But on the rare occurrence you might feel like a change, look no further than Chicago. Actually, Chicago is kind of far, so look no further than Rochester Road, slightly north of Maple, for a Hippo Dog.

Hippo’s crafts an authentic Chicago-style dog. It starts with a steamed, Vienna Beef wiener resting in a poppy seed bun and then “dragged through the garden” by topping with mustard, onion, shockingly green sweet pickle relish, a dill pickle spear, tomato slices, sport peppers and a dash of celery salt. It’s a heady combination of soft, warm, comforting, crunchy and fresh. Don’t even think about ketchup. Save that for your fries.

Like many of Chicago’s hot dog stands, Hippo’s is spare on the inside. Seating consists of a counter that runs along two sides of the building beneath large windows. Walls are adorned with accolades, signed photos of local news celebrities and nods to the Windy City. Bright yellow is the color scheme. During the busy weekday lunch hour, it’s not uncommon to see toolmakers rubbing elbows with mid-level executives. The cheerful staff is always ready with a greeting, and there’s a stack of newspapers near the door if you like to read a bit as you lean into your lunch.

In addition to a diverse menu of other styles of hot dogs (including the Coney), you can chomp a char-broiled Polish Hippo, Cajun sausage, Italian sausage, bratwurst, a Maxwell Street Polish sausage covered with grilled onions or a Chicago Avenue Polish sausage complete with sauerkraut and a pickle. Hippo’s has an entire library of tube steaks, most of which cost less than four bucks.

But the real draw is the classic Hippo dog for only $2.15. Being a Detroiter, there is no way I could ever admit that a Chicago-style hot dog is somehow superior to a Coney, though it is nice to have a place like Hippo’s around for an uncommon diversion.

Hippo’s is located at 1648 Rochester Rd. in Troy and a newer location at 35520 Groesbeck Highway, Clinton Township.

Until a few years ago.

My friend Noelle has written about a similar transition she made as a result of some cauliflower I made at a dinner party about a year back, and I have to say, that recipe is still one of my own favorite ways of preparing it. I decided to make it tonight, so despite our somewhat unintended decision to not frequently do recipe write ups here, I’m throwing down a recipe post.

Ingredients

• Shocker, I know, but you need a head of cauliflower
• A tablespoon or three of capers
• 1-3 medium sized cloves of garlic to taste
• 2+ tablespoons olive oil
• 2-3 table spoons white balsamic vinegar… or not.
  Note: Any white vinegar can do here, but the higher the acid flavor, the more you might need to cut back on it or add more oil to diminish the intensity. I’d even so far as to add a pinch of sugar if it seems too bright.
• Salt and pepper

Cookery & Shit

• Fair warning: I don’t generally measure anything except when baking or making ice cream, so the quantities here are kind of made up.
• Pre-heat the oven to 450 F
• Cut or pull the cauliflower apart into florets. Not too small, or they just get soggy between the long cooking and the dressing later.
• Toss it in olive oil inside a baking pan of some kind until gently but entirely coated.
• Roast the veggies for about 15 minutes or so, pull them out, toss them around a bit, and get them right back in there for another 10-15 minutes.
• While that’s cooking, mince the living shit out of that garlic. I mean, cut that up like the garlic ran over your dog or your sister or something. It’s not getting cooked, so fineness is key. And use less if you don’t love garlic. (Duh.)
• Mix the garlic in a bowl with the remaining olive oil and the vinegar. It should be a bit acidic but, especially if using the balsamic, very round in flavor. This part is really just a balancing act, and you need to balance it to your taste.
• Mix in the capers. I use a fairly immodest palm full of the little guys because the briny flavor is what actually makes this whole dish go. But whatever you want.
• Season the dressing with salt and pepper.
• When the cauliflower’s done, toss it with the dressing.
  Words of caution: (a) Don’t toss it too much because the capers will fall to the bottom of the bowl, and you want to EAT THE CAPERS because they are DELICIOUS and (b) don’t use all the liquid dressing if it looks like it’s too much. I mean, that’s obvious, but still. Soggy cauliflower is sad cauliflower.
• Serve it up to your guests, who will probably take one little floret just to be polite, and then they’ll eat it, say nice things to you, and take more. (If that doesn’t happen, you have quite probably screwed the whole thing up.)

