It’s a “Groundhog Day” kind of existence I have carved out for myself in Ann Arbor. OK, the harrowing ride out here wore me out so that the next day I was still woozy, but within 48 hours I was back on my feet.
It’s three miles of running, a long walk with the two big, black dogs, and a quiet, solo breakfast at Zingerman’s: Bagel or croissant, that’s the challenge, and it’s left like that. A huge, bottomless cup of coffee, delicious and hot and black, like a girl I once knew, and I am OKEEDOKEE.
The rest of the day it’s back and forth between the dogs and wonderful, unpretentious places like Frita Batida and Blimpy’s. The former has the best Cuban sandwich I’ve ever eaten. The latter has amazing burgers and a scene that’s really great fun.
This is a product driven town. Good food, few cocktails, and good beer, just not plenty of it. People go to eat and not just to alter consciousness.
The mix of locals and profs, students and no-goodniks, hardcore D and farm girls? It’s oh so pleasant.