![]() The menu’s vegetable category, in particular, is studded with intriguing–and less expensive–options. Consequently, while the quality is high, prices can be, too, like my friend’s $44 lamb chops (two, deliciously executed, with a scoop of wild rice). With a concept of shared plates, many of executive chef Louis Goral’s dishes tend toward small samples of high-end ingredients–artichokes, oysters, foie gras, scallops, wild mushrooms. And the room was as lively and cosmopolitan–and jazzed–as before.Īnd the food? It, too, stands up to the scene. Though we had never met before, we had a great time discovering we had much in common, and, once the music began, we all found it engaging and polished my husband, a former stand-up bassist–folk, not jazz–was particularly impressed by the group. If I was partially hooked, a subsequent visit with my husband and a couple far more fluent in the genre reeled me in. I sighed contentedly and took another sip of wine. The hostess, slim, elegant, beautifully put together–a Vogue ideal rarely seen in Ann Arbor–dropped off amuse-bouches and second cocktails. Two servers–one, her hair bound at the crown like the feathers of a bird’s tail, the other’s swept up to cascade down in a great froth a la Cher from Moonstruck–glided smoothly among the tables. A crowd of diverse colors and ages filled the adjacent dining room, leaning back against soft banquettes, or rhythmically bobbing their heads at stage-front tables. Behind us, a family of four ate a dinner of snacks, the kids engulfed in adolescent boredom, the parents listening appreciatively to the music. Next to us, a guy taking classes from the guitar player had surprised us by admitting he came to jazz through country (Willie Nelson’s album of standards). Above us, the ceiling faded into an evening sky of halos and sequins. The scene was urbane, cool but warm, with big city vibes. I left her to her lamb chops and surveyed the room. “Besides,” she continued, “you can’t talk–or play–to me while I’m eating forty-four-dollar lamb I gotta pay attention!” Why do you need to have jazz when the food is this yummy? “Not only doesn’t jazz sing to me,” my friend declared, “it actively hurts! On the other hand, the food is incredible. ![]() ![]() The evening didn’t go exactly as I’d hoped: that night, the music seemed to jangle more than jingle. Also, do foodies really want a band playing a few feet away? Do musicians appreciate folks chewing and sipping and chatting in their faces? But the fusion of food and music is central to Blue LLama’s concept, and supper clubs, after all, have been around for decades, so I made a first foray with a friend. Raised on country, grown up in folk and then rock and roll, and disposed towards blues, I rarely “get” jazz scores. Not just a restaurant, it’s also a jazz club, and when it comes to jazz, I’m a musical troglodyte. ![]() Originally scheduled for the Observer’s April issue, they were held until the club could resume live performances and table service.įrankly, I was worried about reviewing Blue LLama, a Main Street newcomer and arguably Ann Arbor’s most sophisticated venue. These reviews are based on visits before Michigan’s pandemic shutdown. ![]()
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