Recent favorites

This blend of coconut water and coffee. Yes, it's expensive and I can only find it at Whole Foods in Ann Arbor, but man oh man does it hit the spot.

We traveled to Asheville, North Carolina, and jumped at the chance to return to a Waffle House after being intrigued by this article.

Our neighbor brings us beautifully decorated sugar cookies for each holiday.

Ina's provencal lamb made for a knockout dinner and beautiful presentation.

Her chocolate pudding tart has become a new favorite.

Coney dog comparison in Detroit- American v. Lafayette. Lafayette (on the right), hands down.

Selden Standard, Detroit

Much has already been written about one of the newest, hottest restaurants in Detroit, Selden Standard.

Eater- read it here.
Sylvia Rector for the Free Press- don't miss it. She is such a wonderful writer. Also, I did sit at the chef's counter, and Nyle did graciously offer me some olives. It hurt me to tell him that olives are the ONE THING that I can't abide.

Anyway, I abode other things.

 

In law school, we learn the phrase "res ipsa loquitur," translated from the Latin as "the thing that speaks for itself." At Selden Standard, I had a fried chicken sandwich and roasted Brussels sprouts. It was lunchtime on a Friday, and after I finished the day in Ann Arbor I considered driving back to Detroit for dinner. Res ipsa indeed.

Streetside Seafood, Birmingham

A few weeks ago foodie friend Andy and I continued our tour of some of the best places in Southeast Michigan and met for dinner at Streetside Seafood in Birmingham. I'd been advised that the bread is outstanding and I'd want to fill up on it, so I ate an accordingly light lunch.

That's a total lie. I ate at Buddy's Pizza for lunch, which warrants a standalone post.

That crust. So. Buttery.

Streetside, as the cool locals call it, is nestled in downtown Birmingham. It is seriously small and we had an early dinner to ensure that we actually got to have dinner at all that night. They don't take dinner reservations. They do take your week of healthy eating and destroy it. You might think you're safe at a seafood restaurant- the healthy fats! the omega 3s!- and then you look at the dessert menu.

But before we get to dessert, we talk cioppino.

Cioppino is an Italian seafood stew. It is also an Eating Lansing family tradition- I make it every Christmas Eve. I didn't make it this Christmas Eve because we, along with most of the Lansing area, didn't have electricity. We had Chinese food instead.

I like to try cioppino when I see it on menus so I can get ideas and inspiration, so I can tighten up my seafood stew game.

This was a good one. Obviously stuffed with clams, mussels, shrimp, and a few scallops, the tomato fennel broth was also full of Israeli couscous. I dove right in, slurped it up, and mopped the bowl with the killer bread.

My dinner salad also boasted all the things I like- an egg, blue cheese, mixed greens, fresh cracked pepper, and a pungent, mustardy vinaigrette.

We had Greek calamari, but we inhaled it. I'd never thought about putting banana peppers and feta on my calamari. I've been thinking a lot about it ever since.

If we would have stopped at that- a sensible but not strictly healthy meal of salad and seafood- we'd have been fine. We'd also have to hand in our glutton club membership cards, so we soldiered on.

The dark chocolate creme brulee. With sea salt.

The memory of this dessert almost makes me want to use a swear word right here on this blog, to be read by the public.

I won't, because my grandma would be mortified. So let me say that good heavens, this creme brulee was unparalleled. I have a serious affinity for both chocolate mousse and creme brulee and combined, I'd venture to say they made one of the best desserts I've ever had.

You know I wouldn't play with you. I mean it.

Andy had the walnut bourbon pie. A la mode, with a dollop of creme fraiche.

(Oh man the last time I had creme fraiche was in England, atop sticky toffee pudding. Sob.)

Streetside Seafood- go for the bread, stay for the chocolate creme brulee. As a matter of fact, that sounds like a complete meal to me.

