Gary Shteyngart is currently documenting his tour to promote his book, Little Failures, for the New Yorker's Page Turner Blog. In lieu of writing something more creative today. I am just going to excerpt Shteyngart's entire three paragraphs on Ann Arbor:
I hereby declare Ann Arbor the best small city in America. I start my day with pumpkin pancakes at Angelo’s. When I’m in the Midwest during the autumn months, I like to say to people, “Brr, the frost is really on the pumpkin this year!” This never gets the colloquial response that I’m looking for, but it makes me feel a hundred-and-ten-per-cent American. After I eat two pumpkin pancakes drowning in whipped cream, I go for a long, quiet walk in the Nichols Arboretum, along the burbling Huron River. My fat-slathered heart calms down for the first time in weeks. But not for long.Thanks for the love Gary.
It’s time for the groundbreaking Reuben sandwich at Zingerman’s Deli and then the important shawarma at Jerusalem Garden, followed by another three-hour-long nap. At my reading at the Ann Arbor District Library, the librarian points out my three main constituencies as they gather in the room: “The Russians, the Jews, and the town’s intellectuals.” In the signing line, a young woman tells me, “My mother gave me your book and said, ‘You have to read this! It’s about this dysfunctional Russian family.’ And I said, ‘Mom, it’s about our family.’ ”
For dinner, the kind library folks take me to a restaurant that Mario Batali recommended in a tweet. I forget the name now, but it’s something colorful, like, The Shtupping Turtle, and it’s housed in the building formerly occupied by the original Borders. The duck-fat-fried chicken alone is worth a visit. I am seriously thinking of moving to Michigan.