T
he Last Word is a classic cocktail —
reportedly first served in the Detroit
Athletic Club in the 1910s — made of equal
parts gin, lime juice, Maraschino liqueur and green
Chartreuse. It’s also a secret bar in Ann Arbor’s Old
West Side, accessed through an unmarked door
on Huron Street. Though it’s mostly publicized
through word of mouth, the elusive nature of the
place isn’t an obstacle in attracting clientele. On a
Wednesday night, the bartender is shaking drinks
like maracas for a full house.
The interior of the bar is as classic as its signature
cocktail: from my table, darkly stained wood
paneling and squishy leather booths are barely
discernable in the dusky room. The booths seem
perfect for a clandestine rendezvous with an older
man, maybe a professor. Instead, I’m with two of my
friends who clean up even better than I do. I order,
as if I have a choice, The Last Word. My friends both
request Kissed By A Rose, cocktails that arrive as
tiny pink potions capped with foam, and sprinkled
with actual potpourri. My drink is everything I
hate in a beverage: citrusy, and with more swiftly
disintegrating ice shards than the North Pole. It is
served straight-up with a lime, and is the kind easily
paired with a little black dress and heels. I’m in fact
wearing both, trying to compensate for how young
the setting makes me feel.
Stacked among the drink menus, completing the
impression of having a drink with 007, are ultimately
decorative hardcover books. The string lights from
above are set so dim they appear untethered — a
constellation hovering above the gloom. Because
we are so visible while the rest of the bar is not, we
feel exposed, like being onstage in front of a rudely
inattentive audience.
The darkness fogs the gray walls to a pale green,
and is at once comforting and sinister: While it
ensures privacy, the only way you’d recognize the
other patrons is if you already knew they were
there. It’s a place where you feel like you should be
whispering — the building is styled as a speakeasy
— but you’re probably shouting over your table. The
cacophony of voices somehow affirms the intimacy
of the setting, as you can’t hear anyone but your
tablemates. The atmosphere invites confidence, and
like emotional ipecac it forces patrons into spill-
your-guts meaningful conversation. The crowd
appears to be mostly couples or old friends, leaning
close to hear each other, brushing shoulders or
thighs. This isn’t a first-date kind of place; we’re
surrounded by people who’ve already seen each
other in the dark.
Instead of dessert, we split an order of Thai poutine
(braised beef, coconut red curry, cheese curds and
fried basil) and beef sliders (caramelized shallot,
gruyere and Dijon) that are so delicious I’m insulted
by how affordable they are, even with my limited
budget. I am swiftly outclassed by my friend, who,
after consulting the menu for five minutes says: “We
can get a salted caramel beignet!” Though we’ve
taken the same amount of French, I still need her
to explain that it’s “basically a donut.” Later I order
whiskey, because it’s half-priced, and I describe my
desired brand as “the cheapest you’ve got.”
When a waiter comes to whisk away my empty
cocktail glass, I quiz him about the concept of
The Last Word. He characterizes the drink as a
collection of strong components that don’t make a
lot of sense on paper. Gin overpowers any cocktail
it’s party to, same with Maraschino and Chartreuse.
But for some reason, it works.
While I can say it’s not my favorite drink, The
Last Word as an establishment balances a variety
of flavors with finesse and aplomb. The waiter
provided a made-to-order metaphor for the place:
a strategically blended cocktail of theoretically
clashing themes. It’s equal parts Prohibition-era
watering hole, part whiskey bar, part townie bar,
part date-night destination — themes so strong
they shouldn’t complement one another. But five
nights a week, The Last Word shakes and serves.
2B
Managaing Editor:
Lara Moehlman
Deputy Editors:
Yoshiko Iwai
Brian Kuang
Design Editor:
Katie Spak
Photo Editor:
Claire Abdo
Editor in Chief:
Emma Kinery
Managing Editor:
Rebecca Lerner
Copy Editors:
Danielle Jackson
Taylor Grandinetti
Wednesday, February 1, 2017 // The Statement
A GIRL WALKS INTO: THE LAST WORD
B Y J AC K I E C H A R N I G A , DA I LY S TA F F R E P O R T E R
ILLUSTRATION BY CLAIRE ABDO
statement
THE MICHIGAN DAILY | FEBRUARY 1, 2017