[EID Preview] Local Kitchen + Bar

All photos by Nicole Rupersburg.

As much as chef-partner Rick Halberg tries to underplay the cuisine at Local Kitchen + Bar as "everyday food," avoiding the word "comfort" since upscale comfort food is all the culinary rage right now (particularly in this region), Local is quintessentially American, and there's no shame in that game.

Local celebrates Americana in a way that is appropriately fashionable for Ferndale. Partners Rick Halberg and Brian Siegel are both long-time area restaurateurs, and while Local has been on the lips of food bloggers hungry for bloggy buzz for some time now, they’ve taken the time to do things right. (Which is another way of saying it’s taken a lot longer than initially planned/announced, but that’s hardly news in the restaurant industry. See also: Astro, Sugar House, Green Dot, etc.)

Rick has been out of the restaurant industry for six years now and has been "dying to get back in." "We wanted to do a neighborhood place to eat that was really for the community," he explains. "We found this space and it seemed to fit perfectly with our partnership," referring to Local's relationship with event planning company Star Trax, which will be responsible for much of the booking in the sizable event space upstairs (where Via Nove used to throw techno parties, only this time it will be more like weddings, showers, bar/batmitzvahs, etc.).

The concept for Local is "to do a restaurant that is for everyone ... everybody's doing comfort food; we're trying to shy away from that package. It's really just about everyday food prepared extraordinarily well. We really want to focus on the community." The word "local" of course signifies a commitment to the use of locally-sourced ingredients and local suppliers (as much as possible) including Michigan beers and wines, working with local artisan food producers like Corridor Sausage, sourcing from Michigan farms, and even having their own share in the Ferndale community farm. "We want to do [this] the best way we can and offer product[s] that [are] accessible to as many people as possible."

The event space upstairs.

So what might "everyday foods" with a local emphasis look like? Chicken-fried chicken. Mac and cheese. Burgers. A pig platter with various different pork presentations. "Super fresh" fish. Hearty salads. And just about everything made from scratch in their kitchen, including honest-to-goodness American desserts like seasonal pies, cobblers, Devil's Food Cake, and other "bake sale items" (like brownies and Rice Krispies treats) that will be on display in their vintage rotating dessert display. Oh, and POUTINE. The focus is all on "super fresh, super clean" food, and not fancy presentations.

As a long-time chef and restaurateur himself, Local marks a return to form for Rick. A graduate of the CIA back in the '70s (when "it was just getting cool to be a chef"), Rick jokes he was "on the cutting edge of cool for one moment in my life." He had earlier endeavors in West Bloomfield and Birmingham, but his crowning achievement thus far was Emily's in Northville, which offered extremely high-end dining that at one point held the highest Zagat food rating in the United States (a 28 on a scale of 30, a ranking Emily's shared with only a few other restaurants in the country).

Diners remember the Emily's name and are excited to see the new concept emerge. As for Rick, while he will still be working as a chef in his restaurant (a chef's table in the kitchen with seating for 8-10 guests will be personally attended to by Rick himself), he has built up an impressive team of culinary talent including sous chefs Ricky McCormick, formerly of Cafe Muse, and Nick Schultz, who will be weekend moonlighting with Brew Jus. "It's really exciting to me to have the opportunity to influence another group of young cooks and chefs," Rick says. "It's kind of a nice reward for me to be able to do that." And he adds, "I'm very focused on quality and service. We're not going to slip at all here."

Diners can look forward to weekly specials, a late-night menu, a bar menu, craft cocktails, craft sodas and more. But one thing that might steal the thunder from the food is the fabulous indoor/outdoor patio with a towering wood-burning fireplace as the centerpiece. "We'll really have a 12-month feel to the patio," Rick notes, half of which will be closed off in the winter months so guests can still cozy up around the fireplace for cocktailing and dining.

