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.