Faith
I grew up hearing stories about the city from my grandparents who were raised there. They met at St. Philip Neri High School in the lower east side of Detroit. She lived on Algonquin and he on Marlboro. Met when he knocked on her door his junior year collecting for a paper drive. She was a freshmen and "the prettiest girl in school." Sweethearts from then on, married the day after he graduated from college. They settled, like most young white couples, in a suburb of the city.
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| Alice & Tom...still sweethearts |
There were stories of going to restaurants "downtown" or nights out at the Fisher Theater where they would run into all of their friends and acquaintances. My favorite was hearing about old Joe Muir's. A fancy seafood restaurant with high ceilings, mahogany bar and waiters in tuxedos. An institution in the city of Detroit. Back in the day on a Friday or Saturday night, the line to get a table at Joe's would be so long that they had a bartender with a cart going down the line of patrons selling cocktails and cigarettes. As Bumpa would tell it, "invariably, you would know some of the people in line, and it was always kind of fun even to wait for the table and have a drink."
Growing up, churches and restaurants were my narrative of the city. I remember loving to go to Joe Muir's, ordering lobster and giggling at all the grown-ups wearing lobster bibs. I remember sitting between my grandparents in my grandpa's big Deville riding down to Roma Cafe. Russel St. Deli in Eastern Market was a favorite lunch spot for my grandma and her sisters after attending Wednesday mass at St. Joe's. When I was off school, I loved to go with them. It was the prettiest church I had ever seen as a child. The gold leafed stars on the robin's egg blue ceiling were so magical to me. The sisters would tell me stories of their mother, my great grandmother, who was a cook in the rectory of a church downtown.
We might have a matchbook left as a momento, but Joe Muir's has been gone for some time. No more St. Philip Neri. But old St. Joe's is working hard to keep up it's once magnificent edifice and Roma's still stands as the oldest Italian restaurant in Detroit. It's meat sauce, red table linens and famous Roma salad hasn't changed in my lifetime (perhaps even since opening in 1890).
Just when you think there's no surprises left, there are still some beats in the old ticker. Great new restaurants like Slow's BBQ and El Barzon have emerged. And there's still a lot of charm to be unearthed. My grandparents recently discovered a church built in 1882. (You read that right, recently & 1882.) The Sweetest Heart of Mary is a Polish church that has been remarkably maintained and expanded. Right in their backyard growing up and even closer to Roma Cafe, the restaurant Grandma & Bumpa have frequented their entire married life. It took until 2010 to peek inside.
I had the pleasure of going to lunch at Roma with my grandparents today. The first time in a long time I had eaten there. Eddie was our waiter and was surprised to see me, "good to see you, I remember you in the baby basket!" A lot of the old time guys like Roberto, little John, Sam and Dimitri are gone. My grandparents always ask after them and reminisce about the days of Charlie Pope. But, the guys still wear the tux and make their famous salad for your table.
Afterwards, we drove up to Sweetest Heart of Mary to take a look. It was a gorgeous fall day. The bright sunlight made the already beautiful--and gargantuan--stained glass windows sparkle and flooded the church with light.
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| Bumpa walking up to the Sweetest Heart of Mary |
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| Statue of the Blessed Virgin on the North side of the church |
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| Recently refurbished altar |
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| Lectern and gorgeous windows |
I realized, that just when I had written off the city of Detroit as memories, it still had a trick or two up it's sleeve. Rays of hope. And in a grand church, you can't help but have a little faith.
I've come back home to figure out what's next on my life's path. Nothing like exploring your roots to help propel you forward. Especially when it's free. ; ) But seriously...what has all of my schooling and experience taught me? And, more importantly, how can I channel it into something marketable?
I've ruled some things out, tried some things on and have lots more ideas. The answer will neither come easily nor likely be the obvious one to all. But, it will come. The stars will align. I have faith.
So, I'm closing out my Parisian adventure in my hometown near Detroit. I'd like to continue to blog when I find something interesting…culinary or otherwise. Here or elsewhere. I'll keep you posted on where I go next, and surely let you know when the pasta finally sticks to the wall.
Thank you to my mother and Kevin for letting me indulge my dreams and figure all of this out rent-free. Thank you to all of my friends and family for their help, support and taste-testing. Thank you to my comrades from culinary school for their shared strength and wisdom while we all are finding our way. And thank you to my grandparents for exposing me to wonderful food and culture from a very young age.
Wolfgang Puck's tagline is "Live. Love. Eat."
I'm bummed he already copyrighted it...
