Scotty's Fish and Chips

Google "Best Fish and Chips Detroit" , one name covers the first page, Scotty's Fish and Chips. I've known the name since I was a little boy. My great grandfather, Bill Waters immigrated from Great Britain right after WWII and after a few years opened a restaurant called Fins and Feathers in Detroit. My grandfather and Scotty were good friends and it was said they shared the recipe for fish and chips. Though the name has always been familar to me, I've never been. That changed recently when Miss D and I set off for Fenkell and Lahser to see for ourselves just how good it is.

If you're familar with that area, you'll know that's it's bad. I mean it's bad even for Detroit but when you've been doing business in the same location for over 6o years, you don't just up and move. Cruising down Fenkell you'll pass blocks of abandoned business' and the occaisonal open store before finding Scotty's standing out like the last guy in Custer's calvary. If you're worried about security, there's a guy there who watches the cars parked outside. I mean, his sight is probably good enough to see the cars but I doubt he could cross the street fast enough to prevent a team of Brightmoor thugs from stripping your car down to the frame.

Once inside it felt familar. More in the way that your soul recognizes good things from your past than an actual feeling I've been there before. Everything about the place told me I was experiencing history. The table and chairs were original, the paint, wall coverings and decorations all were once new 60 years ago. Now, they're the character of the place, it's skin on the soul of Scotty's Fish and Chips.

The waitress took my order (as if she had to ask) and before she left, I asked her how long she worked there and if she remembered my grandfather. Since 1970 and yes, she thought the name sounded familar.

A few minutes later the owner Harry came over with a huge smile and told stories of about my grandfather. According to Harry, my grandfather (Bill) only called him "Junior". He recalled the last few times he saw my grandfather and my grandmother, "now Bill was losing his sight and it was getting harder for Fern to tell him how to drive. That was around 1972". I remember that quite clearly. My grandmother would tell him "a little left or right" as he swerved in and out of his lane. Harry also remembered that Bill would come into the restaurant once a week and cut Scotty's hair and that he would hand paint all the restaurant's signs.

After a few minutes Harry retreated back to the kitchen and the waitress brought our food. Listen, I know I'm known for hyperbole, but let me assure you, what I was eating was without a doubt the best fish and chips I've ever eaten. The batter was crispy and tastey and not a bit greazy and somehow the fish gave way in my mouth and was almost creamy. Don't get the wrong impression, the fish was firm but creamy at the same time. Don't even get me started on the chips. Hand cut perfectly fried crispy chips. Yes, I know I'll die sooner because of that meal but let me assure you, it was worth it.

While still basking in the glory of what I've just eaten, Harry came back to the table with a board. As he turned it over it was clear the board was a hand painted Christmas sign, created by my Grandpa Bill in 1964! Harry insisted that I take it with me. I really felt it should stay with the restaurant but he was adamant. Because I knew my mother would treasure the sign, I reluctantly took it with me.

If you love old America, go to Scotty's. If you love great old dives, go to Scotty's. If you love finding that odd out of place joint, go to Scotty's. If love and I mean love GREAT fish and chips, go to SCOTTY'S!!!!!!!

I could've sat there for hours and listened to Harry talk but Miss D and I had a date to see the Godfather at the old Redford Theater and had to say our "goodbyes".

Driving past the rundown stores along the way, I reflected on the stories Harry told me that night. I reflected on the meal I just had and I realized that tonite I was reliving a part of old Detroit while I was digesting detroit, one bite and one drink at a time.

My Mexican Adventure

It's already been established that I dig Mexico and am completely addicted to la comida Mexicana. So after reading a blog post from the Kitchen Chick (which if you love Detroit food, ya gotta check it out) I was inspired to head down to Mexican town and check out some areas I knew little about. Of course I knew about the restaurants on or near Bagley St (still love Lupita's) but I honestly didn't know anything about the area West of there. So armed with insight from Kitchen Chick ,Miss D and I went exploring.

With a slight tinge of sadness we zipped past the Bagley St area and much like the crew of the USS Enterprise we set out to go "boldy where no man has gone before". Well at least not this man.

My plan was to hit several spots which the Kitchen Chick reviewed. The first being a joint which specializes in goat. Can you imagine my heart break when I pulled on the doors and they didn't budge? Sadly the place which was to make all my goat tacos dreams (yes, I have them) come true, was no longer in business. As I wiped a tear from my eye we jumped back into the truck and trudged forward, saddened but not dismayed.

Next stop was El Rey de Pollo or The King of Chicken. Pulling up we could see the outdoor grill piled high with grilled chicken. Smoke and flame lifted the royal scent into the air and through my nostrils. It looked like Mexico and more importantly it smelled like Mexico. We went inside and ordered a half chicken dinner with beans, rice and salsa for $6. Best six bucks I've ever spent. The chicken comes cut into about 6 or 7 pieces, perfectly grilled with just the right amount of char marks. Chile, lime and salt season the meat and skin the way I'm certain they do it in Mexican heaven. For a Mexican joint to get my seal of approval they have to do beans right and they do. Whole pintos cooked simply and served in their liquid, cooked jalapenos and onions mixed throughout.