The space, designed by none other than Ron Rea (a longtime friend of Rick's and Brian's), has a cozy Americana feel to it: wicker furniture on the indoor/outdoor patio, vintage pieces Rick has collected over time (including an antique hutch from an estate sale), an old park bench, stools that look like they came straight from a high school chem lab. The palette is soft and suits the stylish-yet-homey motif, like something you might find in the pages of Country Living. Where the trendy upscale comfort foot joints are universally gunning for urban-rustic, Local brings with it a certain bit of southern gentility, classic country without being corny. "Brian and I both had a very specific image in mind," Rick says. "We wanted it to be super-casual, not over-designed in any way. We wanted to have a lot of integrity in the feeling of this place. Ron's great like that."

The building itself used to be a gas station “a zillion years ago.” Part of the design aesthetic was to strip it down to some of the more iconic design elements, like the original wooden beams in the ceiling and the original brickwork. A communal table built of reclaimed wood will separate the bar from the dining room space. "Our space will be truly iconic for the neighborhood," Rick states. "Our food and service will be excellent, and our commitment to hospitality will be second to none."

Local opens later this month.

 

Dinner dates and why they're awful

Dating. It's awful. There are few things in the world more emotionally and physically degrading than dating. And it starts from the very first date: "Can I take you out to dinner?"

Now, if you are a mature, emotionally-adjusted, self-secure person, this probably sounds fine, possibly even flattering and fun. But if you're me -- and by that I mean essentially Jerry Seinfeld, and by that I mean essentially a neurotic New York Jew -- the panic sets in immediately.

On the plus side, free meal. (I will pretty much always eat a free meal; the reason for this will become clear later on.) And if you are a mature, emotionally-adjusted, self-secure person, another plus side might also be the opportunity to get to know someone new and for something romantic-ish to potentially blossom. (If you're me this thought is wrought with at least a dozen-and-sometimes-two potential negatives; I gauge all of the things that I will find unrelentingly irritating about you -- and you, me -- that will inevitably lead to a rash of vicious fighting, misery, sadness, resentment and loathing ultimately resulting in the termination of the relationship, then I thank the sweet lord baby Jesus I'm single and decide it best to not bother in the first place. But I am not what you would call a mature, emotionally-adjusted, self-secure person.)

With dinner comes the act of eating. And let's just be real here: is there any more revolting way to better get to know someone with whom you may one day wish to have sexy time than watching them eat? Sharing meals is indeed a cherished social experience and I have no argument as to it being the ultimate way to exchange convivialities with friends, but on a date??? THINK of all the ways in which it can go wrong! Bad breath from overly-onioned dishes, remnants of your meal in your teeth or on your face (or if you're exceptionally graceless, on your clothes), foods that demand a certain amount of uncouthness to consume (tacos! ribs! pizza!)...the potential for improprieties is unbounded.

Okay, so maybe it's a casual pizza date, but what exactly is a polite sexy-time way to eat pizza? Fork and knife? LAME. And seriously, I'm a healthy bitch -- I can smash a whole pizza by myself in one sitting, but on a date??? Surely this is not acceptable or attractive behavior on a date. Or maybe you order a steak and it's a bit tough and the knife is a bit dull and you saw and saw and saw away at it to no avail ... if I'm with friends I will think nothing of picking up that hunk of beef bare-fisted and ripping away at it with my incisors like the FLESH-EATING CARNIVORE THAT I AM, but on a date???

Sure, there's the porno image of a woman scandalously tonguing a cherry or deep-throating a banana, but odds are pretty good neither one of those items is going to be on the menu at the restaurant you visit. Odds are you'll be facing down fish (stinky, and sometimes bony), or pasta (bloaty and the sauce more often than not disagreeable to sensitive digestive tracts), or steak (see above), or pizza (above), or tacos (above), or BBQ (above), or Indian/Thai (fire butt), or sushi (the most disgusting thing ever to watch another human consume as pieces tend to be too big for most mouths and are by a feat of Japanese engineering IMPOSSIBLE to cut smaller).

