Few 
restaurants 
in 
Ann 
Arbor have received the love 
that 
Detroit 
Street 
Filling 
Station has. Locals know that 
the spot is worth the hype 
from its community justice–
focused team to its iconic 
appetizer menu. Detroit Street 
Filling Station focuses on fresh 
produce and complex plant-
based flavors and is transparent 
about its ingredients. It may not 
have non-vegans as enticed, but 
it has engaged a diverse local 
community inching toward a 
more plant-based lifestyle, all 
while supporting social and 
environmental causes.
Detroit Street Filling Station 
is a blend of Americana and 
earthy, and of local, regional 
and 
international. 
They 
revamp classic comfort foods 
on a wholesome, exciting and 
eclectic plant-based menu.
Tables spill out of the cozy, 
covered patio onto Kerrytown’s 
busy sidewalks, and the indoor-
outdoor flow feels warm and 
inviting. A mix of pop, rock and 
indie hits plays softly from the 
speakers. Every table overflows 
with colorful dishes that draw 
in even the most carnivorous 
bystanders.
The former home of the 
Staebler-Kempf Oil Company 
(a filling station), the building 
has a funky, industrial feel 
with colorful walls, community 
event posters, fun lighting and 
dozens of potted plants. QR 
code–scanned 
menus 
make 
it easy to dine with a large 
group and share dozens of 

dishes. Detroit Street Filling 
Station does not have the 
commercial, stoic feel of other 
QR-coded restaurants, as the 
servers check in to chat and 
consistently fill up a variety of 
homemade drinks.
The appetizer menu features 
exciting twists on bar food. 
We 
went 
for 
the 
Buffalo 
cauliflower and chili. The dish 
celebrated cauliflower with a 
perfectly crispy tempura batter 
and a rich, biting Buffalo sauce 
that I could not believe(!) had 
no butter. Though cauliflower 
is 
not 
comparable 
to 
the 
unbreaded 
wings 
invented 
decades ago as a late-night bar 
snack, Detroit Street Filling 
Station created a new bar 
food classic with the humble, 
subtly 
delicious 
vegetable. 
The chunky, meatless chili 
was 
warming 
and 
savory, 
brimming with tomatoes, sweet 
potatoes and beans, served 
with crunchy tortilla chips. 
Earthy undertones and small 
kicks of spice built a warm and 
comforting bowl to brighten 
the impending winter. Our 
appetizers were not lardy or 
buttery, but they were comfort 
food nonetheless. We were 
filling up quickly.
We were hungry again in a 
few minutes, our eyes larger 
than our stomachs when the 
entrées came out. We already 
ordered at the start of the meal, 
but formulated a long list of 
“should’ve, could’ve, would’ve,” 
orders as our eyes darted to 
other tables.
Jess Stern prepares a cocktail 
at the Detroit Street Filling 
Station Thursday afternoon. 
We decided on some classic-

turned-vegan dishes: Buffalo 
salad bowl, tofu fried rice and 
a Southwest salad. The Buffalo 
tofu curls were the closest I 
have gotten to a crave-worthy 
Buffalo wing plate in over a 
decade of vegetarianism. The 
soy curls pack an umami flavor 
and hearty texture that soaks 
up the Buffalo sauce. Fresh 
tomatoes, onions and celery, 
a creamy ranch dressing and 
salty tortilla chips (a topping 
that should be on more salads) 
perfectly offset the spice. With 
all of its fresh flavors, the 
salad did not even need the 
New Yorker’s preferred blue 
cheese. We saved the pickle 
for last, a local crisp and sour 
from Eastern Market pickle 
purveyors. The locally-focused 
Detroit Street Filling Station 
sources other fermented goods 
from The Brinery in Ann Arbor, 
including 
the 
tempeh 
and 
sauerkraut on their standout 
Reubens.
The fried rice was a perfect 
takeout-style feast, filled with 
soy, sesame and the satisfying 
heartiness 
of 
an 
American 
Chinese classic (minus the egg 
and meat). The dish exploded 
with flavor: sweet and fresh 
vegetables, crispy rice and tofu 
“egg” with curry, and fluffy 
fried tofu. The fried tofu swam 
in a General Tso’s sauce, a 
New York restaurant creation 
combining Chinese ingredients 
with 
a 
sweeter 
American 
flavor 
palette. 
The 
sticky-
sweet sauce brought brightness 
and even more comfort to the 
dish. The Southwest salad’s 
chipotle ranch elevated the 
salad to a spicy Tex-Mex level, 
and the cumin lime rice, fresh 

