MAE'S: MAEBE NOT

While never fans of the original Anna’s, Stavros and I were nonetheless anxious to try the new breakfast/lunch place it became following “Anna’s” death.

Mae’s opened weekend before last to mixed reviews from our friends. So this past Sunday, we decided to forego our usual New York Bagel brunch and try it.

We could tell as we approached that not much had been done to the décor. Which is fine; the place was a time capsule of 1955 as it was. It was packed and about eight people stood just inside the door waiting for a table. Normally this is good but since there are a few tables just inside the door, I expect the people sitting there felt a little uncomfortable being surrounded that way. I noticed a fellow we know from a local band and his wife and daughter at the nearest table. I hadn’t seen them at first because they were completely obscured by the crowd of women waiting for a party to leave so they could descend upon their table. I wondered how annoying it would be to try to have breakfast with a bunch of strangers’ crotches a few feet from your face.

Their extremely cute character of a daughter didn’t mind and shoved a fork around a plate of hash brown while bobbing her little head around to Elton John, which was playing very loudly from someplace. Stavros immediately began humming a song by our friend’s band.

“This part is the best part of that whole record," he said to me, “Dungity-dungity-dungity-dungity DUNG DUNG!”

We stood there for about 15 minutes, the soundtrack alternating between Stavros’s personal rendition of our friend’s song and the iPod’s annoying mix. The owners are clearly going for an old-timey Detroit diner feel while still being modern and hip, so the result is CKLW station IDs followed by Motown hit followed by the aforementioned Elton John followed by She’s a Little Runaway followed by Beck.

Finally a two-top opened and we seized it. It was at the back of the restaurant, the very last table, in fact. I should mention that while we stood waiting for a table, at no time did any employee acknowledge us at all. A line for a table is a good problem to have, but they’re going to have to address the interior crowding issue by asking people to wait outside. Allright, so we take the two-top. Right away I’m too cold. The a/c was blasting from someplace directly on us and had I not been wearing a long trench coat, I would have put it back on.

Our waitress delivered the menus and then didn’t come back for a while which gave me time to examine my surroundings.

The place is small, like maybe eight tables, with a counter that has about 12 stools. It’s on a corner and the front and north side are all windows, the front looking out onto Woodward and the north looking out onto a bland office building and some residential Pleasant Ridge homes. The windowsill is lined with little vintage vases into which real flowers are tucked. We had miniature roses and some other thing I couldn’t identify and that had no fragrance at all next to our table. The salt and pepper shakers follow in the Flytrap tradition of being different cute little vintage shakers on each table. We had a cow bisected neatly crosswise.

 I discovered the source of the loud music on a shelf over a food prep area behind the counter. There rested an iPod in a Bose dock, which very effectively reproduced the decibel level of at least four speakers ten times its size, all operating at top volume. I like loud music as much as the next hipster but it was too way loud and also the mix was too contrived.

Behind the counter were chalkboards announcing the types of drinks available and also quite a lot of bragging comments about carrying local products. Faygo cans and Better Made bags featured prominently. Which is great, I love both of those things. It just felt, like the music, contrived.

Other intriguing sights included the backs of the grimy couple across from us. They slouched on the stools, her tramp stamp an unrecognizable blotch of India ink bleeding out into crinkles of flab atop her low-slung “Da Nang” brand gray camouflage pants; his tattered and greasy sweatpants hanging in dismal shreds over his flip-flopped feet.

After scrutinizing every inch of these two, I looked to the menu. Regulation breakfast stuff with a surprise or two, like potato pancakes and deep-fried pancake balls of some foreign extraction. I went for the eggs, sausage, hash browns and toast combo and Stavros ordered some type of “platter,” the primary feature of which was French toast. I will say that I was glad to note that Mae’s has chosen to use shredded hash browns versus the “fancy” chopped potato type every single other place in town serves.

 So. I know it’s their first week and there are some glitches but I gotta say it took one hell of a long time to get the food. And when it finally came, they had forgotten my hash browns, the very centerpiece of my order.

“Excuse me,” I called to our waitress, who had the unpleasant waitress habit of bestowing upon customers various cheesy terms of endearment.

I told her I was pretty sure hash browns came with my order and she went off to check, then came back and said, “Angel, the ones we have on now are for people who already ordered them, and honestly, it’s going to take way too long to make more.”

“Really?” I said. “What about the potato pancakes?” She ran off to check and I must say that I was really affronted by the lack of hash browns. They do all the cooking right there out in the open so I could see that there was only one or two women making everything to order but hash browns seem like a pretty good thing to just go ahead and make a shitload of.

She came back a minute later after I’d already given up and was glumly eating my burnt eggs and not-very-toasted toast and tossed down a plate of hash browns.

“Turns out yours came with them after all so I stole some, sweetie,” she said.

All my food was totally mediocre. Stavros reported the same thing. They do use bread from Avalon (of course) and I am almost positive the orange juice was fresh squeezed and it was very good, but in general it was like the sort of breakfast you make at home that costs the same and takes just as long. The upside was that we didn’t have to do the dishes, I guess. All in all, I’d have to say that if I overlook the new-business hiccups, which I shall, because it’s to be expected, Mae’s is still not a place I’d choose over my beloved Café Muse or even New York Bagel unless I was really, really dying for shredded hash browns.

To top things off, we had to wait about 20 minutes just to pay. The waitress took forever to bring the check (“Here ya go, hon,”) and then Stavros and I stood at the counter for another—I kid you not—15 minutes trying to get the attention of someone back there who’d accept our credit card.

The problem is that if you’re not paying with cash, you have to go to the front of the counter and wedge yourself between stools to pay. I can’t imagine how long it might have taken had there not been a vacant seat there. It’s the original cash register and I applaud them for trying to keep all the vintagey stuff intact, but it just doesn’t work. Either the waitress has to take the check and ring it up (I vote for this) or they gotta move the register. It was really ridiculous. I know the guys back there were bustin’ ass but my desire to get out of there escalated to such a degree that by the time they rang us up, I felt like I never wanted to go back.

Conclusion: Mae’s—work on it.