I know for myself what a sad, sorry, disgusting, vile, depraved and wretched thing it is to witness me eat. It looks as if I'm attempting to kill the animal all over again. Even when that animal is salad. I eat like I've never seen food before and am afraid I might never see it again. (Part of me is always afraid I might never see food again. Maybe this is a survival instinct?) My friends know and understand this about me and I think they just politely look away while I attack my food with all the purpose, vigor and finesse of a famished Barbarian. But on a date???

I can't be the only person who thinks this. I can't be the only person who breaks out into a cold sweat at the suggestion of dinner with unknown company. I simply cannot be the only person who feels like a captive prisoner in such situations. And so I share this with all of you: it's okay to not want to go on that dinner date. It's okay to just go to a movie -- movies are great! Two hours in the dark during which time the burden of conversation is lifted with built-in conversation content afterwards (at the bar, without food because by that time it's already late enough that the kitchen has closed) AND you get to determine right off the bat whether the person's tastes suck or not! Movies are awesome, just go see movies! But for the love of bacon, beer and cheese spare me the embarrassment of worrying over stinky breath and upset stomachs and messy foods and inelegant manners.

I should write a dating advice column.

[Beerie] Good Morning Saison

Brewery Vivant's Farm Hand, a saison-style ale

Last week on Beerie, I discussed summertime session ales in the context of the American craft brewers' and consumers' tendency to glorify all that which is overwrought over beers with a bit more subtlety and civility. Confusion ensued. "YOU KNOW, hops aren't the same as ABV." Yesthankyou. Now I shall use even more words to say what I already said but make it clearer so there is no further confusion.

IBU and ABV are indeed entirely separate, but what I'm ultimately trying to get at is that a very high one or the other (or God save the queen, in combination) is not the ideal summer beer. Devil Dancer, referenced previously, is brutal and I would no sooner reach for that on a scorching summer's day than I would a gallon of ammonia. But for perspective's sake, Hopslam is a brilliant beer and I wouldn't touch that during an unholy heat wave with someone else's tongue either (Bell's definitely got it right by making it a dead-of-winter seasonal).

By incorporating both high ABV and high IBU beers into the argument, what I am ultimately trying to say is that neither really cuts it for the thirst-quenching poundability I seek in a session beer. Because, you see, while "session" refers mostly to ABV, it also refers to its general all day drinkability, and I for one have yet to meet the monstrously hoppy "session" beer I want to drink all day. Maybe you're a chest-thumping "hop-head" and happy I am for you in that; it's a good thing I'm writing this column on my blog and not you then.

You see, when we glorify these palate-killing, high-alcohol, hoppy cock-punches what ultimately results is the devaluing of aaaaaaaaaall the many other lovely beer styles that are not those things. (I mean, ferchrissakes, this is supposed to be an inventory of the best beers in the world.) And many of said devalued beer styles just so happen to be NON-hoppy, low-ABV session beers. Once again, the German weissbiers, the English milds and bitters, the Belgian farmhouse ales, the kolsch beers, the pilsners. Sure, the hoppiness is unrelated to the ABV, but these styles happen to clock in low on both scales and for that reason they present as ideal for thirst-quenching summer consumption.

And so, saisons. Most definitely my favorite of all the session styles for summer probably in no small part due to the fact that this is what they were MADE for.

The traditional saison is a low-alcohol farmhouse ale born in Belgium, brewed specifically for workers of the late summer harvest to be consumed in large quantities without getting the workers wasted. Modern saisons have a little more ABV oomph (though many hover around 5-6%, which by American AND Belgian craft standards is about as low as you can reasonably hope for), though they still have preciously few IBUs (20-35, compared to the 30-50 of pale ales -- also good summertime drankin', BTW). Saisons are dry, crisp, "light" (or at least just seem that way, even when they're not), and have a delicate yet complex flavor thanks to the use of special yeast (as is the case with pretty much every Belgian style, saisons are way more about the yeast than the hops; hops are anathema to the Belgian palate, which could explain my predisposition).