I wouldn’t be so brazen in extolling the virtues of this super simple cauliflower dish except that: (a) Noelle and about 4 other people really, really seemed to like it, so I know I’m not alone, and (b) I realized in trying the cauliflower at Girl & the Goat that the principle behind this is really quite sound: roasting earthy veggies and giving them bright accent flavors kicks ass. Mine is nowhere near as good as Stephanie Izard’s, of course (she puts pickled peppers and mint in it… mad genius) but it has the same general idea behind it. And it’s a good fucking idea.

Hope you actually enjoy it as much as I do! Now I’m going to finish my delish Beaujolais. How’s that for a Wednesday?

“You can’t hide behind the cheese”

What makes Supino pizza so good? It isn’t some flawless recipe handed down by Mancini’s Italian ancestors or discovered in an ancient Roman text. The secret to his success is nothing more than a focused effort to make the best possible pizza that he could. In fact, it took about seven years from the time he started making pizza to the eventual opening of Supino.

“I researched the shit out of pizza,” he says. To learn the business model, on his Saturdays off, he worked in a Birmingham pizzeria. He bought every recipe book he could find, even purchasing entire books for just one pizza recipe. After struggling with a few variables in the crust that he just couldn’t get a handle on, he did some consultation with a former pizzaiolo at Boston’s renowned pizza joint, Santarpios, until he got the consistency that he was looking for.

“A pizza is never really better than its crust. You can have amazing toppings and amazing sauce but if the crust is mediocre, the pizza is going to be mediocre.”

Regular patron and pizza aficionado, Phil Spradlin, tends to agree. He only orders his pizza with cheese because, as he tells Mancini, “You can’t hide behind the cheese.”

The question of style comes up more often than Mancini would care to address. “It cracks me up when I hear ‘New York-style pizza and New Haven-style pizza’, he says. “There are so many variations within those subgroups. Even between those two there is overlap. If you go to New York and get pizza at six different places, they are going to be pretty damn different. They’re not going to be Detroit-style, like Buddy’s, or Chicago-style. You can probably find those in New York but when people talk about New York-style pizza they aren’t pinning down a specific process. Most of them have a thin crust and are 18-inch pies but other than that, they’re kind of their own thing.”

He gets New Yorkers that come into the shop with a broad range of opinions. Some of them will tell Mancini that the pizza is just like home, some of them will tell him that it’s not really like home but it’s good enough, and some of them will tell him that it’s better than home.

Ask Mancini what style of pizza he makes and the short answer is “Dave’s style”.

Detroit Synergy

Local media make a big deal when celebrity chefs open upscale restaurants in Detroit. These successes certainly foster a positive perception of dining in Detroit, both locally and nationally. But it’s just as crucial – some would say even more so – for the resurgence of the city that small, independent establishments take root in their respective communities and be more than simply a place to eat good food.

For Mancini’s part, he’s doing what he can to help other promising food businesses by using their products and sometimes even opening his kitchen to them. You can order Katie’s Cannoli, hand-filled at the time of order so the shell stays crisp, for dessert. Porktown trades a portion of their sausage for use of his kitchen and Mancini purchases more for his pizza. The Asian inspired pop-up café, Neighborhood Noodle, operated out of Supino for a few of their monthly gigs.

He seems almost embarrassed talking about the role he plays in this culture of cooperation, and believes he sometimes gets too much credit. Mancini recognizes that he’s certainly not the first one to think of mentoring other food entrepreneurs and is quick to praise those that have come before him and have helped him get his own business off to a strong start.