Roma Cafe, Detroit

Last Friday, we went to the auto show. I found my next car- a Buick Regal, and I saw a lot of ladies, dressed to impress, massaging the cars. When we needed a snack, the boyfriend and I shared these.

After we looked at cars, cars, and more cars, we braved the frigid temperatures to do some more things in Detroit. We went to the Shinola store, where I lusted after every single one of those $600 watches. They are beautiful, sleek, and made in Detroit.

We eventually made our way to Roma Cafe near Eastern Market. A girlfriend of mine has been singing the praises of this little place for years, but you know how I feel about ordering pasta while dining out. In short, I don't do it very often. To paraphrase Shania Twain, it don't impress me much.

We plopped down for an early dinner, nestled into a back room with a few other tables of early birds. The servers, wearing tuxedos, were having a snack in preparation of what turned out to be an absolute crush of diners. If we hadn't gotten there at 5pm, we wouldn't have been eating anytime soon.

We sat in the cozy room like sardines. . . or like the anchovies that were presented to one of our neighbors atop his Caesar salad. Yum. I made a Caesar last week- egg yolks, anchovies, and all- and wondered why I hadn't done it sooner.

Having had our fill of Caesars that week, the boyfriend and I chose Antipasta salads. Lord amercy.

I just couldn't stop with this salad. It was full of pepperocinis, garbanzo beans, crisp romaine lettuce, spicy salami, cracked black pepper, hunks of cheese, ham, tomatoes, a deliciously oily dressing. . . I ate the entire thing in record time. I loved it. I put myself through the paces of eating salads several times a week, and this was one of the best ones in recent history.

To counteract any health benefits, we were each presented with a plate covered with bubbling cheese.

There was lasagna under there. My mother was not a lasagna mother, and I'm not an experienced lasagna-eater. I'm trying to learn, since brother has requested that I learn how to make it this year.

At first bite, I wasn't blown away by this. I ate about a third of the big old portion, but since I was so stuffed with salad much of this was packed up to take home.

The next day I dug in for lunch and started to taste things I hadn't the night before. I tasted the quality of the cheese. I noticed the slight bite to the noodles and the zip of garlic in the tomato sauce. Before I knew it, I had devoured the rest of my lasagna and wanted more.

We skipped dessert at Roma and headed to Ann Arbor to see a bunch of the boyfriend's colleagues play in a hockey game. We had a little time to burn, so we hunted down dessert with an Instagram recommendation from Meg Goes Nom Nom, who pointed us toward Iorio's. Sound familiar? They used to have a place in the Lansing City Market, where I used to binge eat.

Yes, the weather was horribly cold. We are Michiganders, so I beg of you to give me a break. I had a combination of gingerbread, turkish coffee, and dark chocolate with mint.

This guy went fruit-flavored with acai berry and tropical.

I bought the gelato, so I think it's reasonable that I ask him to buy me this in exchange.

Rock City Eatery

Yesterday a foot and a half of snow fell on Lansing, Michigan. After my morning exercises of both the spiritual and physical nature, I hunkered down and stayed inside. Much much later that evening I made brownies and popcorn and fed the friends who had gathered to watch the season premiere of Downton Abbey. Today I had a brownie for breakfast, but I better watch myself because the gym is closed today, on account of weather.

Since I can't go anywhere, I can't eat anything new. So I'd better tell you about my trip last week to Rock City Eatery, the first of my list of Young Guns restaurants to visit. The restaurant is in Hamtramck, which is a city that is completely separate from, and completely enclosed within, the city of Detroit. I don't get it either.

The place is decidedly hipster. I don't mean that as a slight, I just mean that, amongst the rock n' roll artwork, mismatched chairs, and patrons sporting thick beards, ironic tshirts and holiday sweaters, and mohawks (and I don't mean mohawks on the men), I was a bit of a sore thumb. But I guess I can eat just as well as they can, so I'll just put on my cardigan and close my yap.