Saisons really haven't been "in vogue" for awhile, but they never really went away either, and now they finally appear to be coming into fashion once again. Saison Dupont and Omegang's Hennepin are certainly among the most well-known, but we've got some fine saisons coming out of Michigan (and almost-Michigan) from the likes of Jolly Pumpkin, Brewery Vivant, New Holland, Bastone and Chicago's Goose Island. Now together let's espouse the superiority of saisons for summer!

Next week on Beerie: Bringing Sexy (Beer) Back: A Conversation with Brewmaster Mike Hall

[HOT LIST] Coffee (redux)

Anthology at MoCAD.

In EID's first-ever Hot List (June 20, 2011), we took a look at our favorite coffee spots in and around Detroit. This simultaneously prompted a more in-depth piece for Metromode on some of our local roasters, and later a shout-out from yours truly on Curbed Detroit christening Detroit as the new Seattle. (For the record, I said it FIRST.) But so much has changed just in the last year, it's already time to re-visit.

Alas, metro Detroit's growing coffee culture has taken a recent hit with the closing of Thistle Coffeehouse, but the seeds have spread and already two more cafes are positioned to take its place: the Bottom Line in Midtown (opening July 23) and the Roasting Plant in the CBD coming this fall. What many of these places have in common is that they are of the next wave of coffeehouses -- the third wave and beyond. Many roast their own beans in-house and are exquisitely conscious of sourcing; the others may not roast themselves but source beans from some of the top roasters in the country (Stumptown, Intelligentsia) who are themselves known for their exquisite sourcing. What you can take away from all of this is that we sure do brew some good java in this here food desert.

#1 Anthology Coffee (Midtown/Corktown)
They sprung onto the scene as a finalist of the first-ever Hatch Detroit seed funding competition last fall, and are now featured in a regular pop-up at the Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit as they work on the build-out of their very own permanent location in Corktown. Yes Corktown, where Astro Coffee resides, but one can hardly call it competition when Astro uses Anthology's coffee. Given the ample seating, ease of parking and wholly accessible WiFi at the MoCAD space, if it's Anthology's coffee you seek you should probably just go there, the end. Roaster Josh Longsdorff, who still roasts for Birmingham's Commonwealth as well, is a master craftsman and his coffee is probably the best in Detroit. If you'd like to show your support, they're currently crowd-funding for their new roaster and you can pitch in a few bucks in exchange for some goodies here.

#2 The Great Lakes Coffee Roasting Co. Institute for Advanced Drinking (Midtown) / Torino Espresso + Bar (Ferndale)
How to choose between two places that serve both coffee AND booze??? You don't. Therefore, tie. The IFAD is newly-opened in Midtown and is already my new favorite place ever, which isn't to say I love my old favorite place ever (Torino) any less. The two establishments might both focus on coffee, cocktails and cheese + charcuterie platters, but the similarities end there. The vibes of each space are entirely different: Great Lakes is a little more rustic-modern, like Brooklyn and LA had a baby in Detroit, where Torino is more urban contemporary, Miami by way of the Midwest. Both have great patios. Be sure to check out the IFAD and if you find you can't decide between coffee or beer, they have the perfect daytime transition beverage: the 50/50, half Short's ControversiALE and half cold brew. As for Torino, they're celebrating their one-year anniversary on Sunday, July 29 with a pork party.

Summer galette from Pinwheel.

#3 The Red Hook (Ferndale)
Stumptown Coffee and Pinwheel Bakery. That they ever close is a source of continual sadness, as is the fact I don't live inside. One of the best pour-overs you'll find in all of greater metro Detroit, and also one of the best bakeries with both sweet and savory treats for every craving. And for realsies, all of it is outstanding.

