Heyo!!!
The NFL Draft is in Detroit this weekend. I could care less about the event itself, but if the estimated half a million people (seriously) discover and patronize all of the cool restaurants that exist in this fine city, well, that’s rad for everyone.
Even if half a million is a bitttt of a stretch, still, a couple hundred thousand seems insane to me for something that’s not even a GAME. It’s a literal selection event; the equivalent of announcing who gets to go on the Bachelor next season. Is that worth all of this nonsense? It’s not like the Pope is coming here to eat a Coney dog (something he should do if he really wants to speak to God.)
Restaurants here are going to be absolutely slammed, and there certainly seems to be an “all hands on deck” attitude around town. Many of the finer establishments downtown are adapting their menus to fit a more casual, football-fare vibe. Simple, repeatable menu items are going to be key to surviving this weekend.
I imagine many of the “willing-to-travel-for-the-draft” folks are undoubtedly going for an authentic pizza + Coney experience, but the city really has so much more to offer, and I’m barely scratching the surface myself.
For Starters, The Pasta in Detroit is Quite Good
Most people with a cursory knowledge of Detroit probably file the food here under “things that will destroy my ass.” Chili dogs, Detroit-style pizza, and corned beef egg rolls rightfully get a lot of love, but the city is also chock full of lovely restaurants providing delicate, nuanced meals utilizing Michigan’s rich bounty of produce.
One of the things I’ve been curious about since moving here: What is Detroit’s pasta scene like? Is it fun and fusion-y like Los Angeles? Is it classic? Mostly Italian-American? Are there lots of artisan pasta makers? More importantly, if I decide to once again start selling meatballs out of my apartment, will people seek it out?
These are questions I’m still asking, but one thing I can say is that I have been encouraged with with the pasta I’ve had in Detroit thus far, and I’m even more excited to unfurl its larger identity here. Hand made pasta with fresh, local ingredients seems to be the move here. Here’s three that reflect that vibe.
The Sourdough Garganelli at Mad Nice
Food I liked at a restaurant I fucking hate.
Last week I said that Mad Nice was the physical embodiment of a cocaine mirror, and I stand by that. Since writing that Scrooge-like paragraph, numerous folks in the restaurant industry reached out to tell me that they too hate this 2006 popped collar of a restaurant. It’s just not my kind of place.
All that to say, look, I don’t ever feel great when I say disparaging things about a restaurant. But usually I justify doing so with my own reasons—the restaurant is overpriced, there’s a dress code, the space exists in a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood, or sometimes the owner is just a dick. I want to state, however, that people’s jobs are always at stake here. I don’t love food criticism for that reason. I’m fully aware and care that there are chefs employed at these places. And, as much as it pains me to say it, I’m inclined to think the chefs at Mad Nice do a pretty damn good job.
The sourdough garganelli features green garlic, parm, eggplant, and dukkah, and it costs $23. Dukkah is an Egyptian blend of nuts, seeds, and spices. You’ll usually taste coriander, cumin, and toasted sesame seeds in dukkah. Here, it adds some lovely nuttiness, warm spice, and crunch (kind of replacing the texture of toasted breadcrumbs.) The green garlic added a fresh bite, and the whole thing tasted very lemony, strong, and piquant. Honestly, I was surprised at how aggressive the flavor here was. Didn’t think Mad Nice had it in em’. I was also a tad bit drunk at this point, but this pasta really hit the spot.
No, I don’t recommend going to Mad Nice. But, I want to give the chefs their flowers. This pasta tasted great. Oh, and garganelli is an all-time line in Succession. It’s just a funny pasta. I was actually mad when I saw this line appear on Succession. I have always used garganelli as a punchline in jokes about pasta.
The orecchiette at Selden Standard
Unlike Mad Nice’s obnoxious and sanitized decor, Selden Standard’s design is straight forward and mechanically pretty. It feels designed to look like a good food factory. I love the open kitchen, the sleek bar, and the awesome staff. I chatted it up with a few employees, and they all love working there. Apparently, they get treated very well at Selden, and that’s so damn good to hear.
The menu rotates from season to season, so I don’t know if it’ll be available much longer, but the orecchiette with anchovy, stracciatella, and rapini ($24) was terrific. The deep, chewy, handmade orecchiette with rimmed edges really wowed me; the form here is better than my own. These “little ears” are cavernous, and they famously pick up little bits of cheese, rapini, and breadcrumb, allowing you to get all of the ingredients in one bite. Good stracciatella goes a long way, too—it’s just so damn buttery and creamy. This dish is light, lemony, and balanced. One of the more refreshing pastas I’ve had in quite some time. Go get it.