A great first stop on our adventure. We pointed the truck West on Vernors and were shocked to see a whole new world. Restaurants, bakeries, shops all Mexican, of every kind lined the streets. Much of it was new construction or newly renovated. And the streets were alive. People walking with bags from the shops we just passed. Man playing bones and drinking out of paper bags in a tiny park like setting. I can't believe I have never been down here before.

Just as we passed Livernois on our right a circus tent caught our eyes. Now this was no ordinary circus tent but a Mexican circus tent, "dios mio"! Not only was a Mexican circus in town but next to it was a Mexican flea market. Miss D enjoys a good flea market and I used to love going to Mexican fleas while living in Texas, so we pulled in. The market was just what I wanted, full of junk, counterfeit goods and food stands. There was a tamale stand, a taco cart and a pupusa stand. Though I've been aware of pupusas I've never tried one. Today would be the day. Three El Salvadorean woman manned the stall and made the pupusas right in front of you. One of the women took a ball of masa and flattened it out in her hand and placed a mixture of beans, pork and cheese on top, folded it over and formed a flat disk and placed it on a flat top grill. Once off the grill it looked delicious, but she wasn't finished. The dish is not complete without pickled shredded pickled carrots and cabbage and fiery fresh chile salsa on top. Good, like "just got out of prison sex" is good. I am now a die hard pupusa fan.

Still high from my pupusa enlightenment, we bought tickets to the circus. Now, this wasn't Ringling Bros quality this was my like Homey Da Clown meets Ren and Stimpy quality. First it was entirely in Spanish. We got an idea how bad it was going to be when the first act, "three beauty queens" made there way to the big top. Don't wanna be rude here but the one in the middle was better suited for plowing fields. The show didn't get much better and honestly if it had I would've been disappointed. It was cheezy, silly, corny and I loved it.

From there we continued down Vernors heading West. Again I was amazed, more restaurants and stores and people. It's going to take me all winter to uncover all that's there. It's truly shocking to see the investment and how well that area is thriving. I know of no one that goes down there and it's a shame.

Before heading home we stopped into Mexican Town Bakery. Its a modern, good looking place that honestly made me a little nervous. I like my joints to be run down and dodgy. Miss D and I over came our prejudice and struggled not to buy everything on the racks. We settled on four delicious looking yummys and were shocked when the bill came to $4. Honestly, just one of our items would've cost that much at Holiday market.

Mexican Town is not just Bagely St. Do yourself a favor, the next time you're headed down that way, resist the urge to go the tourist joints. Get outside of your comfort zone. Go where the locals eat and you too will be digesting detroit, one drink and one bite at at time.

In search of Soul (Food)

If Navin R. Johnson was born a poor black child, then I'm his cousin. Watchin' Navin and his family eat dinner in that broken down shack always makes my cornbead hole drool. I've been jonesin' for some Southern soul or Cajun Creole food ever since I passed by Louisiana Creole Gumbo's (LCG) restaurant after an Eastern Market foray. By law I'm forced to go to Supino's on Saturdays, so on that day my belly was full of their special deliciousness.

So on a Sunday morning, still suffering from a solid late night bender, my official taste tester and I jumped on the bike and headed South down 75 for what I hoped would be a transcendental trip back to New Orleans. What I got was a big fat mouth full of disappointment. Whaa whaa whaaaaa. (cue the deflating balloon video)

LCG opens at one on Sundays. We got there at 1:01 pm and there was already a line of folks in shiny suits and patent leather shoes who had just left church. Now, I'm not gonna tell ya that the stares me and my very blond haired friend got were hostile, because they weren't. But I will say it was a little uncomfortable. I mean haven't they ever seen a pretty white girl and a wanna be boy of the South ordering up soul food before?

The menu posted on the wall looked like the real deal. All the Creole classics were there, gumbo, jambalaya (Jambalaya! just had a Seinfeld/Newman moment), etc, as well as a full compliment of Southern Classics like smothered pork chops, fried catfish and mac n cheese. Resisting the urge to order each side of the menu and showing great restraint I settled for the combo; shrimp gumbo, jambalaya, red beans and rice plus a side of collard greens.

Excited like a boy on prom night, I approached the bullet proof glass and ordered up lunch. We slipped into one of two tables and waited with anticipation and all the patience of that teenage boy and the end of the prom.

Our order was called out and I retrieved my brown paper bag through the portal in the protective glass. With excitement mounting we pulled styrafoam bowl after bowl out of the bag and spread them out over the table. Opening each one I grew suspicious. In front of me in place of gumbo or jambalaya was essentially, a stock based soup! Where's my roux? I wanna see a dark smokey roux with an almost gravy consistancy. I wanna smell file powder and wanna taste spice! Not soup! I don't want soup! Now to give you some background. I know gumbo. I've eaten gumbo cooked by Creoles with light rouxs, dark rouxs and filled with critters most people consider to be garden pests. This WAS NOT GUMBO! Don't get me started with the jambalaya! Jambalaya is essentially a wonderful rice dish filled more akin to paella than to soup. My jambalaya looked liked SOUP! It hardly differed from the impostor gumbo. Brokenhearted I turned my attention to the red beans and rice. Suprise, Suprise, Suprise! (think, Gomer Pyle) these were really good. Full of flavor and oddly enough slightly sweet, though in a good way. I really enjoyed the cornbread and the collards, as well, though to be fair, my blond haired official taste tester didn't care for it.

