Heyo!
I’ve been writing a lot about Detroit lately, so I think after this week I’ll try to give the D a break and move on to some cool restaurants in Pittsburgh and Austin. Any thoughts or recommendations there? Let me know your moves.
Pittsburgh’s got some really fun stuff happening, and it’s still largely a food city that doesn’t get proper representation. I’m also always seeing L.A. people talk shit about Austin’s food (specifically tacos), so I think I’ll spend some time later this month highlighting why those people are stupid and wrong. I’ve got a trip to Austin planned September 25th - 29th. Anything I need to hit specifically? Let me know!
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When a fellow food writer lets you down…
Recently, I started following a prominent Detroit-based food writer on Instagram. Their name will remain anonymous, but I saw that last week this person went to Flyleaf in Grosse Pointe. Flyleaf seemed to be a sure thing—a rad bar, book store, and bistro. When I visit Detroit, I’m there to see my girlfriend, and we’re always looking for book stores and restaurants to hit. But, I got a bad feeling when I went to visit Flyleaf’s website. Though no menu was provided, they described their food as “elevated small plates.” Cue the Hitchcock dolly zoom.
I’ve been around long enough to know that elevated small plates means overpriced and bland—stuffy, French preparations without any modern zing. The most OK tartare you’ve ever had. A long, rectangular plate with three deviled eggs. Micro greens!! Still, there’s no way the food here could actually be bad, right? There’s no way a well known food writer would publicly post about this place if it sucked.
I was wrong, and they were, too.
Walking into Flyleaf feels like infiltrating a country club. It feels like the type of place somebody might earnestly utter the word “plebeian.” It is drastically wealthy and white, so much so that my girlfriend and I had a good laugh as four women dressed for a golf tournament turned their heads while we walked through the front door.
The scallops ($23) come with shaved mushrooms, asparagus, grated parmesan, toasted pine nuts, and truffle oil. And they smelled. I hate to say this, but man, the scallops truly smelled fishy and bad. Do you know how hard it is to serve smelly scallops when you’re also using truffle oil? That shit is potent, and I still smelled salty, stenchy scallops. Scallops should never reek. I honestly didn’t even know that they could. They should smell refreshingly sweet and faintly meaty, almost like seaweed. For $23, this money would have been better spent at Hardee’s (a place which offers no salvation only pain).
Surely, though, French fries, the most impossible-to-fuck-up-but-regularly-fucked-up food of all time, would not disappoint in a well regarded establishment such as this. Wrong, Danny. You idiot. Wrong wrong wrong wrong.
Eating these fries, I thought, “I don’t know who I am anymore.” How did I wind up having a meal this bad? This almost never happens. I pride myself on intel. On scouting restaurants. On knowing good food, but more importantly, on knowing what I like. These were some of the most unspectacular French fries I’ve had to date. Herby and crunchy enough, but these were no better than fries that come out of a Rally’s bag. A paper cone and a wooden flight of condiments are a surefire sign that you just overpaid by about $5 for fries, and they cost $9.
I felt betrayed. How on earth could this food writer actually like this place? To be fair, they didn’t post any pictures of the food itself. It seems as though they were smitten by the ambiance. Perhaps the cozy fireplace and the books lured them into a false sense of assurance.
Let this be a lesson: Don’t post pictures endorsing a restaurant without first trying the food. Sure, your wedge salad might look pretty, but hold off on posting that Instagram story until you’ve actually tasted it.
I know you’re not supposed to say bad things about restaurants; people’s livelihoods are at stake here. But, I’m confident everybody behind this bookstore/bistro for dentists will land on their feet. One of the comments I often get is, “why are you so mean?” First of all, I come from the world of stand-up. Everybody is mean. Secondly, listen, there is nothing wrong with railing against wealthy, white institutions. Grosse Pointe is 89% white, and you’re made fully aware of that when you try the homemade ketchup.
Maybe Flyleaf is just too new. Maybe they’re still figuring out their shit. The space is beautiful and shiny (the bar literally beams), but the food lags severely. Of note: The caramelized onion dip with whipped ricotta looked awesome, but alas it was only available for lunch.
If anybody out there wants to give Flyleaf another chance, I’d suggest going there for lunch, ordering a glass of wine, some dip, and perusing the vast library. Here’s the thing, though: You can also just do that home.
Maybe eating in rich, white neighborhoods isn’t the move? Who knew????
On a more pleasant note, I spent last Friday in Grand Haven, and I had a great walleye fish sandwich.
Grand Haven is a small little beach town on the west side of Michigan. My girlfriend, Audrey, and her family have been going for decades, so we thought we’d check it out for a chill, cute-as-fuck Friday. Man, the shores of Lake Michigan are beautiful. Clean sand. Clean water. I got tan as hell, ate a bunch of candy, and I also found a walleye fish sandwich at The Copper Post.
The walleye po’ boy is $13.95, and comes with arugula, tomato, and remoulade on a toasted hoagie roll. As far as fish sandwiches go, it was pretty standard, but man the toasted hoagie roll was stellar. It’s got that thin, crispy, toasty quality reminiscent of a Cubano sandwich or a medianoche. Not quite a baguette, not quite a hoagie roll, this bread makes an excellent fish sandwich. If you can get good Cuban bread, might I recommend making a filet-o-fish out of it. That would be an excellent move.
But back to this fish sandwich: Maybe hoagie rolls and Cuban bread are just very similar. This is thinner than most hoagie rolls, though, and there’s a lardy quality to it, too. It’s got a sheen. I mean, doesn’t this just look like Cuban bread? For reference, here’s an istock photo of a Cuban sandwich…
The bread looks similar right? Regardless, The Copper Post’s roll was crunchy, thin, and had a toasty outer crust to it. It made for a very interesting sandwich.
Walleye is great because it’s mild, flaky, and a little sweet, too. Great for beer batter. There’s a reason Thomas Keller used walleye at the French Laundry for so long. It’s an elegant, all-purpose fish.
The sandwich itself needed some tang, though, so I placed a couple of fried pickle chips on it. What a move. There are those who feel that pickles don’t belong on a fish sandwich, but I don’t understand that one bit. Nothing wrong with some added tartness, especially to cut through the batter and bread.
Moreover, combining elements of a fish sandwich with elements of a Cubano might just be a winning combination. Perhaps a walleye fish sandwich with some mustard, mayo, and a generous helping of tangy pickles? Something tells me that Swiss cheese doesn’t go on a fish sandwich, but a slice of ham might. It could be worth trying. I’m sure at some point I’ll experiment with this idea in my home kitchen.
We also got the pickleback chips for $8.95, which did not disappoint.
I much, much prefer fried pickle chips to spears, and these were lovely—beer battered, lightly crispy, and served with some of the best damn ranch you’ve ever had. People complain about the Midwest as being “ranch territory” but what the fuck is wrong with that??? Ranch made well is amazing. Most of the ranch dressings I’ve tried recently—Jet’s, Bunny Bunny (more on that Friday), and now The Copper Post—have far exceeded the ranch I’ve had in Southern California. Creamy, herby, tangy, and otherwise viscous, Michigan might just be ranch country, and I’m here for it.
Thanks for reading The Move!
This has been incredibly fulfilling, so I appreciate those of you who are paying for this thing. Eventually, probably by the end of the year, I’m going to make one of the two posts a week a paid subscriber-only post. For now, though, it’s all free baby.
Tell your friends, will ya?
Yes! Grand Haven represent