Like Jerry Belanger, owner of Park Bar, who would come in and order fifteen pies to hand out to his customers and give Supino a boost in its early days after opening. Spirited restaurateur Torya Blanchard helped to get Supino featured in Delta Sky Magazine. When Mancini decided he wanted to serve beer, Dan Scarsella of Motor City Brewing Works consulted with him, knowing the two businesses might be in direct competition.

Even neighboring Russell Street Deli would hand out menus to their customers during the lunch hour, apparently unconcerned about the possibility of losing customers. Mancini maintains that this cooperative culture “especially plays well in Detroit, because we’re underserved”.

He recalls the recent food truck gathering in Shed 2 of Eastern Market and how he was slammed with customers the entire time just because the event drew hordes of hungry people. Though some of his friends in the restaurant industry bristle about the possible competition with food carts, he believes that Detroit is a long way away from worrying about this kind of rivalry for the dining dollar.

Eastern Market on the rise

Eastern Market wasn’t the first location Mancini thought of when looking for a building to house Supino’s kitchen. It was only after an extensive three-year search, underscored by negotiations with indifferent landlords that had no interest in taking any risk by repairing the spaces they owned, that he “fell backasswards” into his current location.

Mancini finds far more advantages than challenges being based out of the Market district. Though all the buildings are old and there is always something that needs repair, that’s more than made up for by the steady foot traffic from the Saturday market, folks from downtown coming in for lunch on the weekdays, and other food workers in the neighborhood. “I think people with a good food idea are crazy not to jump into the Eastern Market area,” he says. He especially thinks that a good bistro and brewpub would do well there.

Mancini has no plans to open a new location any time soon. He’s not the type to risk the quality of his product to cash in on its popularity. But there will be some changes this year.

He is consulting with local drinks authority, Putnam Weekley, to bring in a beverage program. Soon you’ll be able to order a beer or inexpensive glass of table wine chosen specifically to pair with the pizza. He also envisions a small, European-style bar with plenty of apertivi, digestivi, and a modest liquor selection. He speaks enthusiastically about Amaro CioCiaro, a bittersweet Italian liqueur produced in the same region as the town of Supino, Italy that he noticed one night while drinking at The Sugar House.

But instead of rushing to sell booze and maximize profit, he’s carefully planning how and what to introduce into the menu and ensure the core of his business stays healthy. While unsexy in comparison to a San Gennaro pie straight from the oven, all of this methodical planning and attention to detail is fundamental to Dave Mancini’s success, and makes certain that Supino will remain a fixture in Detroit for a long time to come.

Ann Arborites have been able to sink their teeth into the naturally fermented products of The Brinery for some time. David Klingenberger, owner and crazy mad genius of the old school lacto-fermentation process, has been selling at the Ann Arbor farmer’s market and working with Washtenaw County restaurants. Thankfully, he’s now at Eastern Market and those of us a little closer get regular access to his goods.

His most recent offering is made from a turnip of Japanese origin. And it’s amazing.

Hakurei turnips (pronounced, as I understand it, hah-kur-eye) are, in Klingenberger’s words, “the honeycrisp of turnips” — sweet, crisp, tender, and juicy. He’s routinely made turnip pickles in the past, and they’re perfectly delicious with a nice earthy flavor and cut thickly for a nice combination of chewiness and crunch. It is evidently the ideal turnip for consuming raw and doesn’t even require peeling, a notion espoused by plenty of blogging salad lovers.

Given The Brinery’s natural fermentation process whereby the raw veggies are preserved by bacteria (rather than by cooking and vinegar), these would seem to be pretty well suited to pickling.

And indeed, they are: Their new Hakurei-based pickles are shaved exceptionally thin and remain quite crunchy. Klingenberger sources these from Ann Arbor-based Garden Works, a certified organic 4.5-acre truck garden and greenhouse farm, but the turnip is a hybrid developed in Japan in the 1950s.