Out of six total items on the table, I enjoyed three, the beans and rice, collards and the cornbread. Much like that boy on prom night, I was sorely disappointed (the boy is a completely fictional character and bears no resemblance to this writer, seriously, don't give me that look).The main players, gumbo and jambalaya were barely recognizable. I read up a little on LCG before I went and the reviews I read were positive. Hell, I even read a prominent restaurant critics' take and she couldn't say enough good things. My guess is she has no idea what gumbo is or things have drastically changed since the review.

So what's the cousin of guy who was born a poor black child to do? I wants good soul food. The only choice I have is to start my search for the best soul food joint in the D. Look forward to my upcoming series on "Finding my Soul (Food) in the D". Over the next few months I'll be stopping in high brow and low brow joints all over the city in a search to satisfy my soul.

While I wasn't impressed with LCG, I was still digesting detroit and discovering my city one drink and one bite at a time.

PS, In case you were wondering, yes we were down there when body parts were discovered near Eastern Market and no, we had nothing to do with it. We did however notice a foul odor.

Louisiana Creole Gumbo map

Gotta get my Korean fix

Years ago while living in Germany I had my first taste of Korean food. One of the perks of serving in the Army is that you're exposed to different cultures and their food. American service members go somewhere, fall in love or get trapped by an enterprising woman. They marry and bring their love child back with them. Near every Army base in the world you'll find Koreans setting up a business'. Hell, I bet you'll find a Korean barber or restaurant in the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan. My first taste was outside of a Korean church. Every weekend Korean women would sell bbq to raise money for the church. It never occurred to me that bbq was anything other than American, so interest piqued, I bought a Styrofoam container of smokey, sweet and dark beef. Holy kimchi it was good. I'd never had anything like it before. From that moment on I was in love with Korean food. From bibimbab, to bulgogi, to kimchi I swooned and was addicted to the "punch you in the mouth flavors" found in every dish I tried.

Every so often my skin begins to itch and I know I gotta have my Korean fix. Which is how I found my way to Shilla's on Maple Rd, in Clawson. I was heading out with a novice and not wanting to scare her with the "punch you in the mouth" part of the cuisine, I thought bbq would be a good introduction. The first thing I noticed when I walked in was a huge party of Asian folk. Now I don't know if they were Korean or not but using the "One of these does not look like the other" test, I deducted that I was the one that did not look like them. A good test and a good sign at any ethnic joint.

The menu was well represented with dishes I recognized and some I didn't. We opted for the kalbi beef ribs. A few minutes later our table was covered with seven or eight little salads or condiments which you are supposed to eat with the main course. These are my fav part of Korean dining. No matter which Korean joint you go to, one of the salads is always a spicy, pungent kimchi. Now, it's not for the faint of heart. But once you've let the fiery chilies burn your tongue and the fermented cabbage fill your nostrils a couple of times, chances are you'll be hooked. The rest of the dishes you may see again but no guarantees. Salads made of seaweed, daikon radish, tempeh are common. Some tasty, some not so much. The point is, try em'. Don't be the kid that only orders chicken fingers. Try them more than once, you'll be surprised how the flavors, once foreign, now are welcomed.

As we waited for the ribs we watch the big party share huge "hot pots" which are communal pots filled with spicy broth. Diners take vegetables and meats from the table and drop them into the broth to cook. By the end of the nite the broth is infused with all the flavors from the table. Make sure to save room cause that's when it gets good.

Finally, after suffering through the smells and sounds of the hot pots, our kalbi ribs arrived at the table. Beautifully marbled, raw red beef cut off the bone in one long sheet as you would peel an apple in one long peel. Using scissors our server cut the meat into almost bite size pieces and dropped them onto the grill which is built into the table. Our server was in a hurry to attend to something else and told us he would be right back to finish cooking our ribs. "Don't bother, I've got it", I told him. I thanked the bovine gods because I was sure he was going to overcook the beefy goodness now sizzling in front of me. Two or three minutes on each side was all they needed. I pulled them off the grill. Beefy, sweet, salty and crazy tender, was what flashed across my thoughts. Yeah, these are tasty. My Korean novice nodded and pushed my chopsticks away as she reached for another slice.

The great thing for American's wanting to try to eat Korean food is Korean's love beef. This gives us something we can relate to and understand. It's a great way to introduce yourself to a completely different style and way of thinking about beef. My evil planned worked because my friend is more than willing to go back. The next time we go, I'm going to order her Japchae, which is a wonderful glass noodle dish unlike Thai, Japanese or Chinese. Although it's different, it's familiar enough not to intimidate a newbie.

