The Move at Three Detroit Restaurants
Mango cheesecake, Detroit-style pizza, kibbeh salads, and more!
Heyo!
Yeah, yeah, this week’s edition of The Move is a little bit late. GET OFF MY ASS. Then get back on my ass! It feels good!
I’m trying to get this newsletter out on Mondays and Fridays, but sometimes life happens. I spent this past weekend in Detroit (hence, today’s topic) and have been resting up since I got back. Before I dive mouth first into the Motor City, though, here’s a roundup of other things I’ve been writing and eating:
Over at The Takeout, I wrote about thick Utah milkshakes and why Nebraska fast food chain Runza is the worst food I’ve eaten all year. Seriously, the runzas at Runza are fucking bad. It’s the most deliberately tasteless food I’ve ever had in my life, and it’s fascinating. Is everybody in Nebraska OK? How is stuffed bread allowed to be this bland? Moral of the story: Tradition will sometimes betray you.
I’m especially proud of the Utah milkshake article. Thick milkshakes make a ton of sense; it’s not just some hyper-regional nonsense. Overall, I was very much smitten by the fast food in Utah. Don’t sleep on it. There’s a lot of gems.
The Kibbeh Pittsburgh Salad is One of One
Two days before I hit the road for Detroit, I made some fried kibbeh and put it on top of a Pittsburgh salad. A Pittsburgh salad, for you poor bastards who don’t know, is a salad topped with French fries. It also usually features a protein of some kind, shredded cheese, and chef salad or deli-centric vegetables like boiled eggs, olives, thinly sliced red onions, and pickled banana peppers. Though grilled chicken and steak are the most prevalent meats to see on a Pittsburgh salad, the protein can literally be anything.
Enter fried ovals of kibbeh. There is exactly one restaurant in New Castle, Pennsylvania that does this, so I wrote about it for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. That article drops later this month, but the quick version is this: Syrian and Lebanese immigrants moved to New Castle in the early 20th century to get steel and tin jobs, and they shaped the food culture permanently. At most bars in town, you can order a lamb sandwich with a Yuengling draft. How cool is that?
The kibbeh Pittsburgh salad’s home is at Cedar’s bar and restaurant in the South Side of New Castle, which was once owned by my great Uncle Frank. My grandma, Eleanore Sikofilos Palumbo, also worked there as a cook. The kibbeh Pittsburgh salad is a bar salad that features a mound of fresh cut fries, fried kibbeh, shredded cheddar, iceberg, tomatoes, cucumbers, and hard boiled eggs. I eat it with ranch and Italian dressing. Ranch and kibbeh is going to piss some people off, but don’t fetishize authenticity. Cross-culture foods are wonderful.
Though, there might be a bit of whitewashing going on (kibbeh is spelled kibbi?), and pairing kibbeh with Midwestern salad dressing might appear to be colonizing traditional Levant food at first glance, but I wouldn’t be so presumptuous to assume that immigrants in New Castle haven’t themselves embraced this dish. Just roll with it.
I developed recipe instructions for how to make your own kibbeh Pittsburgh salad at home. It’ll be in print for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette later this month. I’ll post the article here at The Move when it drops.
Writing it meant a lot to me. And to my family.
Ok, now on to Detroit, where I spent the past weekend. But, first, subscribe ya dope!
Detroit Restaurant #1: Warda
Order every pastry you can at Warda Pâtisserie. Don’t be reasonable or shy. Over order, then order some more. Then share them with the people you love most.
What James Beard winning pastry chef Warda Bouguettaya has accomplished at Warda in Midtown, Detroit is incredible. I can’t even begin to understand how labor intensive and inspired some of these pastries are, but just contemplating them overwhelms me. As a result, I’ve been reduced to a speechless guy shoving cheesecake in his mouth while getting lost in the incredibly rugged texture of a room temperature quiche. “Yummy!” and “Pretty!” says my dulled brain in the face of such masterful cakes and cookies.
That’s OK, though, because Warda is meant to stagger you. I mean, just look at this checkered strawberry cheesecake, which ensures that you get an equal amount of strawberry to makrut lime cheesecake in every bite. Or this torta forestière that features locally grown blue oyster mushrooms braised with garlic and herbs before being gently folded into a ricotta custard. Or this smooth and crumbly sablé which contains a strawberry ganache and rosehip cream center. At Warda, I get the sense that it’s rather easy to forget that you’re eating seasonally because the craftsmanship and French technique is so astonishing.
Refreshingly, nothing at Warda is overly sweet, so you really get to appreciate the artistry and quality of ingredients without being bombarded by a sugar rush. I also love that everything chef Warda bakes seems to have multiple influences from around the world, whether it’s the creamy and custardy matcha and coconut flan, which is light, milky, and aromatic, or the passion fruit maritozzi, an Italian cream-filled bun with South American influence.
The move here starts with mango cheesecake (pictured above). There’s a thin, silky layer of mango gelée spread over the rich cut of cheesecake that’s both fruity and restrained. The next must order is the dos gardenias, pictured below.