The pickles are irresistible on their own, or throw them on a little baguette sandwich if you can keep your hand out of the jar. Fans of fermented goods can pick them up on Saturdays at Eastern Market or check out where David will be selling his products next at The Brinery’s website.

Louis-Dressner imports a lot of youthful, sometimes funky wines – wines that I love, but that sometimes lack the austerity and gravitas I occasionally crave. In fact, much of the cult following surrounding Dressner is built around a host of inexpensive wines, funky natural wine, and heirloom grapes grown in uncommon places. And rightfully so. But they also bring in a few more traditional gems that are true values.

Tonight’s absurdly delicious Dressner import? Sancerre from Thomas-Labaille.

I’ve been in love with this wine since the first time I tasted it as part of the 2005 vintage. There’s no point in repeating what’s already easily available and accessible elsewhere, but in brief, the flagship wine from this producer comes from vines 30 years or older and the vineyard, Les Monts Damnés, is generally regarded as the top site in the entire region of Sancerre.

What’s always drawn me to this particular wine is the uncommon combination of a smooth, supple, round texture and an acidity in the finish that goes on for an eternity. Aging on the lees explains some of the weight, but still, this exceedingly pale sauvignon blanc is paradoxical in how it feels almost viscous but is actually light and tastes minerally but also incredibly tart. It just screams with natural, real fruit flavor, delicate early and puckering late.

Try it with goat cheese. I was introduced to the combination with perhaps my second bottle or so, and in reading up on Sancerre, I saw that Labaille is made near the village of Chavignol, a town famous for its crotin that doesn’t have its own sub-appellation of Sancerre but is obviously home to significant food and drink production. Once again, the rule of thumb that food and drink from a long-standing culture and geography probably work together.

The 2010 vintage just showed up here in Detroit back in December. Ask your local retailer for some. It’s not “cheap,” but it’s hardly a pricey bottle especially for the quality you get. The most intense but elegant sauvignon blanc I can think of for the money.

There was pleasure and even inspiration to be had from watching people coming together for the 2nd annual Detroit Holiday Food Bazaar and from talking to people who were just discovering that interesting things are happening with food in Detroit. And it was legitimately fun to see old friends hanging out, new friends being made, and small business owners connecting with one another over pickled turnips and tequila at the Sugar House.

The sentimental fool in all of us has to derive some sense of satisfaction from watching much of Detroit’s gastronomic community enjoy not just each other’s products but each other’s company.

That’s all a long way of saying that the holiday season is off to as fine a start as one could hope for.

In case you missed either event, we’ve put together a little slide show of both, which begins with a special holiday greeting card, Gourmet Underground Detroit style.  Best wishes for a wine-soaked end to 2011 and a pork-filled 2012.

Mocha Flip

• 2 oz El Dorado 12 year aged rum
• .5 oz creme de cacao
• .5 oz coffee syrup*
• .5 oz milk
• Whole egg
• A chunk of dark chocolate
• Chocolate bitters (optional)

Dry shake the first 5 ingredients. Add ice, shake, and double strain into a cocktail glass. Dash chocolate bitters on top. Use a microplane or grater to grate some dark chocolate over the top of the drink.

* – Make coffee syrup by combining equal parts brewed coffee and sugar in a bottle larger than the combined volume and just shaking (for a long while) to combine. It’ll last in the fridge for quite a while. Use a lighter roast or cold brew to minimize bitterness. (A coffee liqueur could be used instead of this, but it’d have to be exceptionally high quality or homemade. Use Kahlua or an equivalent at your own peril.)

Don’t miss Detroit’s premier pop-up holiday marketplace featuring a variety of independent food vendors on Friday, December 9, 2011, from 5:00pm until 11:00pm.