Bottom line, I enjoyed Shilla's. It's authentic without going too far to scare off neophytes. For reals, if you haven't tried Korean before, you gotta go. For me it ranks right there with Thai and Vietnamese for Asian supremacy. I know this isn't the only Korean joint in town, but for years I was terrified that I wouldn't find one in Detroit that I liked. Now I'm I can sleep at nite knowing I can get my fix, while digesting detroit, one drink and one bite at a time.

Lupita's, Mex as it gex.

About 12 years ago I stumbled upon this small, kinda crappy looking Taquiera down in Mexican Town, called Taqueria Lupitas. At that point in my life I had been to Mexico a few times. Now when I say Mexico, I should clarify. I had been to what I call Disney Mexico. That is Cancun and all the fake silliness that goes with it. On the few occasions we veered away from Senior Frogs or the "Stupid Gringo, we really don' t serve monster burritos in Mexico" Restaurant, I really dug what seemed to be real Mexican food. It's been 10 years since I last ate at Lupitas and I've gained much more Mexican food experience. I've traversed the country and have eaten off of street carts in every city. I've fed my bean hole from every Economica Corrida I could find and I've swallowed Tacos al Pastor from Nuevo Laredo down to Palenque. I'm not claiming to be an expert, but I know Mexican food as well as I know any other cuisine. It was time to go back to Lupitas and see how they measure up.

As I entered it was clear some things had change. Now there was silly faux stones on the wall and a monstrous ceiling light fixture which looked lost and out of place hanging from the dirty, stained and broken ceiling tiles. In some ways it reminded me of Mexico. Outside of your tourist areas, restaurants and business' are often cobbled together in a quaint schizophrenic way. A quick glance at the picture menu board put me at ease. Of the dozen or so items only one, the burrito, is the only one I've never seen in real Mexico. Things, like Caldo de Res, Ceviche Tostadas or the before mentioned Tacos al Pastor are very familiar to me. One other thing had changed as well, there were more white people (Guapos) getting their fill of authentic tacos. Nice to see this wasn't a Taco Bell or Chli's crowd.

The main menu brought back a lot of memories. Cabeza tacos in Guanajauto. Carnitas Tacos in Ciuad Mexico. Cocktail de Camaron in Vera Cruz. Or just about everything brought back some kind of food memory. Some people have memories of sights or what they bought when they travel, mine are almost exclusively memories of food. My gut is my souvenir.

Our waitress brought chips and four colorful salsas to the table. A tradition that is only found in the states. They are available but you have to ask and pay for Totopos y salsa. Tradition or not, each salsa was right on the money. Pico de Gallo, limey with an actual bite from the jalpenos, smokey dried chile salsa, creamy avocado salsa and a blended salsa which for some reason was my fav that day.

Hoping to relive those memories I order the Al Pastor dinner and two Ceviche Tostadas, which came out first. If you're not in the know, ceviche is any raw seafood marinated in citrus. The citrus actually cooks the seafood. Lupitas ceviche is made with mild white fish, lime juice and a little Pico. First bite, hooray!!!! Delicious! I've eaten these on both the Gulf and Pacific coasts and these are yummy.

My main meal came to the table with a mound of seasoned, roasted pork, charro beans, rice, corn tortillas (the only way to eat Mexican food) and condiments. So I don't bore you with a detailed description and the hyperbole I'm known for, let just say everything on my plate was delish and spot on. If I closed my eyes I might think that I was South of the Border. Even the Spanish spoken at most of the tables would lead me to that conclusion. Throw in blaring TVs and the odd stray dog and I'd feel right at home.

Lupitas is the real deal. You may find the odd Tex Mex thing on the menu but please avoid those. Go for the real thing. Eat your tacos with corn tortillas, eschew cheese and for the love of god, do not ask for extra sour cream!

Soon fall and winter will force me into pants and jackets and I'll move from tacos to caldo (soup), specifically caldo de res or caldo posole. When I do I'll let you know. Between now and then, I'll be rediscovering my city, one bite and one drink at a time. digesting detroit es divertido y delicioso!

Taqueria Lupita Map

Soul Food for my Inner Little Asian Dude.

I loves me some Vietnamese Food. Hoards of Vietnamese coming to America was the only good thing to come out of that war in SE Asia. I'm not of fan of why they came, but my inner little Asian dude is exceedingly happy they came with their woks.

For years now, I've been going to Thang Long on John R in Madison Heights. I've never had a bad meal or experience in all those years. I love this place and at Pee Wee Herman's suggestion, "Then why don't you marry it?", I just might. At least I know it can cook.

If you love food and you love Thai or Chinese and have never had Vietnamese, you're like a guy who loves football but have only watched Lions. I mean this stuff is yummy times 10. Think about it. You have all the influences of SE Asia, plus the infusion of French cooking courtesy of their colonial attempts which like all their conquests, ended badly.

