The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
the b-side
Thursday, April 6, 2017 — 5B
SARAH AGNONE/THE MICHIGAN DAILY
Literati’s Espresso Bar
A mixed review of my top
three coffee shops in AA
Arts Writer Sarah Agnone travels around Ann Arbor recording
the tastes and sounds of her favorite caffeine-crutch suppliers
On any college campus,
coffee
indisputably
reigns
supreme and the University
of Michigan is no different.
Students prioritize their time
for it, walk into class late with
it, use expensive Keurigs or
stop at the many coffee shops
around campus (anything to
avoid the dining hall coffee).
Some of us drink it habitually,
purely utilizing the caffeine.
Others look to enjoy it, or at
least pretend to for Instagram.
When we meet someone who
claims not to drink it, we’re
hugely surprised. So for those
of us who make it no secret
that we’re utterly and totally
dependent on coffee, here’s a
closer and quirkier than usual
look at the most frequented
coffee shops.
The
Walk-In
Pinterest
Board: Lab Coffee Shop
The epitome of a hipster
coffee shop. Snuggly placed
right
onto
Liberty
St.,
a
stone’s throw from State. The
shop features the classically
huge
pour
over,
pressed
flower
decorations,
famous
matcha, and a great selection
of
strangely
flavored
but
delicious
deserts.
Colorful
books about succulents sit
underneath actual succulents.
Trendy Chance the Rapper
themed
cards
and
knick
knacks for sale line the back
shelf
while
Frank
Ocean
plays in the background. The
employees are, you guessed it,
so hipster and repping every
flannel Urban Outfitters ever
sold.
Depending on who’s there,
it’s a laid back environment.
But at peak hours of the day,
it’s hectic and you won’t find
seating or even a place to stand
with any personal space. Being
this crowded and popular, it’s a
talkative place. Late afternoon
sees fewer customers and a
quieter space. Plus, the matcha
is everything it’s praised to be,
as are the sea-salt lattes.
As for that first date, it’s
memorable and the look and
menu already give more than
enough to talk about.
The Pit Stop: Espresso
Royale
Maybe it’s just my personal
vendetta
against
them
or
maybe
more
than
one
of
us shares the theory that
Espresso Royale is really only
loved for not being Starbucks
and sits abrasively close to
both ends of central campus.
And maybe it was a Starbucks
employee
who
convinced
me of their coffee’s glaring
shortcomings and the vendetta
is really just my thought
that not liking them the way
everyone else does is such an
original though. I can’t say I’m
a huge fan of their coffee but
it does the trick on Monday
morning before an 8:30 a.m.
Regardless, I had to pay an
extra $0.80 for soy despite
it being the 21st century in
which no one orders real dairy
anymore. On top of that, they
clearly consulted no Pintrest
boards and could really update
the look.
But
at
the
same
time,
Espresso doesn’t pretend to be
anything it isn’t, and I have to
give credit where it’s due. For
the most part, people run in,
grab their coffee and maybe a
snack, and rush out. Very few
stay and set up at their tables.
Not to mention, they make the
meanest zucchini bread that
you’d never know was also
vegan. No complaints about
the pumpkin chocolate chip or
banana bread either.
As for first date ability,
they’re kind of great. In the
basement of the South U
location or the throngs of plush
chairs at the State St. location,
it’s not obvious you have no
idea what to say to the guy who
just paid for your almond milk
vanilla latte extra vanilla since
he paid when everyone else is
talking, minding their own
business, face-timing mom.
It’s laid back and cozy.
Good
Luck
Finding
a
Table: Literati Coffee
Pina
Colada
Macaroon.
Enough said.
(The older sibling to Lab.
If it were a font, and not a
coffee shop, it’d be Newsprint.
White, light, wood aesthetic.
Consulted
at
least
fifteen
Pintrest Boards. Second floor
with a bookstore underneath
makes the experience. For the
mature coffee palette, seeking
an Ethiopian pour over, this is
your place. If your date is into
books, look no further.)
SARAH AGNONE
Daily Arts Writer
CAFE PROFILE
SARAH AGNONE/THE MICHIGAN DAILY
COURTESY OF THE LAST WORD
Known for its unique drinks, The Last Word is hidden away on East Huron
Back to the ’20s: The Last
Word a hidden town gem
Finding & trying the drinks and apps of our resident speakeasy
At the corner of Huron and 1st
— where urban Ann Arbor begins
to blend into suburbia — sits the
large sign that spells out “LIVE”
glaring over the street. Yet, just
around the corner off of Huron
Street, an indiscriminate door
in the wall leads to the basement
of this building, introducing a
vastly unique atmosphere to the
world of Ann Arbor’s bar scene.
Parading
as
an
unassuming,
practically unmarked door on
that quiet stretch of Huron, The
Last Word really is the hidden
gem of Ann Arbor. This little hole
in the wall is one of the best kept
secrets among the newly turned
21-year-olds of the University’s
undergraduate population.
A cursory google of the bar
yields
a
website
with
little
information
other
than
its
address,
contact
information
and a slideshow of photos. Their
Facebook page yields little more
except for a slew of near-perfect
ratings.
It’s
an
experience
reserved for those willing to make
the trip to the hidden corner, but
one well worth it. The speakeasy
style bar is covered in dark wood,
dim lighting and photographs
of times past. The space itself is
small and warm, pairing perfectly
with the menu and atmosphere.