In its second year of operation, the Detroit Holiday Food Bazaar has expanded and moved to the historic Eastern Market District. The list of vendors includes: Leopold’s Books, Love’s Custard Pie, Drought Juice, Detroit Institute of Bagels, Miette, Pete’s Chocolate Co., El Azteco, RG Distribution, Hugh, The Rogue Estate, Perkins Pickles, Beau Bien Fine Foods, Native Kitchen, Al Meida, Marvin Shaouni Photography, Great Lakes Coffee Roasting Company, McClure’s Pickles, Simply Suzanne, Suddenly Sauer, Corridor Sausage Co., Gang of Pour, and Porktown Sausage.

Not only is this a good way to support local small businesses and startups, you’ll have the opportunity to purchase some of the most finely crafted food products available in our city.

Ink it on your calendar and RSVP to their facebook event page.

Second Annual Detroit Holiday Food Bazaar
Friday, December 9, 2011
5:00pm until 11:00pm
2448 Market Street Detroit (above Cost Plus Wines)

Dai, owner of Corktown’s Astro Coffee, is describing the appearance of his ideal espresso, a particularly rich, saporous shot. Whereas a traditional, Old World barista may aim, no matter the bean, for a fairly consistent bitterness and flavor, Dai and his contemporaries are generally striving to emphasize unique flavors within particular blends and beans.

Espresso is a finicky product, and I had been curious how he goes about crafting what is arguably the best tasting espresso in southeast Michigan. He invited me behind the counter to get a first-hand look.

Before pulling that first shot, Dai describes the myriad variables at play. “When I started [as a barista], our parameters were the coarseness of the grind, the dose, and the tamp [of the grounds in the filter],” he says. “Then we introduced controlling the temperature. And what people were saying is that machines were set at their golden temperature… but what if beans were suited to different temps?”

Today’s routine actually begins with that adjustment.  “I’m using the Owl’s Howl, which is the last thing I used the last time we closed, so there’s at least some familiarity,” he says, referring to having a recent reference point to the beans he’s placed in the grinder. We peer underneath the three-headed espresso machine to see the temperature controls. He left the day before with the temperature set to 200.5 degrees. Thus to get an idea of the flavor within a wider range, he sets the first group to 200 and the second to 201.

After running several doses of beans through the grinder to clear it of the previous day’s now-oxidized coffee, he runs the first shot, which we won’t bother to taste, and looks to see if it runs out of the machine with that hourglass shape.  Before measuring a single thing, he’s both seasoning the machine and checking to see if he’s near that ideal viscosity.  We’re in the ballpark, but, he notes, that’s not always the case: “You can come in, especially if you’re switching to a new espresso, and the thing is just pissing out or it’s ‘drip, drip, drip.’”

Dai grinds another dose and puts it on the scale.  His first measurement shows the grounds weigh just over 17g.  He makes a shot and measures the resulting liquid at over 27g.

“I’m collecting information at this point,” he says, “but we’ll taste this one to understand where we’re at.”  We taste it, and it’s thin.  He pulls another at the higher temperature, and it seems as though it may be thicker in body but definitely more astringent.

The grounds for our third shot weigh in at 19g, he sets the temp back to 200.5, and the shot itself  comes in at around 25.5g – a dry-to-wet comparison of about 74 or 75%, which is closer to Dai’s ideal range.  It’s delicious.

For many baristas, these types of ratios and measurements guide the ideal shot. This is an area where Dai has a philosophical difference with many of his fellow baristas: At this point in the process, he’s starting to let his experience and his taste buds drive the decision making.  He’s after a balance of fruit and acidity – an explanation which elicits a grin from me because it’s a concept to which anyone that has made a cocktail or uncorked a bottle of cru Beaujolais can relate.

“Part of it is knowing that things can change… especially right at the beginning.  Temperatures are changing, the door is swinging open, it’s hot, it’s humid,” he laments.  But in this case, without even adjusting the grinder, the dosing of his grounds has settled out at a dry weight of 19g.  He tweaks the temperature again, up to 200.7 degrees, and we try another shot.

