Underground Dining

“I’m telling ya,” Pepper said about this time last year, “Ann Arbor is going to catch up with the trend on both coasts, and underground dining is going to be THE thing.”

I had just been to Sparrow Market’s after-hours dinner extravaganza, and Pepper and I were discussing how the economy was going to be hard on traditional restaurants in town. But that out-of-the-ordinary, value-add dining experiences like Bob Sparrow’s might do well. Now, a year later, I’m definitely hearing more about events that might fall into that “underground” category. Friday Mornings @ Selma, for instance.

It all started a month or so ago with an email and a link from my ex, “you might be interested in this. We had breakfast at this house last week, with a guest chef and everyone kicked in $10.” It turns out that Jeff McCabe and Lisa Gottlieb live in a vintage house over on Soule (the “s” in Selma), and as supporters of locally-grown, sustainable food they decided earlier this year to throw their house open once a week for breakfast.

I emailed Beth, who lives nearby on Crest, “hey, do you want to do this breakfast thing in your neighborhood next Friday?” I asked. She responded that she had already been to Selma a couple times, and that it was fun and the food was good. After berating her for holding out on me, we made arrangements to rendevous with our friend Kristi the next week.

If you spend a little time reading the Selma website, or you have the Ann Arbor Chronicle loaded in your reader, you’ll know that Jeff and Lisa have had a little trouble with the local authorities. The short version is that someone complained that the couple were operating a restaurant in their home (you can download the letter of complaint via the Chronicle – I find the accusation of “animal attraction” regarding the chickens in the front yard particularly entertaining) and the county and city inspectors were forced to rattle their sabers. The intrepid foodie couple consequently massaged their M.O. a bit, and are doing their best to avoid the label “restaurant.”

As soon as Beth, Kristi, and I approached the house I thought to myself, “ahh, I bet this is one of the reasons the neighbors complained.” The offending chickens are no longer out front “attracting” people, but as we approached the first thing I noticed was what appeared to be a TV hanging from some sort of hand-assembled, stick-truss thingy.

Some of you may remember that back in the day, Arwulf (local dj, performance artist, and raconteur) used to wander the Art Fairs with a hollowed-out television cabinet on his head. And this is the fond memory that immediately popped into my head as we walked up. But alas, it wasn’t a hollowed-out TV. But almost as good – an old mini-fridge repurposed as a bread box for Jeff and Lisa’s “honor bar,” where passersby can help themselves to surplus bread, produce, and herbs and leave behind a few dollar bills in a jar. Just the sort of thing to drive the bourgeoisie crazy.

The night before, I sent Lisa an email that basically said “Hi, can I be your friend and come to breakfast?” Because parties in houses are for “friends,” while strangers showing up and paying for a meal is a “restaurant.” So when Beth, Kristi, and I entered the house, we immediately found Jeff and Lisa and introduced ourselves as their new friends. “I’m so glad it seems to be working,” Lisa said, referring to the system of potential guests introducing themselves via email. And judging by the dozen or so folks mingling around their dining room and kitchen, the new rules imposed didn’t seem to be putting much of a damper on things.

A volunteer showed us to seats at a card table in a lovely sunroom off the kitchen, and we discussed the offerings listed on a chalkboard on the kitchen wall. We were a tad late in the morning, so they had run out of the lovely sounding rhubarb bread pudding. We were left the choices of asparagus quiche or whole-wheat Belgian waffles. Beth and Kristi chose the former, and I waffled. We were offered tea and coffee by the volunteer, and our meals also came with fresh spinach greens and locally sourced bacon. My waffles were great, accompanied by a warm, chunky apple compote, and judging by my taste of Beth’s quiche, it was a home run, too.

Much like a traditional restaurant experience, half the fun of the morning was people watching. I recognized local photographer Myra Klarman socializing at the kitchen island, and as we were finishing our tea a man asked if he could take the empty fourth seat at our table. He introduced himself as Archie, and we made our way through the typical introductory chit chat. “I met Lisa and Jeff when I was putting on a festival last year,” Archie told us. “What kind of a festival?” Kristi asked. “I did a sort of food and nutrition festival, “ Archie answered, “my wife passed away giving birth to our son, so I did it to honor her.” Beth and Kristi proceeded to ask polite, civilized questions, while it was all I could do to not blurt out “You’re the guy with the lard!” Friends participated in the festival last year, and for some reason the thing that stuck in my head was how the festival’s nutrition philosophy espoused that lard is good. I mean REALLY good. Thankfully, my super ego reigned in my id and I simply said, “oh, you know my friends who own Great Harvest Bread Company.”

“It really takes trust and bravery to do something like this,” Beth observed, looking around at the bustle and activity. “To just let people you’ve never met come into your house.” We agreed it’s a great way to not only support local food growers, but to make new friends, too. And while the consensus was it’s a shame “the man” tends to throw roadblocks in front of creative thinking (see “Westside Farmers’ Market,” thankfully resolved when folks came to their senses), I think it’s a mistake for people to expect something like Friday Mornings @ Selma to settle in and become some sort of permanent fixture.

Because for me, part of underground dining’s attraction is that it’s ephemeral. Like a rave crafted for people with mortgages and middle-age spread, a large part of the appeal is the fact that it’s unique, economical, and lasts only a little while–then we move on to the next intriguing concept.