Most people, including myself think Pho when they think Vietnamese. Pho is pronounced like fuck, without the ck on the end. So if you're very much like you were when you were 12 years old, you can have a lot of fun talking about Pho. "I love to Pho" or "Pho you" comes to mind. But I digress. Actually, I always do. When Pho comes to the table it always comes in a Jethro sized bowl. In it you'll find a mass of rice noodles so large that it would make an East side girl's "big hair" look like a crew cut. The noodles come swimming in a rich broth seasoned with star anise, ginger and all kinds of mysterious scary things that we Americans are happy not to know about. Generally, people prefer beef in their Pho but chicken Pho is worth trying too. Served on the side is your veg and herbs. Bean sprouts, cabbage, mint, chilies, basil, any all or all could come to the table. You throw these in and season with condiments on the table and strap yourself in for cosmic rocket ride of flavor. I likes to sear my tongue until tears roll down my pinchable cheeks so usually you'll find me suffering over a bowl of Hue soup. It's Pho that's been made to harm white people like myself. If I haven't made myself clear I LOVE TO PHO!

There's much more to life than just Pho. Bun is another fav. The same noodles without the broth. I generally order number 74 or 75. Noodles with choice of meat and spring rolls. Make sure you order the pork. It's marinated and then seared over a charcoal grill. Order the pork or I will find you. The spring rolls are divine as well. Different from Thai and way different from Chinese I get a little woosy just thinkin' about them. So you got your noodles and pork and you've poured the liquidy sweet, sour, spicy sauce into your bowl and begin to pull at your noodles with your sticks and find lots of shredded veg hidden underneath. This btw is my Summer dish. It's lighter and served just warm but not hot.

The menu features a ton of Viet dishes. I've tried a few. Living away for so long I had to have my favs whenever I came to town. Now that I live here I'll force myself to venture outside of my love zone. Here's some of the things I've had, Todd Mun (Yum), La Lot Beef, Larb (different from most Thai, Larb but excellent just the same), I've made my own rolls and a few other things I'm forgetting. They've all been good. I'm looking forward to eating my way through the menu like Kwame burned through campaign donations.

One of the things you want to do when going to an ethnic joint is to play the Sesame St. game, "One of these is not like the other". Look around the room, if you're the thing that doesn't look like the other, then you're in the right place. Thang Long always attracts Vietnamese people. Or at least Vietnamese looking people. Don't call me a racist because I can't distinguish between a Cambodian or a Vietnamese person. Geesh, people get a grip!

I love this place. It's like soul food for my Little Inner Asian Dude. It hits every flavor note and the best thing is, I'm discovering my city one bite and one drink at a time. If you're in a food rut, my advice is for you to do the same. Soon, you'll be digesting detroit too.


Thang Long Map

Hilton Road Cafe

For the last few years whenever I'd roll into town, I'd pass the Hilton Road Cafe on believe or not, Hilton Road. For some reason it caught my eye and made me think that the place held promise of something good inside. The store front is simple. But still it speaks to my inner "greasy spoon loving gut".

One morning on a whim I stopped by. A few minutes before eight am (yes, I get up before eight sometimes) I pulled on the door. It didn't open. A few more tugs and the waitress unlocks the door and lets me in. "We open at eight, "hon". Odd time for a breakfast joint to open. This is not a good sign. A quick glance around and my concerns begin to be melt away. The place is small, three or four booths and about 10 stools along the counter. It's got that old diner look. Pie cooler on wall behind the counter, old school coffee warmer burning coffee that's been sitting too long, kitsch stashed necessarily around the room.

Scanning the menu raised my hopes as well. All the diner staples are there along with a few twists. I'm an absolute sucker for good corned beef but too often it's not made in house. It's not made here either, ugh. So now I'm worried again. "Everything else on the menu is homemade though", I'm reassured by the waitress.

I'm not gonna bore you with a detailed description of each dish. I've now been back several times and let me say that this is extremely good breakfast food. I've been blown away by the every potato dish I've had. The hash browns are grated every morning and the guy on the griddle top is a master of oil and spud. The potato pancakes are creamy and crunchy. In the middle of my farmer's omelet are more potatoes. This time cubed and browned. Amazingly, they too are crisp and creamy. Every thing I've eaten has been damned good, even reheated. Ever reheat an omelet? Usually it's, blech! With these omelet's I count the minutes until lunch before I can pop em' the nuker and mangia once more. One of the surprising little perks is their bread. Order a breakfast which comes with toast and you'll also be offered a mini loaf of banana, pumpkin, blueberry or some other sweet bread, baked that morning. My friend digs them so much they're now part of her diplomatic tool box, whenever she's in need of sweet talkin' or bribing someone.

I haven't been there for lunch or dinner but it's on my list. I've been enjoying cooking again lately so I haven't been eating dinner out much. Anyway, the lunch/dinner menu is made up of all the diner staples, sammies, soup, chili, salads. The specials board is where you'll find the real gems. Meatloaf, chicken and dumplings, pastichio, grilled lamb, etc.