The dos gardenias is a cookie layered with a cookie—a pistachio macaroon bottom coupled with a ladyfinger base. The center conceals a citrusy rhubarb compote surrounded by crème fraîche mousse, and the smooth, waxy coating you see is actually a thin layer of rhubarb glaze and sweet strawberry jam. Together, they combine to form a crunchy, chewy, fruity, decadent, restrained, and artful dessert. It appears somewhat fanciful, like it exists solely to be a decorative gift, but that’s part of the fun of Warda. Behold the dos gardenias and surely you’ll imagine the look on somebody else’s face, too. That’s the feeling Bouguettaya inspires as a whole—generosity.
In this article for the Detroit Free Press, which recounts her accepting a James Beard Award with tears, chef Warda says, “I wanted Warda Pâtisserie to reflect the America I left my motherland for.” But Bouguettaya, a native of Algeria who has traveled the world, hasn’t just graced her customers with the flavors and experiences of her homeland. She has successfully brought the whole damn world to Detroit.
More than anything, though, I’m stunned by her fearlessness. The fearlessness to weave all of these different cultures together seamlessly. Perfectly executed and evenly distributed, just like her strawberry makrut lime cheesecake.
Detroit Restaurant #2: Barda
Barda is an open fire restaurant with lots of Latin-American influence. On this particular visit, Peruvian ingredients and flavors were front and center.
The burnt zucchini ceviche at Barda is a flat-out assault of acid, pepper, and garlic, and I loved every minute of it. It’s decidedly a Peruvian-inspired ceviche made with aji verde (that is, the Peruvian green sauce made with aji amarillos, huacatay, cilantro, onion, and lime juice). Whether Barda uses actual aji amarillos or the more easily accessed paste, I don’t know. The foundation of Peruvian cuisine is the rare, elusive aji amarillo, it’s hard to come by, though. They might also use a pepper like serrano or jalapeño in place of ajis altogether. Still, the ceviche has wonderful flavor and the walnuts make this dish look like a stunning wreath or an everything bagel.
The black rice was a bit of a letdown, though. It’s all lemon and small scallops. I wish this dish had more fat. There’s a noticeable heavy hand with the acid. Lemons, limes, and vinegar play key roles. For some, it might be too much.
The Caesar salad at Barda is like a caesar-wedge, and you should order it.
Barda’s Caesar salad comes served as a pair, with two perfectly curled wedges of gem lettuce, anchovy, a snowstorm of Parmesan cheese, breadcrumb, anchovy filets, and a generous smear of Caesar dressing. The way this thing is plated, I immediately thought “hand-held food.” I picked up my portion of the salad, dipped it into dressing, then took a huge bite. It’s structurally sound and perfectly assembled so that you can eat this salad with your hands.
My girlfriend used a knife and fork for her half of the salad, and it seemed to spill out caesar guts everywhere. To me, clearly, this salad is meant to be eaten sans utensils. The bartender, though, said that I am the only person they’ve ever seen to do this. Barda has been open for over two years. What can I say? I’m an innovator.
Barda is pricey, but worth it. We had the caesar ($15), Peruvian potatoes with shaved cured egg yolk ($15), burnt zucchini ceviche ($24!), and the black rice with Peruvian scallops ($34!!). Was it worth it? Mostly. I love the Peruvian flavors and ingredients, and Barda has an awesome atmosphere.
Sit at the bar: The checkered bar top is not only gorgeous to look at it, it’s cool, textured and comfortable. Almost like you’re eating on a gorgeous looking kitchen floor.
Detroit Restaurant #3: Grandma Bob’s
If you love Detroit-style pizza, then Grandma Bob’s is a place worth getting it. The flavor is unique, the preparations are experimental, and the toppings kick ass.
The Sicilian-style focaccia dough at Grandma Bob’s has a sort of pungent, over-fermented, wine-y flavor to it, but it absolutely works. Some people don’t like that taste, but all I see here is added flavor. It could also be that the tomatoes were cooked in wine, but I believe the flavor comes from the dough itself.
The spicy pepperoni pizza ($18) is a perfect, grandma-style sheet tray pizza with a crunchy, nearly burnt crust and a fluffy, airy, porously doughy center. It’s topped with tangy banana peppers, pepperoni, ricotta, oregano, and mike’s hot honey.
Grandma Bob’s homemade ranch is thick and creamy, not thin and gloppy like Ken’s; this feels whipped. I usually prefer my ranch to be speckled with herbs, and a bit tangier, but this does pack a nice wallop of garlic. This was more like a French aioli than a Midwestern Ranch. It’s delicious, though.
The pickle pizza ($15) is a thin, bar-style pizza that features a base of roasted garlic chili cream sauce, ranch, bacon, sweet & spicy pickles, and fresh dill. It’s tangy and indulgently creamy. The crust also has a perfect undercarriage to it; this pizza is foldable and doesn’t droop. The proportions here are on point, too. It’s not too pickle-y or too decadent with cream. Everything is balanced.
Coast-less pizza without pretension absolutely rocks. It’s not the monolith that New York pizza is, and it’s not the expensive, artisanal, vegetable-forward style of modern California pizza, either. It operates with your deepest and darkest desires in mind—ranch and pickles. I can’t wait to try the vegan Big Mack pizza.
I’ll be eating through Grandma Bob’s entire pizza menu before Winter hits. Also, I’ll be back in Detroit often. It’s where my girlfriend lives, so, I’d love to hear any and all restaurant reccomendations!
Thanks for reading The Move! I’ll be sure to have another post out this Friday. Make sure to subscribe! Pay if you want! Tell your friends! Punch me in the face like I’m Tim Anderson! It’s your world.