Selden Standard
3921 2nd Ave.
Detroit, MI
48201
All of The Big, Sloppy, Italian-American Pastas at Roman Village
My first writing assignment here in Detroit brought me to Roman Village, a mainstay for in Dearborn for over 60 years. The article I’m writing isn’t a restaurant review per se, but more-so a story about the Rugiero family and their contributions to the Dearborn community. However, my editor, Kate, seemed very happy with what I wrote about the food. I’ll share a section of that below:
What makes Roman Village such a breath of fresh air is that it remains unchanged in an ever evolving restaurant landscape. By and large pasta has become a luxury item. Today, it’s standard practice to charge $25 for cacio e pepe (a dish that literally translates to two ingredients—cheese and pepper.) Prices for fresh pasta around Detroit vary from $25-$35, but at Roman Village they hover reliably at twenty bucks or less.
“Our prices are ridiculous,” Patrick admits about a trend that’s prevalent across the country. Oftentimes, what you pay for at a restaurant is a show—pink leather couches, chandeliers, the fancy environment. As a result, restaurants often charge $10 more for homemade pasta.
At Roman Village, though, you get it all. The environment is lively, the pasta is homemade, and the price remains a throwback. An enormous plate of spaghetti carbonara costs $20.95. Covatelli bolognese runs for $19.95, and a classic, Italian-American fettuccine Alfredo only sets customers back $20.95.
Keep in mind that this is still fresh pasta—pasta that’s made daily in the dining room at each of the Rugiero owned and operated restaurants. Dough is made with eggs and flour, and then extruded through a large pasta machine imported from Italy. Linguine and fettuccine run through the machine’s bronze die, while other shapes like rigatoni and mostaccioli have their own separate attachments. Long, wavy sheets of pasta dough are cranked through to make lasagna, as well as provide the foundation for stuffed pastas like ravioli and baci.
Baci, literally meaning “kisses'' in Italian, are a small, stuffed, purse-shaped pasta that hails from the Piedmont region, which borders France and Switzerland. Roman Village highlights many pasta dishes native to Northern Italy, a cuisine known for its hearty, rich sauces.
Take their bolognese, which features a mix of beef and pork, plenty of tomatoes, aromatics and a pour of heavy cream. The gnocchi Rita sauce, a recipe which comes directly from the matriarch Rita, includes pancetta, mushrooms, and smooth pillows of potato gnocchi.
The comforting menu has translated well to Detroit's temperature climate. Though Antonio himself was from Calabria, Rita’s central Italian roots and Northern Italian influence are what customers experience at the restaurant. The Roman Village menu is a wonderful spread of robust ragus, stuffed pastas, and American-influenced continental classics.
For the Alfredo sauce, cream is used instead of the traditional Roman preparation of al burro. A plate littered with small, prosciutto and Grana Padana stuffed baci are accompanied by heavy cream and peas, giving a nod to an Americanized carbonara (though, a classic carbonara made with eggs and pancetta also sits on the menu.) Soothing chicken pastina is made with poultry broth and little bits of freshly diced pasta from the extruder. Sun-dried tomatoes, a forgotten linchpin of the 90’s, find their way into aglio e olio, and chicken masala, veal picatta, and linguini and clams all make special appearances.
This isn’t just a red sauce joint in Detroit, this is the red sauce joint in Detroit.
The food at Roman Village is saucy, and the portions are hefty. “We’re consistent. The menu doesn’t change much,” says Patrick. This consistency has resulted in not just longevity, but expansion. Roman Village has undergone many renovations since Antonio bought the small pizzeria on a handshake deal written on a placemat in the 60’s. “We always thought he was joking when he said that,” Patrick laughs, “After he died, we went through some boxes and found the actual placemat.”
I love a good red sauce joint, and Roman Village is a fun one. Kudos to them on 60 years of keeping prices low and the portions hefty. There will always be a special place in my heart for restaurants like this one.
Roman Village
9924 Dix Ave.
Dearborn, MI 48120
That’s it! Thanks for reading the Move. If you live in Detroit, be safe out there this weekend. You’re going to be surrounded by the worst kinds of football nerds.
Hopefully, I’ll be back with a post on Monday! Thanks so much for reading.
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