I wondered which came first, the self-consciously selected alternative soundtrack or the edgy, quirky little shops on Ferndale’s downtown strip. Certainly my guess is that American Pop (I imagine it probably takes several years for caramel corn to turn black when it is left sitting out) and Record Collector (home of the 20% discount if you are buying Albert Ayler (or maybe everybody gets it) were there first, a beachhead of funkiness, before Ferndale made the conscious effort to cultivate the sidewalk scene with nice benches, numerous intrablock crosswalks, and of course, the speakers on the lightposts that force you to use ‘Rock n Roll Highschool’ or ‘Blue Monday’ as your soundtrack for trying to feed the meter before going into Java Hutt.

For sure, the type of a coffee shop has its place in a little strip such as this, see Aurora in L5P in Atlanta, or Jo’s SoCo in Austin, but I felt in Java Hutt a certain level of sophistication that I associated with a confident entry into an established neighborhood who yearned for its presence, not the cautious impermanence of perhaps Satellite in West Philadelphia. It felt very safe. There seemed to be a white male proprietor who was moving around testing his business plan, checking stock, making sure the two young ladies were wearing their black outfits, etc. He kept a tight ship. He asked a gentleman seated next to the door reading a bible if he minded the door being open for ventilation. He did not and the fresh air drew all the way through the space and out the back door, carrying a Cure song from this millennium with it.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with Java Hutt capitalizing on its role as coffee dispensary to the preened hipness of this suburban enclave. In fact, I welcomed it openly after spending the morning trying to find Black Gold on Griswold on foot in downtown Detroit and ending up riding the people mover back to my car from ‘Time Square’ out of desperation. As the Hertz bus driver had perhaps rightfully assumed, I would ‘enjoy visiting Ferndale.’ So I cannot throw stones at the freshness of JHutt. I could say I wished it had a layer of grit or a sense of isolation, a personality. But if I had wanted that I probably would have pushed myself to have a drink at Donut Cutters on Woodward instead, or I would have just leaned against a wall on Cass downtown all day looking for trouble.

At least this was a forum, a blank canvas if you will, on which an entertaining little dialogue unfolded. It was only happenstance that I had been driven from my table deeper in the shop by ‘Robert’ in the Bears cap whose machismo and sportiness belied the delicate intellectual front that many shops such as this wear so tremulously. Arriving at my new seat by the door, my table coincidentally seconded my sentiments about Robert (see photo below) and I began to eavesdrop on a young couple making their way to a seat parallel to mine.

Male: So I had to jump out of the shower, run up the stairs naked, and answer the phone, you know, because people are always complaining about me not answering the phone.
Female: I don’t have that problem, I’m always wearing clothes, not even in the shower, I’m never naked.

This statement was unclear in its intent to me. Did she want to cut him off from pursuing a potentially ribald conversational topic, or was she trying to tantalize his imagination by saying the word naked about herself? It could have gone either way.

Male: That is too bad, I’ll bet being naked would suit you.
Female: Soooo, its nice to see you.
Male (continuing the creepy tone): It is greaaaaaat to see you.

At this point the female noticed my attentiveness to the awkward exchange and shared with me a knowing glance similar to the one Thos., Vidal, and I received from the young exchange student who, upon being invited back to an oily Frenchman’s apartment, was ‘reassured’ with his insistence that it was ‘ok’ because he would invite some more guys over too. Feeling confident that this woman would be ok with the creepy imp at her table I decided not to attempt to follow them as we did in Paris, but to wrap up my 15 minute exhaustive survey of Java Hutt and strut down 9 Mile to ‘William, It Was Really Nothing.’

coffee, cafe, coffeeshop, review, café

Java Hutt

165 West 9 Mile Road
Ferndale, Michigan 48220