0100 0650)
东城区鼓楼东大街宝钞胡同52号
Photos: Ken