#4 Commonwealth (Birmingham)
Don't let the fancy Birmingham hausfraus fool you, this place is legit. Outstanding coffee (DUH) and exceptional sustainably-sourced food make this pretty much one of the only places worth ever going to Birmingham for. And I also don't hate that parking in the nearby garage is free for the first two hours. If only there were more places worth visiting in that time ... but screw it, Commonwealth FTW.

#5 Germack Coffee Roasting Co. (Eastern Market)
It might sound ridiculous, but until Germack Coffee Roasting Co. opened in Germack's snazzy new digs in Eastern Market, the market had no coffee roaster to call its own. Now Germack, best known for those pink pistachios, has an adorbs cafe (with WiFi!) and store selling items from local producers like Slow Jams Jam and McClure's Pickles, as well as a variety of looseleaf teas and their own house-roasted coffees. The coffee still has a way to go while they hone their skills, but it definitely shows promise and hey, I can walk there, which on certain days makes it the best place in the whole entire world.

Bubbling under Courage Coffee (Hamtramck), Chazzano Coffee Roasters (Ferndale), Cafe Con Leche (SW Detroit), Astro Coffee (Corktown), the Ugly Mug Cafe (Ypsilanti), Comet Coffee (Ann Arbor), Chez Zara (Detroit), 14 East (Midtown), the (espresso) bar (Ann Arbor), the Lab Cafe (Ann Arbor), Zingerman's Coffee (Ann Arbor), HenriettaHaus Coffee Roasters (Ferndale), Renaissance Roastery (Detroit)

 

The Week We Ate (The EID Week in Review)

Eastern Market is now open on Tuesdays for the remainder of the summer. I have no snarky comment because Eastern Market is rad (and also they've got some different vendors that aren't there on Saturdays, and also there are way way wah-wah-way fewer people there which makes Tuesdays the new Saturdays or something). [WXYZ]

Griffin Claw in B-ham breaks ground. This could be the one, guys. [Birmingham Patch]

A lot of pigs died for this event. And so did a lot of whiskey trees. [Ferndale Patch]

SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION: Please buy tickets to this season's Detroit Passport to the Arts, for which I am on the advisory board, and also mark your calendars for the DIY Street Fair Sept. 14-16, for which I am a sponsor. KTHX. [EID FB]

Stiiiiiiiiiiill waiting on some staffer at one of the many, many local (and hyper-local) media outlets to explain why Onion Roll Deli closed. Because I'm not doing it. I'm not. [EID FB]

Famous Person Jamie Oliver descended upon the Rattlesnake with the cast and crew from his new show The Amazing Top Iron Chef Race (or whatever) for BBC America. [Eater / Rattlesnake FB]

BREAKING NEWS: half of the world's population likes beer just like the other half. Stellar reporting, IndyStar. [IndyStar]

Yes, you will be able to get the Rogue Voodoo Doughnut Bacon Maple Ale soon. No, I'm not sure you actually want to. [8 Degrees Plato Beer Co. FB]

The Free Press reports that Coach Insignia will be "making food the focus." You know, Coach Insignia ... the restaurant. This is almost as awesome as "delicious plant-based meals." Guys, let me know if you need some help writing titles over there. [Freep]

And the Branch Floridians cried into their pour-overs before riding their fixies home to water their carrots. [Salon]

[EID Feature] Drinking Beer and Telling Tales: IFAD

All photos by Nicole Rupersburg.

I am a teller of stories. It’s the part of this job I enjoy the most, the part that is the most interesting. If you want to know what kind of food a place serves or what it looks like on the inside, there are plenty of other media outlets that will provide that information for you in spades.

If you’d like to know what kind of food and drink is served at the new Great Lakes Coffee Roasting Company bar and café in Midtown, read here.

If you would like to know more about what it looks like on the inside, read here.

Now allow me to tell you a story.