So for reals, check out this little joint. It's a throw back, hidden in plain sight. One bite and one drink at a time I'm rediscovering my town. Digesting Detroit has never been so fun.

http://www.hiltonroadcafe.com/about.htm

Eastern Market

So, it's Saturday morning in the D but it feels more like an Amazonian rain forest. Water hangs in the air while sweat soaks through my t shirt making me wonder about the lies my deodorant company sold me. It's all good. It's been awhile since I've been to the Eastern Market in the summer. What's cool is everything's still here. The vendors are still here. Maybe more than I've seen in the past. The BBQ folks are out, sending smoky signals to my hound like nose and tugging at my pot belly like only ribs can. The restaurants and stores are all still here as well, lining the market in buildings looking impossibly old and impossibly alive.

As I exit my hoopty, does anyone say hoopty anymore? Anyway, as I get out of my suburban four wheel drive, I'm met by a guy selling a cd which he claims is about edutainment. He's a science rapper. Had no idea that bitches and science went hand in hand but with a little imagination it could work. Though I'm certain this guy is on the verge of stardom, I decline to purchase his cd, thinking "I'm back. This is Detroit".

The market is full of all the garden goodness you might expect. Hundreds of vendors are packed inside and out offering everything Michigan and Guatemala can offer. My friend and I can't resist the urge to sample salsas, pickles, sauces, bread, nuts, granola and whatever they hawk at us. Along the way we're buying everything which looks good. There isn't much of a menu planned we just want what our inner gut tells us to buy. My inner gut is now teased and wants food. What sent me over the edge was the street cart selling handmade pieorgies. It was a cruel, cruel sight to be within arms reach and not be able to taste those little heavenly pillows. The reason, I resisted (read; forced) not getting in line to Nirvana was were in the mood for pizza. When I say pizza I'm talking about the best Zah in the whole mitten, Supino's.

If you ain't ever been to Supino's you may be considered a barbarian. The Romans called any civilization that didn't cultivate olives, barbarians. My rule is, if you've never been to Supino's you're a barbarian. This is divine pie is what pizza is. Thin crust which the teeth must bite through before giving way, sauce which tastes of tomatoes, garlic and spice and just enough cheese which does not overpower but dances with the rest of the party. Seriously, unless you go to Naploli you can not do better than Supino's. This is "curls your toes" good. We ordered a pie with pepperoni, mushroom and onions. As the pie arrived, the world went silent. I heard nothing and saw nothing. Almost like an out of body experience I was aware of the world but not part of it. Praise be to Allah, OMG, rub Budda's belly this is good pizza! With the last bite I returned to my body sated, happy like a man who has just won the lottery a day after his divorce is final.

After the heavenly Zah, we walked around popping into the business' which line the market. You gotta stop in each one to appreciate all that is here. Meats, cheese, seafood, nuts, imported specialities of every kind. The specialty I craved is a Bloody Mary and not just any Mary, a Vivio's Mary.

Vivio's uses their own mix which rates up there with the best I've had. If you know me at all you know that my body has replaced it's blood with that tomato, spice and vodka hangover remedy. The one thing that Vivio's does which puts it on the Bloody Mary map is they automatically give you a schnitz of beer with each Mary. When did this grand tradition stop? I dunno but I thank the booze gods that they still do it.

Around the corner from Vivio's is a joint which has caught my attention every time I've been down to the market but I've never stopped in. The joint is called The Butcher's Inn. Dumb and happy from a pizza/mary high we strolled in. As you enter you know immediately that you're in old Detroit. This place is a dive in the best sense of the word. It's old, it smells, it's the kinda joint that houses the ghosts of butchers, drunks, whores and will one day host my ghost as I travel through the saloons of the after life. On tap were three beers, one of which was a throw back I had not seen in a very long time, Gennesse Cream Ale. One please. Long story short, it tasted like old cat piss gone bad. Seriously? There's a reason it hasn't been around. Kill it and leave it for dead. To my left at the bar were a couple of guys sipping from a paper bag filled with 40oz PBRs. I've always said "Home is where the 40 is". This is home. 40z PBRs in a paper bag. Gotta love it. The specials for the day were all u can drink Bloody Mary's for $9 before 3pm or Margarita's for $15! Every Saturday they run this special as well as $3 battered deep fat fried chicken wings and fries at 3 pm. If a hit man ever wanted to take me out, it won't be hard to find me on Saturdays anymore.

Just to make the day complete we stopped at the BBQ guys to see what's up. Chicken, sausage and ribs piled high on top of oil can barrels, fat sizzling into the fire below. At this point I wasn't hungry but eyes, nose and heart over ruled belly and we bought a small rib taster to go. At $8 bucks I thought it was a little steep until they laid it in my hands. It must've weighed 5lbs. I got (don't correct my grammar, sucka) four meaty, smokey ribs and half a ear of sweet mitten corn. Later I sucked them bones clean as if soaked in a bucket of lye.

If you ain't been to Eastern Market you're missing what is good about Detroit. There's urban decay all around you but there's life, too. There's the insistence that while it may not be a shining great city anymore, it's still my city. We live here and we will make the best of it.