pico de gallo and guacamole 
added refreshing flavor. The 
Cuban black beans, one of the 
country’s staple side dishes, 
were filled with mild herbs 
and warm spices, showing that 
a flavorful and protein-heavy 
meal does not require meat.
Detroit Street Filling Station 
proves it’s possible to make a 
classic American feast without 
butter. To test their quality, we 
ordered one of the most buttery, 
easy-to-fail/dry-out 
tests 
of 
American cuisine: cornbread. 
Cornbread originated in early 
Native 
American 
kitchens, 
developed 
into 
a 
Southern 
classic 
in 
the 
kitchens 
of 
enslaved people and eventually 
became a divisive signature dish 
found in thousands of southern 
American family recipe books. 
Detroit Street Filling Station’s 
cornbread is a limited-edition 
local favorite, celebrating the 
classically buttery and rich 
delicacy with maple butter. 
The cornbread included fresh 
corn 
and 
shockingly 
moist 
batter, 
making 
the 
perfect 
crumble and shiny crust. It was 
equally savory and sweet. The 
plant-based maple butter put a 
Midwestern spin on the classic 
and transformed the versatile 
side dish into a dessert. The 
cornbread is one of many new 
classics on the menu.
At 
Detroit 
Street 
Filling 
Station, diners can take a 
culinary road trip through 
diverse 
American 
family 
kitchens without leaving their 
table or eating animal products. 
We left the busy restaurant 
and 
walked 
into 
the 
cold 
Midwestern air knowing we 
would be back next weekend.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

Here’s what happened after I 
watched “Aftersun.” 
First, I sat and watched the 
credits. This is something I never 
do. After they finished rolling, I 
peeled myself off the movie theater 
seat and walked home in silence. No 
music, no headphones. These are 
also things I almost never do. 
Then, I called my dad. This is 
something I do a lot. Then I hung up. 
Because he almost always answers, 
and I didn’t know what I would say. 
I was overwhelmed with how lucky 
I was that I could bet on his voice on 
the other end of the line. 
I took the long way home. 
I watched snow start to fall. I 
thought about “Aftersun.” I thought 
about my dad. I did one more thing 
I never do: I cried. 
It’s hard to identify what about 
“Aftersun” struck me so intensely. 
In a lot of ways, it’s a hard movie 
to connect with. It’s slow and 
unstructured. The cinematography 
is beautiful but obscure, favoring 
subtlety over clarity in terms of 
character and plot. While that’s 
never been my favorite type of story, 
it works in “Aftersun” because the 
film centers around something 
inherently elusive — memory.
“Aftersun” is about Sophie’s 
(Celia 
Rowlson-Hall, 
“X”) 
memories of a vacation to Turkey 
she took with her father as a child. 
The film opens with a home video 
of Sophie’s father Calum (Paul 
Mescal, “Normal People”) standing 
on their hotel balcony. He’s turned 
toward the camera, half eaten by 
the bright summer sky behind him. 
He smiles, but there’s an unspoken 
melancholy that tugs at the scene’s 
corners.
“Aftersun” zeroes in on this 
world. 
The 
video 
recording 
transports viewers seamlessly into 
the past, watching Calum and an 
11-year-old Sophie (Frankie Corio, 
debut) arrive in Turkey for a week-
long holiday. They swim and lounge 
and explore the grounds of their 
budget beachside resort. There’s no 
overarching plot. Writer-director 
Charlotte Wells (debut) favors 
simple vignettes that highlight the 
trip’s importance. We see Sophie 
eye older kids at the pool, jealous 
and afraid of them in the way only 
a girl on the brink of teendom can 
be. Their room only has one real 
bed, and Calum takes the too-small 
cot, ending each night lying on it 
and rewatching the videos they 
have made, as if desperate to make 
sure the trip will be remembered 
properly. Much like memory, the 
camera lingers on things that 
shouldn’t matter — cloudless blue 
skies full of parasailers, a single 
slowly developing polaroid picture, 
empty nighttime beaches.
While Sophie and Calum’s week 
is ultimately uneventful, an uneasy 
feeling lies beneath the surface. 
There’s an expectation of disaster. 
It’s clear that Calum is struggling 
with something, though we never 
know quite what. He doesn’t lash 
out or break down in front of 
Sophie. He has one arm in a cast for 
most of the trip, speaking to some 
sort of past altercation. He orders 
a few too many beers at dinners 
and spends money he doesn’t have. 
He drags himself out of chairs 
and off beach towels laboriously, 
his painfully slow movements 