The Great Lakes Coffee Roasting Co. bar (TGLCRC? …alas, a bit cumbersome) – an artisan coffeehouse and craft beer/wine/cocktail bar somewhat cheekily referred to as “The Institute for Advanced Drinking,” or IFAD for short (much better!) – was not a place I had intended on featuring. In my endless quest for ego gratification and the desire to be FIRST, I simply did not feel compelled to add my voice to the chorus that already have and will very soon be singing the praises of this place. If I’m going to write about something EVERYONE else is covering, I’m going to do so way before anyone else does (here, and also here).

And then I visited during the week of their soft open. And I chatted with partner, roastmaster and public personage James Cadariu. And now here I am, despite my aversion to redundancy, writing on the very place I had previously resigned to let every other blogger and writer in town trip over. TGLCRC, IFAD, the Institute … call it what you will, but this place is on another level. This isn’t just another bar with trendy city cred and equal parts hipster and booster appeal. (It is both of those things, but also more.) It is a place to communicate and commiserate, to caffeinate and congregate, to imbibe and indulge. To work. And also play.

James Cadariu is also a storyteller. I had a chance to sit with him at length and get what is ultimately just a glimpse into his mind, but found it a fascinating place to wander around. So here is a little piece of his story; the rest I suggest you discover for yourself by bellying up to the bar and engaging him in conversation. (He’s the guy with the beard, and you’ll know what I mean by that when you see him.)

James started roasting coffee while working as an attorney in wine law (a background which has certainly helped inform the IFAD endeavor). At the time Great Lakes was owned by Greg Miracle and was still importing coffee in addition to roasting it; now they roast and sell only their own and for several years have functioned primarily as a roaster/wholesaler.

Great Lakes started as a retail space in Eastern Market’s Shed 2, when the Eastern Market Corporation began courting independent food businesses and start-ups (and not just farmers). “We came into it backwards,” James says of opening a café after securing a position as what has become easily the largest wholesaler of locally-roasted fair trade organic coffee in metro Detroit.

James, much like the other artisan coffee roasters in metro Detroit who are collectively contributing to the Seattleification of the area, is seeking to undo the damage that was done during the decades of coffee’s commodification, when it was a mass-produced household commodity freeze-dried and shipped in plastic tubs, a product of agricultural industrialization. He wants people to treat it more like wine, to discover its nuances and complexities. The booth in Eastern Market was the first time the Great Lakes staff engaged the customer directly; as they began to foster those direct customer relationships, the idea for a Great Lakes café took root.

He could have opened ‘the Institute’ in Ferndale or Royal Oak, but he wasn’t interested in that. Instead, he connected with “Mayor of Midtown” Sue Mosey, long-time President of the University Cultural Center Association, and had what he jokes is the “traditional experience of driving around in Sue’s Subaru looking at spaces when you’re trying to open a business in Midtown.” It ended up being a serendipitous relationship; Great Lakes is housed in the same building as the Midtown Co-Lab, part of the Woodward Corridor Initiative that will be a long-term evolving project rehabilitating vacant spaces all along the Woodward Corridor. James’s plan is to evolve with them. “The idea of activating a blighted block all at the same time interested me more than just the realm of coffee,” he states. “[These are] the relationships that add value to the drinks. Part of it was planned; part of it has taken on a life of its own.”

He hopes to repeat the same formula with Mosey in the future, opening coffee houses that are community spaces that help shape and build the community around them. “I don’t want to franchise the fuck out of it,” James says firmly. “This is sort of my baby, my vision. We can take this from one blighted area to another. If you have an anchor tenant like this, that brings people in.” He speaks of the traditional coffee house as being a place where people talked, where ideas were exchanged, where relationships were formed. With the Institute he wants to foster a community space where people can come to work (they’ve got WiFi) and meet and talk … and also drink. “I know from planning this business I made more relationships at the corner of Slows’ bar that I would have anywhere else.”

James is most interested in building relationships – with customers, with the community, with the farmers and distributors and winemakers. “As we go through this we have these relationships with the coffee farmers we’re trying to promote … [we’re more interested] in the quality of the product and the relationships [with the people who make it].” He says that they are intentionally being very selective in their approach. “We want to know as many of the people who grow the grapes [and] who make the beer [as we can]. Those relationships have value.”

