Enough about media, let's talk food

This is called Michigan Dish after all.

We decided to go against the Ann Arbor restaurant apartheid and dined at Gratzi's, one of the posh non-student eateries on Main Street. A bit of an indulgence (quality food here, sadly, sets you back a bit) but the professor we are subletting from was in town - so we spent an evening of stimulating political conversation in Gratzi's lush surrounds. Their earnest menu changes regularly to focus on a different Italian region; this month they are celebrating Piemonte. My Scaloppine con Foresta was merely adequate: milky-hued veal atop some salty, slightly chewy mezzaluna pasta. I really should have ordered the pork tenderloin with dried cherry mustard sauce with polenta. But the wine was superb: a Luna sangiovese from California. We had much more luck once we descended into La Dolce Vita - their swanky dessert lounge cum cigar and cocktails bar. A special occasion destination, with the sort of obsequious service well-to-do Americans enjoy and a thick menu of alcoholic chocolate drinks, amongst other temptations.

On Saturday we knocked together another Bronte-style paella (chorizo and prawns with preserved lemon). Not a huge success, sadly, despite the small fortune we spent amassing ingredients. I blame the Calasparra rice. Hailing from the Murcia mountains in the south east of Spain, it is meant to be the granddaddy of paella rices. Bloody stuff drinks up all the precious stock and takes ages to cook, by which time I managed to make it gluggy. Now I've blown what little cred I had in this town as a foodie.

Wept streams of tears with Joan Didion on the couch on Sunday.