Sliding back to my suburban cruiser, we were met once more by the soon to be famous science rapper. Smiling and upbeat as if he truly was on the verge of a major record contract he pitched me one more time. I declined but later as mawed on those bones I thought about the next time I go to the market. My guess is he'll still be there and I just might buy a cd. I smiled as I reflected on the day. I'm rediscovering my city one bite and one drink at a time and I'm digesting detroit.....oh and those ribs, too.

Breakfast at Mae's

Sometime in junior high we moved from South Ferndale to Pleasant Ridge, a considerable step up from the old neighborhood at least architecturally. Shortly after moving, some rich douche from the West side of Woodward reminded me I lived on the Peasant Ridge side. Can't remember if I ever got the chance to punch that prick in the head or not. For those of you who don't know, PR is a sliver of a town tucked in between Ferndale and Royal Oak, quite literally a half a mile North to South. At any rate a block from my house was Anna's Diner. Anna's was a sliver of a diner in a sliver of a town. My guess is the place was built in the 60's and was never updated. Original counter with stools, old tables with chrome legs, even older equipment lined the kitchen work spaces and then there was Marion. Miss Marion wore a uniform the way they use to. She also wore a beehive doo like few could back in the day. That hair was an engineering feat the Egyptians would've been proud of. Marion had run the place for decades and knew everyone. As long as their name was "Hun", she remembered who you were. For all that was cool about the place, the food wasn't. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't bad it just wasn't anything to be remembered. There was questionable health standards practiced as well. Y'all know I love a good dive but reusing food brought to the table is where I draw the line. OK, so that was Anna's. She passed not too long ago and Anna's was no more.

The joint that was Anna's has been reborn as Mae's, a funky retro breakfast and lunch spot. The counter is still there and so is the cool. Old Faygo bottles and cans line the place along with just enough kitsch to make you smirk but not so much that makes you wonder if you're in an Apple B's nightmare that you can't wake up from. If you haven't noticed yet, I hate Apple B's and any other corporate half assed attempt at creating cool.

I've now been to Mae's a half dozen times and only for breakfast. In short this little joint churns my butter. This is good food. High quality ingredients, breakfast staples and just enough originality to keep a jaded, cynical guy like me smiling. Some items in particular deserve high praise. The potato pancakes which have received little attention from the three published reviews I've read so far, deserve to be noted. These pancakes are at first crispy and then creamy and are full of deliciousness not found very often these days. Seriously, can you name three places with good potato pancakes? I doubt it. Next up is something you won't find at your local coney island or anywhere for that matter, æbleskivers. These Scandinavian little balls of pan fried dough deserve all the praise which is being heaped on them. Reading the description and then seeing them go to table after table led me to believe that they'd be heavy and doughy. Not true. They're light and unlike anything this foodbag has ever eaten. Truly yummy. Everything I've eaten there is done with thought and precision. Like I said I haven't eaten lunch but I will soon and I'm certain it's going to be good.

Word is getting out and it's a little bit of a challenge to get in on the weekends. Once you get a table, relax and take it all in as it may take a little while. The staff busts ass but a full house is tuff on the little kitchen. Weekdays is not problem, just walk in an sit down.

The world needs more places like Mae's. Good people, doing good, honest food. The next time someone tries to take you to a chain restaurant that looks the same as the one you visited in Orlando, politely refuse and suggest somewhere like Mae's. Soon, you'll be rediscovering your city one drink and one bite at a time. Then you'll be digesting detroit, too.

http://www.maesdetroit.com/

Slow's BBQ and rocking Tamales

It's Sunday morning and I'm nursing a wicked hangover courtesy of an all night limo bender. What's worse is its a perfect summer day. The sun is out and it's going to be in the mid 80s all day. With a hangover like this I prefer it to be raining and miserable. That way I don't feel like a drunken loser for laying on the couch all day burping up last night's White Castles. You don't waste days like these in Detroit or sometime in February you'll regret it.

I've been talking with a friend about Slow's BBQ and we decide to take the bike down to Corktown to give it a try. She's a bike virgin and is terrified but I need BBQ so after begging and cajoling she jumps on the back complaining that the helmet is going to muss her pretty hair. Twenty minutes later we're pulling up to Slow's BBQ, alive. Mussed hair and hangover in full swing.

Walking to the front door I'm diggin' the building, it's brick and ancient. It sits on the end of a row of buildings none of which are as nice as this. I love BBQ joints, from Memphis to Austin to KC to just about anywhere someone with skills in smoke, rub and meat sets up a joint. I like the lowdown dirty feel of them. No pretension, just meat, sauce, table and chair, generally with authentic kitsch thrown up on the wall to remind you that you're supposed to eat with your hands. This is not Slow's. Gotta tell ya, I was surprised when I walked in. Exposed brick, copper on the bar and on the kitchen walls, modern almost arts and crafts ceiling, very cool. This is modern Detroit. Using natural elements like copper, wood and brick (not natural but give me some liberty) they made the place look like what Detroit should look like.

I've been told there is generally a good wait for a table particularly on the weekends but apparently they knew I was coming and gave us a table without delay.

I'm not going to go into all the menu items but let's just say it's well represented with all the BBQ staples from the different regions of BBQ heaven.

