Comfort Delivery

Talya Ehrenstein  

“Ma’am, you do know that that lobster tail is market price, don’t you?” The waiter stood over my friend’s mother with a stunned face, while the rest of us examined the menu for the rest of our absurdly priced options.

“Yes, I do. I’ll take it, please.” The waiter closes his pad and thanks us, once again, for dining out that night and promises to bring the chef out to greet our party. There are beautiful people at every other table in the restaurant, iPads for menus, and an elegant air in the room of people who know they were chic, yet effortlessly cool and absurdly wealthy.

Five hours, a ridiculous price tag and twelve full bellies later, the birthday party made their way out of the restaurant, still overwhelmed and excited about the meal and experience we had just had, thanking our hosts profusely. The setting: an ultra chic Miami Beach restaurant, frequented by the city’s most exclusive crowd; and the patrons: wide-eyed seventeen year olds celebrating a birthday by going on the culinary ride of their lives.

Growing up in South Florida, fabulous, pricey, sophisticated, and exclusive restaurants were everywhere I went. What we never did well, though, and what I never got to experience, was good old-fashioned comfort food, food that has some history and cult-following behind it.

My first few weeks in Ann Arbor have consisted of enough Hill Markeplace at MoJo entrees to make your head spin, Panera Mac and Cheese to feed an army, and the occasional sneaky midnight Cheez-it and almond snacking frenzy.

Yet, slowly but surely, I am starting to discover the food in this town that is almost as deeply ingrained in the Michigan psyche as football Saturdays at the Big House are. Chipatis, late-night cookies, sandwich shops that seem to never stop delivering, and my personal favorite: fast food Thai dishes that can rival any Thai place at home have become my culinary staples. (Shoutout to No Thai! Drunken Fried Rice with beef and mild sauce FTW.)

My roommate and I have already had so much food delivered to our room that we know which places stop taking delivery orders when, the dishes at each place that we like the best, and the restaurants that deliver quickly (very important for desperate 2 AM queso cravings—this has happened more than once.) Every time we look at each other with those now familiar smiles and silently agree to forgo the dining hall once again, we embark on a different culinary adventure.

College is supposed to be about those late night eats that are delicious, cheap and delivered in a brown paper bag. I’ve experienced restaurants that many aren’t lucky enough to; with snooty waiters, black napkins and portion sizes smaller than a midnight snack. Here, it’s all about quality. I can honestly say that some of the best food I’ve discovered in Ann Arbor isn’t on Main Street, but delivered by a tired-looking delivery man at ungodly hours of the night and eaten on my cold linoleum dorm room floor.