And those relationships are often born out of the stories behind the places and producers, like wine made from grapes grown on the side of a volcano with no commercial yeast or sulfur dioxide added in. He wants grapes that are sustainably grown, wine that is in its natural state straight from the vine, “not fucked with,” and to be able to manage that whole chain of knowing the grower, the winemaker, the importer, all the way down to the customer. “My relationship with [my] customer is in having all those other things in line … I don’t want it to seem pretentious but we did select these things for a reason.” He says that part of that selectivity is inherent in his business ethos, but “part of it is also because that’s how I want to drink.”

In talking to James it is clear that this is a person who is utterly restless in the best possible way. Words pour out of him with such fluidity that the best you can do is cast a mental net and hope to catch as much as you can. “I would keep getting degrees and never got a job I enjoyed. I had such an odd life…” This is a guy who went to Scotland just to try Scotch because he wanted to learn more about it. “My mom always said it would all come together and it finally feels like it is.”

He is very much the storyteller himself, telling tales peppered with sly one-liners you might miss over the sound of your own blinking – stories of his parents, stories of the city, stories of himself. “Story-telling to me is part of the fabric of any society,” he says. He speaks of old men sitting around a table reminiscing over the way things used to be, and how he loves the idea of the old Irish poet. “Food to me [also] ties into this a lot. Food has this element of bringing people together.” He jokes, “The key to peace in the Middle East is falafel!”

Ultimately James wants the Institute to be a place that helps build community. And not just the community of entrepreneurs and creative types who will inevitably be drawn to the space, but the drinking community as well. And not the SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS drinking community; James seeks to be more civilized. He wants to share these tremendous (and tremendously limited) wines he has sourced, and the quirky coffee-based cocktails they’ve created, and the crazy wild yeast-fermented beers they’ve acquired. “My goal is to expose as many people to these things as possible. I’m not worrying about ‘competition’ but about everybody having good wines so I have somewhere to go … [this is] the agenda of the drinking crowd, not to be pretentious or douchey but just to get better product out there.”

Recently there has been a bit of a surge in craft bars and artisan coffee roasters opening in and around Detroit (Astro Coffee, Sugar House and Anthology, just to name a few), and James welcomes it. “I think that helps the overall culture of this area … we need to collaborate because there’s so much crap out there, and [we need to] be exposing people to [better products] so they’re looking for that.”

James has many ideas for future plans and other things he can do with this concept, and as someone who doesn’t ever seem to rest easy we can be assured it will only be a small matter of time before his next big project. He jokes that no matter what he does, “I would love to have booze anywhere I go. It’s just normal. Why isn’t that true in all parts of life?”

Indeed.

Want to see more? View the Flickr set here.

Don't call me a food critic

There is an aphorism: if you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen. Would that every restaurant owner paid heed to this advice.

I am not a food critic. Anyone who calls me a food critic is terribly mistaken as to what the term "food critic" actually means. I write for multiple publications about the food and restaurant industry; yes. I also have this blog for funsies, in which I get to indulge my love of story-telling and rabble-rousing. I do not, however, critique food. Which is probably for the best as I feel that that's probably the least interesting part of what I do and I usually find myself acutely bored when having to give detailed descriptions of dishes, but that is neither here nor there. I am a food writer; not a food critic. It is a distinction that needs to be made. Here's why.

I'll let you in on a little secret: I don't actually love everything. I know. It's, like, you'd think with how much I try to support all these many, many different businesses through my various media (traditional, social and web) channels that I must think that every last one of them is the cat's ass. They're not. Most aren't. Hell, here in metro Detroit the bar is set so excruciatingly low that places that rank among THE BEST is a purely relative positioning: the best of what we have is far more accurate. That being said, readers probably wouldn't be keen to read every post here and on Facebook bookended with, "It's really only just okay, but it's the best we got so whad'rya gonna do?"