This one is, to Dai’s taste, pretty much ideal.  The flavor is true to his objective – ripe, berry-ish, thick, and a bit tart.  But he emphasizes that others may prefer the shot pulled at 200.5 degrees instead.  Or even something else entirely.  And of course, he notes, the prevailing opinions among coffee wonks everywhere change frequently: “There was a period of time when over-dosing was cool… and you do a coarser grind with more in it.  But… this is going to change in three months. Someone will have written a new guide.”

Even the parameters of what baristas can control are in flux. In addition to grind, dose, temperature, and so on, companies have introduced machines with pressure controls.  “Then the pressure profiling systems came, and you just have so many parameters,” he says with a bit of skepticism.

For Astro, the constant is ostensibly Dai’s sense of taste.

“We’re dialing in to this range of comfort, and from there, the micro-adjustments – temperature or, at times, grind on the collar [of the grinder] and things like that – we’re going to make those on the fly and then taste.  It’s good to know these other kinds of things, but it’s good to taste.  You can have all the ratios in the world, but there are all these other factors.”

Dai honed his skills – and his taste buds – at London’s Monmouth Coffee, an early pioneer in today’s culture.  “Coffee culture is really young… but it has changed so rapidly in the last 5 to 10 years.  So what you see here, it wasn’t like this at all.”  Still, founded in 1978, Monmouth practically invented the concept of “direct trade,” and Dai – admittedly a coffee neophyte before he began working there – got his start in that knowledgeable environment.

Having experience from an older, established shop seems to offer him perspective: “Imagine if you were apprenticing as a brewer,” he posits, “what they teach they might also tell you is the law or the only way to do it.  But it’s not.  Have you ever had two IPAs that are exactly the same?  No. And if I order a shot somewhere else, I don’t want it to taste exactly like mine.”

Rather than touting the next big machine or adhering to the newest geekery-inspired guidelines, he seems focused primarily on giving customers a pleasant experience and letting his expression of the innate, delicious flavor of his product do the talking.

He motions toward the four espresso cups from which we’ve tasted and says, “You’ve probably tasted all those shots in your life – or even just here. Underextracted, overextracted… an espresso is the highest error drink we can do.  At some point, put your books away, put your refractometers away.  This is something, like wine, that’s constantly changing.”

We finish tasting that final shot and he adds, “I don’t think you can truly enjoy it until you respect that.”

But last January or so, I had some ideas for drinks based off of coconut ranging from mixing it with rum and Aperol to using it in an egg white foam atop bourbon and chocolate bitters with fresh chocolate for sort of a German Chocolate Cake flavor.  I found earlier this month that I, much to my surprise, missed having coconut syrup around.

So I made more and decided to start making drinks based upon it again. This is my favorite result thus far, a nicely balanced drink that I’m growing rather fond of. After two or three variations, I really think I got it right. The absinthe rinse is crucial: Minus that component, this particular recipe comes off as a just a touch flabby. Somehow, the absinthe highlights the citrus without adding much of the characteristic anise/licorice flavor. Pretty much awesome.

I’m calling it the Drunken Angel.  Here’s the recipe.

Drunken Angel

• .75 oz aged rum (not too flavorful – in this case, I used Appleton 12)
• .75 oz white rum
• .75 oz lime juice
• .5 oz yellow chartreuse
• .5 oz coconut syrup
• Absinthe
• 1 egg white
• Peychaud’s bitters

Combine all the ingredients save the bitters in a shaker. Dry shake. Shake with ice. Swirl a bit of absinthe in a coupe and discard any that immediately puddles. Double strain the drink into the coated glass. Gently dash the Peychaud’s over the top of the drink, trying to concentrate several  dots in the center. Use a toothpick to draw the bitters out into a nebulous, heavenly shape. Discard the toothpick, pick up the glass, and get your drink on.

To make coconut syrup, heat up equal parts sugar and water to create a 1:1 simple syrup. Give it a stir and don’t let it boil. As soon as all the sugar is dissolved, add unsweetened, unadulterated, flaked coconut to the syrup and let it sit for about a half hour to an hour until your kitchen smells like coconut.