so in my quest for a less cold place to walk and work up an appetite, I think I figured out a shortcut to the mall. I was wrong and soon found myself in a part of Ann Arbor that is new to me (translation: I have no idea where I am ) . But can it be… the elusive Zingerman’s Roadhouse is in front of me with the silver trailer next to it for those who need it to go. The mall is forgotten, I walk in and quietly ask – can I just sit at the bar?
Shalama ( not sure if that is her real name but who am I to question) puts 3 menus in front of me : the draft beer menu, the dinner menu and the cheese menu. I get very confused, thinking – did I die and is this heaven or the place they tease you with before you go to “the other place”? I sample two local beers, choosing the Belles. And then I order the buttermilk fried chicken which of course comes with mashed potatoes and gravy. and I wait, sipping my beer and trying not to eat the bread. But who are we kidding – I love bread.
And then Shalama whispers ” I think your chicken is coming” with the reverence of a priest about to bless you. And then, I find myself saying totally inappropriate things to the chicken and confessing to my boyfriend over text. But he gets it, the fact that a great meal has me at my most romantic and blurting out things I should use my inside voice for. As if devouring my meal was not enough, I push further asking Shalama about dessert that I do not need but will likely want in two hours. Especially if I get lost on the way home. She suggests the chocolate pudding, to which I say really? She nods solemnly. I order it to go, thank her and walk out into the cold night. Only it doesn’t feel so cold, after all – I have pudding.