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.