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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