lending a physicality to what we 
can only assume is a tortured inner 
world. Mescal brings a subdued 
boyishness to the role that makes 
it clear Calum has become a father 
far too young. He is hardly fit to 
handle his own struggles, much 
less provide for his daughter. But 
that is not for lack of trying. It’s 
understood that back home, Calum 
and Sophie don’t see each other 
often. While Calum struggles when 
Sophie turns her back, he fights to 
be his best when she’s watching. 
This is a precious trip. He buys her 
trinkets and lets her stay up late 
and reminds her that she can talk to 
him about anything. The film ends 
when the trip does. Calum watches 
Sophie disappear into the airport, 
his camera trained on her face. 
She smiles and waves. He does too. 
Then he’s gone, leaving alone down 
the long hallway. 
Midway through the film, we see 
adult Sophie for the first time. The 
film’s real story is not the vacation 
itself. It’s Sophie struggling to 
piece together an understanding of 
her father — something she never 
entirely manages. What we are sure 
of is that in the present day, Calum 
is no longer a part of Sophie’s life. 
This severance happened at some 
point after this vacation, and it 
happened despite the fact that he 
loved her very, very much. 
That was the detail that really 
got to me — love does not protect 
us from loss. Calum spent the film 
yearning for love and extending 
it unequivocally toward Sophie. 
He suppressed deep, unspeakable 
sadness in order to do so. It wasn’t 
enough. Time and tragedy touch 
everything, even tainting the happy 
memories of the vacation. As Sophie 
watches the home video tapes as an 
adult, the silence and space feels 
clouded with grief, even as the duo 
on screen smile sunnily. 
In “Aftersun,” I saw myself and 
the eventualities of my life. I have 
an awesome dad. Like Calum, he 
had me pretty young and never 
received 
much 
fatherly 
love 
growing up. Somehow, that has 
never seemed to phase him. For my 
entire life, he’s been a steady source 
of guidance and joy. I imagine that 
he must mourn his own childhood, 
but I never see him cry or complain. 
I can only imagine which of his own 
sadnesses he has sacrificed in order 
to be a consistent source of love for 
me and my sister. One day he won’t 
be around, and there are layers to 
him that I will never understand. 
One day I will be Sophie, combing 
through happy memories, warping 
them with grief and guilt, trying 
to recover a full picture of his 
personhood. I have the feeling that, 
much like Sophie, the only thing 
I’ll be certain to come away with is 
love. The minute my dad decided to 
protect me from the world’s harsher 
edges, any chance at full truth or 
clarity was lost. In exchange, I got 
something my dad never did — the 
chance to be a happy kid.
“Aftersun” 
is 
a 
testament 
to parental love. It’s a singular 
memory that asks us to reconsider 
our own. The day after I watched 
the film, my dad called me. I picked 
up. I told him I had gone to see a 
movie. He asked if it was any good. 
Yeah, I told him. It was alright. He 
told me he’d be getting me from the 
airport when I came home. I told 
him I was counting down the days. 
Me too, he said. He told me to call 
him when I landed. I promised I 
would.

