Before I was more seasoned in the ways of beloved Italy, I would pay only a passing glance at the small, mysterious shops that sat modestly under the shadow of a blue sign marked with a prominent letter T.

An inquisitive peek inside brought instant curiosity: colors and shapes and rows and shelves of all things imaginable squeezed into what seemed the tiniest of places. I’d almost swear the same disgruntled-looking fellow was behind the counter of every single one.