I'm always looking to try something new and the okra split pea fritters was a starter I had to try. God, I wish I didn't. They came to the table a dark almost black color. This isn't from over cooking this is from old fryer oil. Yikes, a Southern joint that doesn't know how to fry? Not feelin' good about this. I get past the color and faint scent of old used oil and cut into the big puffy fritter. To put it bluntly the fritter sucked. It faintly tasted of okra and had the color of split pea. There was a sauce on the plate but it didn't matter. Neither did the five sauces on each table. To put it in perspective, I eat everything. I don't turn my nose up on any type or style of food. This simply was not good.

Next came the grub. We decided to split a combo of Texas style brisket and pork ribs. Just so you know, I know Texas BBQ. Lived there six years and ate at least a ranch full of steer. On the plate was meat from two parts of the brisket. One is the lean thin sliced brisket many are familar with and the other is the fatter juicer part. I started with the thin leaner part. Good smoke, good overall flavor just a little dry. A good shot of the North Carolina vinegary BBQ sauce made everything better. The fatter part was delish. Juicy, beefy, smokey, what's not to love. On to the ribs. Smokey, nice rub, and a little dry. Hmmmm....., noticing a pattern. They could've used a little more meat on them bones but overall pretty good ribs. You get two sides with your meal and we chose the mac n' cheese and the green beans. I really dug the mac. Cheesy, black peppery, nice crust on top, just like Mom never made, yum. The beans had me a little worried. I was expecting Southern style, cooked a long time with a little pork, but these were relatively short cooked and covered in whole grain mustard sauce. Surprise, Surprise, Surprise (as my good friend Gomer would say), the beans were good. The mustard sauce was mellower than I thought and slightly sweet.

The both of us ate for under $20 bucks. The waiter took the funky fritters off of the bill. He asked how the were and I, well, I told him. I appreciated the gesture. If he hadn't I was going to tell all of you about the piece of food that was stuck to the side of his mouth the entire time we were there. That would be mean so I'm not going to do it. The other reason we ate for under $20 is that my friend eats like Kilpatrick cares about morals, very little.

Bottom line on my first visit to Slow's is, it was solid. Loved what they did with an old building in a shitty part of the city. The BBQ was good but far from the best I've had. The service was good and aside from the thing I'm not going to tell you about, I liked our server. I'll be back because I want the BBQ to be great and I want daring entrepreneurs like the folks at Slows to succeed in Detroit.

I mentioned Tamales didn't I? Si, I did. From Slow's we jumped on the bike and cruised into Mexican Town with the thought to see what's new and check out the shops. I was thrilled to see Taqueiria Lupita is still there. This is as authentic and good as it gets. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this place. I stopped in to see if the menu was the same and it is. The best thing is my knoweldge of Mexican food as grown greatly since my last visits to Lupita. I know shit from shineola and this is pure shineola. I''ll be back soon for ceviche tacos. Walking around we got it in our heads to get tamales. The panderia on the corner sold them back in the day so we went there. They still sell them. At $8 a dozen I knew we could do better. On the opposite end of Bagely sits Mexican Town restaurant. Their tamales are $5 a dozen. We left with one dozen chicken and one dozen pork. They threw in some salsa as well. Long story short, I've been eating them for days. Mio dios!! They are estupendo! Seriously these are great tamales and the salsa rocks too. Muy happy.

The rest of the day was a self guided moto tour of Detroit along the river. We rode through downtown, Indian Village, Belle Isle, Grosse Pointe and ended in St Clair for drinks on the lake. Gotta tell ya, I didn't think a ride in Detroit would be as satisfying. If riding in Detroit doesn't kill me, I think you'll read more Sunday posts as we're digesting detroit.

I'm Back!!!!!!

After twenty plus years of living outside of my hometown of Detroit, I'm back. I've been to places, seen a lot and circumstances aside, I'm happy to be back.

One of the reasons I'm happy to be back home is the food. I love Detroit food. I don't care that we don't have 15 four star restaurants like NY I can't afford them anyway. I've always loved the hole in the wall, the dirty diner, the ethnic restaurant where you're not welcomed until you've watched their children grow up. Take me to Apple B's and I'll never speak to you again. Take me to your favorite hidden joint in Hamtramack and I'll take a bullet for you (and I may have to).

Before I left I knew many of the great joints. Most are still around I'm happy to say. Since then many new restaurants and watering holes have joined the scene and I intend to visit all the good ones before I go to the great banquet hall in the sky, where there better be great Thai food or I'll speak to the manager.

So, what are my credentials for such a blog? First, I've been an eater all my life. Never missed a day as far as I can recall. Next, I've been studying food and restaurants since I was tadpole and insisted that I be served white grape juice with my Gerbers chicken. I study food the way a Hazel Park red neck studies Trans Ams. Finally, for the past 11 years I've been a cafe and restaurant owner focusing on specialty coffee and high end comfort food.

What you can expect? Honest, no frills, cut to the bone with just a hint of twisted humor accounts of my rediscovery of my city one bite and one drink at a time.

So begins, digesting detroit.