The
Last
Word
is
most
comparable
to
the
generally
popular Mash. The similarities
end
with
their
basement
settings, however, as The Last
Word differentiates itself in its
expansive alcoholic offerings and
diverse menu. The drink menu
is expansive — broken up into
chapters based on type of alcohol
and flavor. Cocktail highlights
include “Boy Blue” and “The
Heist,” both deliciously crafted
and tastefully balanced. They’re
a far-cry from everyone’s typical
go-to fishbowls from Charley’s,
albeit pricier in exchange for their
quality.
The
cocktail
menu
also
contains an extensive list of
whiskeys and bourbons, featuring
one-ounce “tasting pours” and
two-ounce
“sipping”
sizes,
allowing customers to try smaller
samples of the spirits without
having to pay for a full-sized
glass. The lists of dark liquor
cater to every palate and wallet
imaginable — including more
common bourbons like Jim Beam
to the elusive, elite Pappy Van
Winkle.
The food menu is concise, but
varied in comparison to a typical
cocktail bar. Most items are
clearly designed for sharing, such
as the charcuterie and cheese
boards. The fries — flavored with
one of three types of seasonings
— are crisp and well-portioned,
served with an additional three
dipping sauces giving them a
diverse flavor palette for the price.
The menu isn’t overwhelming; it
acts as a humble addition to the
impressive drink selection and
friendly ambience.
Thursdays at The Last Word
feature an incredible jazz band,
raising the speakeasy feel to new
levels beyond the other days of
the week. The band is catchy and
entertaining, setting the mood
unlike any other establishment
in the Ann Arbor area. The bar’s
secrecy makes their performances
feel special, entirely reserved for
the patrons lucky enough to find
a seat on a crowded Thursday
night. No matter the night of the
week or occasion, The Last Word
is the perfect boozy getaway.
CARLY SNIDER
Senior Arts Editor
DOMINIC POLSINELLI
Daily Arts Writer
My life and home growing
up with a chef as a father
My father’s mind is most
alive in a kitchen. He can create
the most thrilling and unique
flavor from seemingly mundane
ingredients or spices. Some
may equate culinary talent to
experience or education, but
the way his hands dance with
ingredients in the kitchen can
only be attributed to a passion
that has grown since he stood
on his own tippy toes in his
childhood home, watching his
own father.
In many families, it is common
that one parent normally takes
the role of “cook,” and I assume
that most people would consider
either their father or mother
a fairly talented cook when it
comes to things like simple
chicken dishes and casseroles.
But, my father surpasses the
cooking-to-feed-hungry-
children-casserole chef. Rather,
he is the Leonardo Da Vinci
of pasta sauces, the Mozart of
culinary endeavors and the
Monet of wood-oven pizza.
I grew up sitting at a high-
top table in the middle of a
restaurant that was nearly 15
years old the day I was born; it
was a place I’d grow to know
as home more than I know my
own. My father is a restaurateur,
and the first of what would
eventually
become
three
successful restaurants is the my
favorite place in the world.
At eight years old I could name
a dozen Italian pasta shapes
and sauces. When matched
perfectly, the two mingle in
the most romantic way to make
customers swoon. I could work a
panini press like an expert, pair
prosciutto and arugula with
Jersey tomatoes on a pizza, and I
knew that the secret to creating
the best burger in the world was
nestling a fried egg between the
toasted ciabatta roll and patty.
My father teaches me life
lessons
through
breakfast
sandwiches; he educates me
in ways unknown through the
proper food and wine pairings.
He hands my brothers and I
advice through the knead of
pizza
dough
and
seasoning
of fresh fish. I wouldn’t call
the lessons of my childhood
orthodox, but I wouldn’t trade
for a dad who teaches me about
sports or cars or math. All these
seem too mundane for my dad, a
person who never let me leave for
school in the morning without
eating a “Vic McMuffin” (family
secret) and a coffee.
In between mouthfuls of
caprese salad, leek and parmesan
bruschetta, turkey chili and
perfectly cooked medium rare
steak, I learned how to give,
how to share, how to love, how
to please and how to listen. I
never realized that during the
moments I was sharing the
kitchen with my father, trying
his new creations or enjoying
a meal at that old high-top
table, I was being taught the
most valuable lessons. Things
I’ll carry with me anywhere
I ever go, these homemade
risotto stuffed tomato values
are values you will not learn in
a classroom. You will not learn
them in a book. You will not
learn them from a professor. But
from watching the way a pair of
hands can take raw ingredients
and transform them into love.
My father does not cook to
feed, or to eat or to just survive.
He cooks to share and to unite.
He cooks to laugh, to cry, to
enjoy, to revel. He does not cook
to live; he lives to cook. He has
an infatuation, one I myself have
adopted, with the way in which
food serves such an important
purpose; not for sustenance but
for bringing people together,
no matter how different, at one
table, to share something.
As a child I was always taught
that I must believe in something
in this world, to make life worth
it. My father’s religion is made
up of worshipping parmesan
cheese and fine red wine; it
is praying to the gods of pork
chops and red peppers; it is
the expression on the face of a
person who has had a bad day
and is immediately lifted with
one bite of gnocchi. He has
taught me to believe strongly
in the power of tomatoes, in
the power of a dinner table, in
the power of creativity in the
kitchen.
My father’s mind is most alive
in the kitchen, in the dance of
rosemary and olive oil, in good
focaccia, in a full stomach. Seeing
as the lessons I have learned
from him are as irreplaceable as
my grandfather’s base recipe for
tomato sauce, I wouldn’t have it
any other way.
ELI RALLO
Daily Arts Writer
COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK
BAR PROFILE