I waited for my friend Andy and ordered the Spicy Roasted Brussels Sprouts: Thai basil/peanuts/scallions/smoked tomatoes/lime/chile. I eat a ton of Brussels sprouts, and the Thai-influenced preparation was something I'd not thought of before. I liked it, especially the basil.

We had both read about the Rock City Eatery macaroni and cheese, and that was next on our agenda. The menu offers little description but I'd heard rumors that the stuff is served in a bowl made of cheese.

Let me remind you, and myself, that cheese is not my bag. I don't eat pieces of cheese. I don't lose my mind over macaroni and cheese, and I would never order it if left to my own devices.

However, I am an idiot.

That corkscrew pasta sure enough is in a bowl of fried Parmesan. Suffice it to say that I ate the lion's share of this while contemplating how I can learn to make bowls of cheese and what I can put in them. (Popcorn in a cheese bowl. Can you even imagine?)

We were just getting warmed up, and I ordered the RCE cheeseburger, at this point having clearly forgotten my aversion to fromage. I added bacon and an egg. I wondered where my self-control had gone.

The fries, while acceptably crispy and salty, remained largely untouched on my plate. I focused my attention on the massive burger, the size of which forced me to delicately nibble around the edges when what I really wanted to do was unhinge my jaw and take the world's biggest bite. The container of thin napkins on the corner of the table stood no chance- what I really needed was a drop cloth.

The bun was a little flimsy, but maybe that's because I had all of the world's toppings on this burger. I eventually got rid of the bun and ate the burger and toppings with a fork. I'm an animal.

I can't tell you what Andy ate, because I had burger all over my face and wasn't thinking about anyone but myself. I was thinking about what kind of pie I was going to eat, just to make sure that I was fully stuffed to the gills for my drive home.

The owner of RCE is known for his pies, which he used to sell at a market in Ferndale. Obviously, we would be ordering pie, and when the waitress told me that they were offering three varieties that night I requested a slice of each of them.

The white trash pie. I was introduced to white trash candy this year, but I still don't know what it is. Some kind of candy, covered in white chocolate or powdered sugar or Karo syrup? I wasn't into this pie. The pretzels had become soggy and this was my least favorite of the three.

Sweet potato pie, which to me is reminiscent of pumpkin pie. Pumpkin pie never hurt anybody, but it's not one of my favorite desserts. I liked the texture of this, it was very smooth and creamy. I won't lie to you and tell you that we didn't eat it, because we absolutely did.

Cherry whiskey pie. Now we're talking. I didn't even care that this was what it looked like when the waitress brought it to our table. It was delicious- the fruit was tart, the crust was sweet and tasted like a crumbly, slightly spicy cookie. I'm not saying that I would drive clear to Hamtramck just to buy one of these pies and then eat the entire thing, but yes that is exactly what I'm saying.

By the by, the prices at RCE are insanely reasonable. I could almost eat a meal there on what my dad used to give me for allowance every week. Put on your black tshirt, go heavy on the eyeliner, and get thee to Rock City Eatery.

Second best meal I had this year: The Root

This was a tough call.

Really, excruciatingly difficult. 

I knew that when I had to crown my best meal of 2013, I would have two strong contenders. I knew it in June, after I first went to The Root. I was blown away by the entire experience- the interior, with its tree branches and no-frills decor, the unparalleled training of the servers with their Vic Firth pepper mills, the proud Michigan-ness of everyone involved.

And the food. Of course, the food.

I've eaten at The Root four times since June, the last time being the Young Guns dinner, and every time I am blown away. It is an hour from where I live. I am being honest when I tell you that, if someone called right now and asked me to drive an hour to meet them there for lunch, I would drop this yoga mat right on the floor and get in the car. It is worth it.

If I haven't convinced you yet, I can't. If I have, take me with you.

Dig The Root, indeed.

