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