But readers aren't the only ones who wouldn't appreciate that. No no no no no Jesus on a mother-ing pterodactyl no. I can't tell you if this is a phenomenon entirely unique to Detroit (we do like to think everything is unique to us; it's not, but in this case where every association is a matter of the two degrees of Detroit there could be some of that small town self-policing mentality at play), or if the pandering to advertisers and business owners' egos is more pandemic, but I can tell you this: you can't say anything remotely critical without being A BIG MEAN MEANIE WHO DOESN'T SUPPORT SMALL BUSINESSES.

It's true. The three times a year that I'm not blowing rainbow-colored, candy-scented smoke about some local restaurant I have to deal with a business owner with a butt-hurt getting all pissy-pants on Facebook.* Owning a business is hard. I get it. But this pitiful expectation that all people absolutely must be blindly, unquestioningly supportive of your business in perpetuity solely by virtue of the fact that you exist isn't just ridiculous; it's insulting. Then there's always the old go-to: "We do some much for the community!!!" Oh, well, in that case, your product and service can suck (or your business ethics be downright criminal) so long as you donate food to fundraisers. And the violins played on.

Yes, I see the logic there. Look, I do a lot for the community too: I put asses in the seats of your businesses and get people to spend money at your establishments which ultimately enables you to stay open for all of your community-supporting martyrdom. And I do all of this for free. YOU'RE WELCOME. But let's not argue the color of red herrings.

In addition to business owners with butt-hurts, there is also the almighty ad dollar to contend with. I'm going to let you in on another little secret: everyone caters to their advertisers. Everyone. Without exception. EVERYONE. Some publications just happen to be more forthright about it, and that might just be the only real honesty left. The death knell of undiluted critique in the media** rang a long, long time ago; we just forgot to have a funeral. There may have once been a time when the sanctity of critique was valued over the necessity of ad revenue, when advertisers were easily replaced but reputations weren't (and actually mattered), when the editorial department actually dictated content. Those days are dunzo.

In a compulsively litigious society in which all egos are precious and value is measured in ad dollars, there simply is no room left for criticism. Traditional media outlets (I'm specifically referring to print pubs here) have been downsizing en masse over the last decade. Circulation is down, advertising is down, therefore employment is down. As the old guard struggles to adapt to new media (IT'S CALLED THE INTERNET), there really isn't an effective money-making model currently in play. Print pubs hemorrhage money and the best thing we've come up with for online revenue generation is click-through advertising, which is kind of like trying to move a car by pushing it WITH YOUR MIND even though the keys are in the ignition and the engine is running. In their panic, publishers cater to the advertisers they can keep. And so much of journalism has become mere PR.

At the end of the day, I'd rather dazzle with prose than with my knowledge of quinoa; the New York Times, that one-time monolith of journalistic integrity, would rather wax poetic on pesto. Maybe the death of critique doesn't really matter; maybe it's fallacious to believe it ever really existed in any kind of pure form in the first place. (After all, the only reason newspapers and broadcast media exist is for advertising, and that isn't so much a sweeping statement as it is the subject of countless volumes of critical media theory.) But whatever you do, do not make the mistake of confusing food PR with food criticism. Print might not (yet) be dead, but the role of the critic is.

*Some will assume this comment is referencing a specific business in light of recent events and is therefore a personal attack. It is not. While this post is inspired by a recent encounter, it has more to do with a culmination of experiences and observations over time, and something I've been wanting to say for a long, long while. If anything, said recent encounter was of the most pleasant sort possible given the circumstances.

**For the purposes of this post I am specifically speaking of traditional restaurant criticism when speaking of "media" and "journalism," though one could certainly make a case for this "journalism as PR" motif being much more rampant and wide-spread across the whole of journalism, though sometimes the word "advertisers" would need to be replaced with "political parties," "special interest groups" and "lobbyists." But that's a different rant entirely.