 

Ninth best meal I had this year: Vinsetta Garage

Vinsetta Garage is in Royal Oak, right on Woodward. It used to be an auto repair place (cool), and much of the original structure stands (too cool.) I had the 3am burger- Angus patty, Swiss, Woodshop MI maple bacon, topped with a fried egg & crispy fried onion strings, Sriracha mayo.

Eaters, I'm not a burger fanatic. But this was the best burger I ate all.dang.year.

The bathroom floor is covered in pennies.

I went back the next week and had the Vinsetta Burger. 3am is better. Get it. Go to Trader Joe's while you're there and then come back to Lansing and console yourself by staring at the Capitol building.

Detroit Morning

A few weeks ago the boyfriend and I got up at the crack of dawn to head to Detroit. Actually, to head back to Detroit, as we had been there the night before to watch the Tigers game. We ate hot dogs and cookies and popcorn. We saw Max Scherzer pitch his 20th something. I know it was a big deal, and I really do try to know what is happening, but I'm afraid sports and I don't quite speak the same language.

The boyfriend, however, is a sports enthusiast. An athletic supporter, one might say. And the reason we went back to the D at 5:30 on a Saturday morning was for him to ride in this, which he completed at warp speed. I debated doing the 30-mile route. I debated it for about one full minute before my driving desire to go to the Eastern Market got the better of me. I dropped him off and headed to Michigan's best, brightest, and most beautiful farmer's market, in the shadow of Ford Field.

I bought everything. I bought beets to roast. Split peas to soup. Cherry tomatoes and figs to shovel into my mouth by the handful. Deep, dark green spinach to blend into green drinks. A pain au chocolat to immediately devour, a head of broccoli to toss with garlic salt and roast into creaminess, and then I came across the food trucks.

Truth be told, I love a sweet breakfast. If presented with eggs or oatmeal, I'm taking the oatmeal (and then I'm running an extra mile.) When my food truck choices were a chorizo burrito or beignets, you know I chose those sweet little French/New Orleanian pastries, which I later described as bigger, pouffier doughnut holes. I ordered four, with a cafe au lait, and made myself a little spread of my spoils on a nearby table.

The best cafe au lait. Hot, sweet beignets. Juicy figs and cherry tomatoes. I sat and watched the shoppers bustling around me and listened to two girls, high-school age, singing for passers-by with a donation case set up. When they started singing the national anthem I saw people hesitate, wondering if they should stop and put their hand over the heart, or continue to pick their produce.

I went across the street to Germack in search of juniper berries. I've been told that 25 pounds of venison are waiting to be devoured before this year's hunting season.

I went to Whole Foods, where I bought and drank this-

And a bakery in Ferndale, where I crunched on this-

When my cycling star was finished we headed to Nemo's to find his favorite Detroit burger. The place is no-frills, and all about character. We both had cheeseburgers and fries.

I love a buttered, lightly grilled bun, and while I'm not much for cheese, I do sometimes need a mess of melted Swiss. This burger delivered. It was medium rare, which I requested and which has proven difficult for so many restaurants nowadays. There are no crazy toppings at Nemo's, no frizzled onions or guacamole or Sriracha mayonnaise- it's just a sturdy, classic burger. Which is just what I expected from my man, whose favorite food is "sandwiches" and who washes his car by hand every week.

Before I met him at the end of the race, in between the macaron and the burger, I made a quick trip to Dearborn. And I was suckered in to tasting a little of this at the Dearborn Meat Market-

I was going to wrap up this chicken kabob and take it home, but I couldn't resist a few tastes. The proprietor, who had a half-finger a la Rahm Emanuel, wanted to know where I live. I told him. He asked me what I was doing in Dearborn. I said eating. He asked me if I've ever eaten raw meat and I said yes, I used to live in France. He asked me if I ate a lot of "chevals" there. He actually said "chevals," in French, which means horses. I said no, not many. He mixed up a little kibbeh, raw ground beef (sometimes lamb) mixed with spices, and told me to eat it. I gobbled it up. I said it was a little grainier than I expected it to be. He said that came from the spices.