Watch ‘Aftersun.’ 
Then, call your dad.

Wednesday, November 30, 2022 — 7

LOLA D’ONOFRIO
Daily Arts Writer

Detroit Street Filling Station: Americana 
meets plant-based in this eclectic institution

KAYA GINSKY
Managing Arts Editor

Arts

The impact of BookTok on the publishing industry and our relationship with reading

I don’t think there’s anyone out 
there today willing to deny that 
TikTok and other social media sites 
have a massive impact on our world. 
From starting questionable online 
trends to making bold political 
statements, we have seen the effects 
of our digital lives bleed into our real 
ones in numerous and varied ways. 
The enormous effect of BookTok 
and other book-focused social media 
communities on the publishing 
industry and reading trends is just 
one of the many examples we have 
seen crop up in our daily lives, but 
it’s one that deserves more attention 
and holds particular importance to 
me as a book lover.
How many of us have walked 
into our favorite bookstore in the 
past two years, only to realize that 
a new “BookTok” table has quietly 
made its way to the front of the 
store? This alone should be enough 

to indicate that the app has made a 
splash in the publishing industry. 
By warranting a specific section for 
readers to gravitate toward when 
looking for their next read, even 
booksellers are acknowledging that, 
yes, they know what we’re really 
there for, and it isn’t Dickens or 
Tolstoy. When we look at the grand 
impact this community has had on 
the publishing world in the past two 
years, a few new BookTok shelves in 
bookstores isn’t surprising. 
While 
several 
book-focused 
social media communities — such 
as Bookstagram and BookTube 
— existed long before BookTok 
(or TikTok, for that matter), the 
community born during quarantine 
grabbed our attention in a way 
other book communities never 
did. At a time when many were 
returning to childhood hobbies 
for familiarity and comfort, it’s 
no surprise that reading found its 
way back into many people’s lives; 
it’s even less of a surprise that this 
newly 
rediscovered 
childhood 

passion made its way onto TikTok, 
the world’s latest obsession. With 
the BookTok hashtag now amassing 
over 92 billion views, it’s only 
slightly more shocking to learn 
that it’s almost single-handedly 
responsible for putting Kylo Ren 
fanfiction on the New York Times 
best sellers list for 37 weeks, reviving 
a 
five-year-old 
self-published 
alien erotica series to become an 
Amazon bestseller and winning 
an author not just a six-figure book 
deal, but also a movie deal. (Let’s 
not even talk about the “Kissing the 
Coronavirus” series going viral). 
Clearly, the community’s influence 
is considerable.
Perhaps 
more 
significant 
is 
the impact BookTok has had on 
readers’ individual relationships 
with reading — particularly that of 
young girls and women, who make 
up the majority of BookTok users. 
If we look at what stories are most 
popular on BookTok, the list is 
dominated by books traditionally 
viewed as (and criticized for being) 

“girly” – YA fantasy, romance and 
anything else featuring a young 
female 
protagonist. 
These 
are 
also the stories that girls have 
traditionally been made fun of for 
enjoying (see: “Twilight”), and that 
many of us have felt ashamed to read 
or admit to reading before BookTok 
made them cool.
I have my own experiences 
with this. I remember carrying 
books from genres considered less 
“literary” (many of which are now 
quintessential 
BookTok 
reads) 
around my high school with their 
covers hidden against my chest, 
praying nobody would ask me what 
I was reading or what it was about. 
It was hard to reconcile the parts of 
myself that enjoyed reading these 
books, which were often seen as 
meritless or even cringey, and the 
part of myself that wanted to be seen 
as smart, intellectual and sage — 
something I thought could only be 
achieved by reading the “right” kind 

CAMILLE NAGY
Daily Arts Writer

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