Does this mean more wine for me

Does this mean more wine for me? - Alison Lobron: "It's been a while since I felt like my grocery store really understood me. In Cambridge's Porter Square neighborhood, where I lived until this fall, the monolithic Shaw's catered to the postcollege crowd. The more post-postcollege I became -- downsizing from four roommates, to one, to none, in the space of seven years -- the more out of step I felt with the 23-year-olds freewheeling through the fluorescent aisles. But now I live in Concord, where Crosby's Market pitches to the postkindergarten set, with giant vats of Marshmallow Fluff lining the entryway.

Though I'm only a few years younger than most of Concord's preschool parents, I'm kid-less -- and therefore, in need of a very different sort of food.

Now, being demographically misaligned with one's grocery store is not the worst thing in the world, not even from a culinary perspective. I can find the food I want whether I'm pushing my way through a clump of roommates or listening to a toddler and its mother debate whether Oreos are scary. But it can be unsettling to realize that in this consumer-driven culture I'm something of a marketer's afterthought.

But a new store around the corner from my new home suggests that I'm not quite as misaligned with Concord as I'd feared. It is the antithesis of Fluff -- it's a place where you pay more for less, where each individual box of crackers has its own ergonomically designed display shelf. So while I strolled through town on my first day in Concord, still sweaty from the move, I was intrigued to see a sign advertising ''Free Friday Night Wine Tastings" in the store's Thoreau Street window. Wine-tastings: Surely that was aimed at me -- or a slightly older, richer version thereof?

The shop's wood-beamed interior looks like a cross between an Olde Village store and a Manhattan-esque gourmet emporium, but when I arrived that first Friday evening, I found the store as quiet as Walden Pond in winter. Certain I'd misread the date, or the time, or the place, I crept down deserted aisles until I reached the deli. There, a pretty woman in her 20s was mopping the tile floor.

I cleared my throat and she looked up. ''Is, ah. . . do the wine tastings start next week?"

''No, it's going on right now."

There was a pause while I tried to tell if she was serious. She then put down her mop and told me to follow her.

She led me through silent aisles to the glass front door. That's when I noticed a pair of uncorked bottles stationed next to the cash register. The woman smiled and handed me a plastic wine glass. ''Help yourself," she urged.

I poured myself a glass of white and heard a rustle in the shelves behind me. A man emerged carrying a wooden wine box. Like his colleague, he looked eager to close up, but he smiled, pointed to my glass of white, and said, ''The Spanish red is very nice."

I put down the white and poured some red. It was, indeed, nice.

''I'm new in town," I told him. ''Is this a typical crowd?"

He thought for a moment, then grinned. ''Yeah. I hope you didn't move to Concord expecting a nightlife."

I assured him that I hadn't. But as I left with a bottle of the Spanish red tucked into my backpack, I felt pleased to have found Concord Provisions, not because it sells anything rare -- I think most everything in it can be found at Crosby's, tucked away behind the Fluff -- but because it seems to, sort of, understand me. It seems to know what I need: single-servings of gourmet food, sharp cheeses, free wine every Friday.

Now all it needs is some more people.

Alison Lobron, who writes for the ''Coupling" column in The Boston Globe Magazine, is a teacher at Concord Academy. You can respond to her Suburban Diary by e-mailing globenorthwest@globe.com. Editor's Note: This is one in a series of occasional essays on how we live our lives."