He wrapped up my chicken, my hummus, and a salad, which was "on the house, sweetheart." I was ripping off the plastic wrap before I got into the car.

We also ate pizza that night, after we slept through the entire Michigan State/Notre Dame football game. The boyfriend's reason for exhaustion? 62 miles a velo. Mine? Serious eating.

Eastern Market
2934 Russell Street
Detroit

Germack Pistachio Company
2517 Russell Street
Detroit

Whole Foods
115 Mack Avenue
Detroit

Pinwheel Bakery
220 West 9 Mile Road
Ferndale

Nemo's
1384 Michigan Avenue
Detroit

Dearborn Meat Market
7721 Schaefer Road
Dearborn

Want to read more about kibbeh? Check out this article by Lansing native Maureen Abood, who has a beautiful blog.

Crepes and court

A few weeks ago I was in Detroit for motion day. What is motion day? The Friday morning cattle call for attorneys in Wayne County Circuit Court. While a lot of people hate to go because it takes a long time and you're at the mercy of the Judge's docket, I love it. I love to watch the other lawyers- to see what they're wearing, how they speak to the Judge, how they argue their motions. I don't mind spending half my day there. It helps me become a better attorney.

On this particular motion day, I took Woodward out of town. I like to take Woodward, to see all the incredible architecture that still stands in Detroit, and particularly to update my list of where I'd like to eat. I drove past the Detroit Institute of Arts and a little storefront caught my eye- that of Good Girls Go to Paris Crepes. It's been on my list for a while and I decided to stop for a snack.

Truth be told, even after spending a considerable amount of time living in France, I have never eaten a savory crepe. Whenever I was presented with the option, I was also presented with a wide array of baguette sandwiches, and I couldn't forsake them. If you've never had a baguette sandwich in France, cash in your frequent flyer miles now. The ingredients are always fresh. They bread is always crusty. Whether you find your sandwich in a Paris cafe or in a gas station (seriously), I guarantee it will be one of the best sandwiches you've ever had (I didn't forget about The Reason at Slow's.)

I stayed true to form on this visit to a creperie and ordered a sweet treat. I was going to tell you that I ordered the White Kristy- lemon, butter, and sugar- but then I noticed that this crepe has Nutella in it. And I can't for the life of me remember what it was called. But I remember that there was lemon with the chocolate in this crepe, and although it might sound like an odd combination, it was delicious. If you're going to the DIA (which you should, if you're an art person, and then you should teach me a thing or two), head North on Woodward and stop for a crepe on the next block. Feel cosmopolitan. Wear a beret.

If you want to make your own crepes, World Market sells a mix that isn't half bad.

Hamburgers in Royal Oak, Fish Tacos in Ann Arbor, and a week of transition

This week has been busy in a different way. Every day of the past 5 days has found me having lunch and dinner with friends who have been neglected of late. I've been getting into the gym and the yoga studio, watching things that have been trapped on my DVR for months, and reading a book about Northern Ireland.

Last week I quit my job in Royal Oak and will start a new job on Monday, a real lawyer job, at a firm in White Lake. That's north of Brighton. I hear there are good things to eat.

My last week in Oakland County found me doing some traveling and eating at some very popular area restaurants. One day I had to go take care of some business in Ann Arbor, so I stuck around for lunch and headed to Lena, which was one of the Detroit Free Press' top 10 restaurants of 2012. The hostess makes a girl feel welcome. "How are you, my beautiful lady? Would you like to get cozy by the fireplace?"

I did indeed sit by the indoor fireplace and ordered pineapple aqua fresca.

Oh I loved it. So sweet and refreshing.

For lunch I had fish tacos. The waitress suggested I have the fish battered and fried instead of grilled, which might have been a mistake. There were three tacos on my plate, flour tortillas topped with rice, beans, cilantro, fish, a chimichurri, and crema.

