Last week I was invited to visit a colleague's creative writing class, and after the usual run-down of writerly questions--How did you become a writer? Who are your favorite poets?--the fun questions started.
Have you ever eaten at The Torch? Have you been to Yesterdog? What's your favorite bar in town? What's your favorite movie? Have you heard of Zorba's, outside of Detroit? Do you know of any coneys in the UP?
To which I said, Yes; No, because I sort of hate hipsters; The Cottage, for the burgers and clientele; The Big Chill, embarassingly enough; No, but now it's on my list; No.
But to that last one, I added: But listen to my idea for the most Michigand-y food ever: coney pasty. The room approved, although some of the appreciative sounds might have just been groans of pain.