The tortillas were tasteless. A salty, grainy little corn tortilla would have been better. Every ingredient was fresh and flavorful, but there was nothing to lend any heat to the taco. No salt and pepper on the table, either. It was a satisfying lunch, but there wasn't anything for me to write home about.

The next day my birthday boy coworker and I headed north on Woodward and had lunch at Redcoat Tavern, the longtime standard-bearer of metro Detroit's best hamburgers. The place looks like a barn, and when you step inside your eyes have to adjust to the dim red light. We knew we wanted burgers, and I ordered mine with provolone cheese and caramelized onions. I accepted the tomato and lettuce that come standard but had to nix the tomato because I couldn't taste the meat.

And this meat begged to be tasted. It was juicy and tasted like a true burger, not like the plasticy, artificial garbage meat that's so prevalent in fast-food restaurants today. The bun was a cushion. The onion rings, which my coworker raved about, were too greasy for me.

I still ate a few, of course, in the name of research. A few days later I returned to Vinsetta Garage, where I'd destroyed a 3am burger a few weeks prior. It was the best burger I'd ever had. The Sriracha mayo absolutely knocked me out. I didn't even care that my hands smelled like meat for the rest of the day- it was worth it. On my return visit I tried the Vinsetta Burger, which didn't hold a candle to the 3am.

The burger sauce is reminiscent of a barbecue sauce, and was a little sweet for my taste. I wanted the kick of the Sriracha mayo. Matter of fact, I'd eat that mayo on just about anything. Maybe I will spend the last day of my spring break concocting a little of my own mayo.

Noble Fish, Clawson

Yesterday I sat at my desk, thinking about the huge kale salad that I had brought with me to perpetuate the belief that I love healthy eating. I had eaten salad for lunch every day since Monday. I wasn't feeling it. I love kale, but we needed to be on a break.

"On a break." Does everybody else think of this too?

Best show ever.

To get my morning news hit, I went to the Detoit Free Press website, where I saw this breaking news. I was clicking around, checking out the different categories, and when I saw "Best Sushi," I knew what I was going to have for lunch. Sorry, kale salad. Imma eat you for dinner.

I headed to Noble Fish, which, by all accounts, is the best sushi outside of Japan. I do wonder though if people just like it so much because it's in the back of a grocery store and you feel really cool when you walk in, nonchalant, like yes, I'm in a grocery store eating sushi that was just sliced and served up in front of my face. I know everything about food and you'll never be as cool as me.

Anyway, I sidled up to a stool at the sushi bar and stared at the menu. I eat a lot of sushi, but the menus continue to intimidate me. I never know if I'm ordering enough, or if what I'm ordering is enough for a million people, or if what I've ordered is something crazy and I'm going to have to smile and eat it anyway like I totally meant to do that.

I've done that before- in France- with a pig foot. A PIG FOOT! Can you imagine the acting I did to pretend that it was what I meant to order?! I would have given Ann Hathaway a run for her Best Supporting Actress Oscar.

I ordered two pieces each of salmon nigiri, yellowtail nigiri, and scallop hand roll nigiri. It went a little something like this.

It was very good. Fresh fish. Moist rice, not at all sticky or crunchy. The scallop hand roll had a bunch of scallop in each piece, and I love those little orange circles. See why sushi intimidates me? Because I have no idea what those things actually are. I just know that I love the way they kind of pop against my teeth. The sushi was great, but if this is the BEST SUSHI IN DETROIT, then I know some people who need to make a quick trip to Okemos and hit Maru.

Or maybe I just needed to order more. I would be happy to do that. This wasn't enough food.

The real show-stopper of this lunch wasn't the food, though. It was the middle-aged man sitting next to me. You know how sometimes you can just feel when someone wants to talk to you? It was radiating from him. So I turned and struck up a conversation with Alfonso, who is a plumber and amateur racquetball player, and as a result I was treated to an alphanumeric analysis of each letter of my first name and to a honey tangerine, which he pulled from his pocket and presented to me.

I'm considering whether or not I eat it. Don't tell my mother. I felt like he was just my kind of person, because I would definitely give someone a clementine from my purse and expect them to eat it.

By the way, my first name has 9 letters. It was a 15-minute analysis. I love people.

Morels- Farmington Hills

A few months ago I bought a Groupon for $40 to eat at Morels, a fancy joint in Farmington Hills (Oakland County.) I'm sure many people would buy a $40 Groupon and think "Great! I can have a pretty nice lunch with my bestie! Maybe we can even squeeze in a dessert."

I, on the other hand, thought "YEEEEEES! $40 to spend all on myself. I am going to eat everything." And eat everything I did.

I don't understand why people don't like to eat by themselves. I love to have that time to meticulously read the menu, to eat as slowly as I wanna eat, and (of course) to people-watch. People-watching is high on my list of hobbies. Must be all that time I spent in France.

So I took myself out to lunch one rainy, snowy afternoon. My waiter, Devin, was a dreamboat. Upon sitting down I explained to him that I was going to order a lot of food, too much food for one person, but it's because I had a Groupon and I don't eat lunch in that area of the state very often and, let's face it, I'm kind of a hog. He was into it.

He brought me a little bread basket with slice of sourdough (not my favorite) and a tiny cranberry brioche roll. I really tried to restrain myself from gobbling up the entire roll, since I knew that I was going to order two complete lunch entrees, but it was just too good. Nibble by nibble, the roll disappeared.

My first meal (ordered after obtaining the advice and consent of Devin, who called it his "go-to salad") was the duck breast and brussels sprouts salad. I couldn't figure out if the b. sprouts were raw or had been blanched, but either way they ha a nice bite to them and were separated into petals, like tiny little lettuce leaves. I haven't made myself a salad at home yet copying this technique, but you better believe it's in the works.

The radishes were peeled and boiled. But still crunchy. I don't love radishes, but I loved the candied, spiced pecans. Quelle shock, I know.

I also love duck. It's a little bit greasy, a little bit dark, like a chicken that's been reading too many vampire novels. It's easy to roast for a crowd but people think you're fancy when you serve it to them. It made for a luxurious lunch.

For my next entree, Devin and I chose the Scottish Salmon Rockefeller. I'm ashamed to admit that it had never occurred to me to take a piece of grilled salmon, cover it in Parmesan, and stick it under the broiler. You know that I don't walk around eating pieces of cheese, but it's hard for me to turn down a juicy, flaky piece of salmon covered in bubbly Parmesan.

The accompaniments were good too, nothing noteworthy. But then, who needs a knock-down drag-out side when you're eating salmon like you're going to the electric chair the next day?

After these two meals, Devin told me that we had a problem. "We're only at $32," he said. "You've got to spend more money."

OH DANG.

I told him that I had given up sugar for Lent, but Archangel Devin told me that this was a special occasion, and God would understand. He brought over the dessert tray.

Now, I knew that I was going to be making my first-ever cheesecake in the next few days for the Little Prince (my brother)'s birthday, so in the name of research, I ordered the mascarpone cheesecake.

Holymolythiswasdelicious. I have two favorite bites of cheesecake- right on the point, and the flat end of it. I will admit that I took those two bites, plus about 5 more. It was rich and velvety and the caramel sauce on top was incredible.

Morels, dear reader, are a type of wild mushroom that grow in Michigan. They are seriously expensive- not truffles expensive, but you're not going to find them sitting in the produce case at Meijer either. My mother has a friend, a little old lady all the way up in Boyne City, who hunts for morels every year. Then she dehydrates them and sends them to Mom, wrapped in a plaid gift bag. Morels have a distinctive earthy, spicy flavor, and the mushroom cap looks like a honeycomb.

The attention to detail at Morels wasn't lost on me.

It was a gorgeous lunch. I felt like a celebrity. Keep your eye on those Detroit Groupons, eaters.