She Dines: Midtown, Corktown, and in My Lady’s Chamber

“Ladiez is pimps too…gon’ brush your shoulders off.”

— Jay Z

Not my usual classic quote intro but necessary, as it was the first thing I saw when I entered the foyer of Lady of the House. I’m going to like this place, I thought for the second time. I first had the impression as my husband pulled into the parking lot and I realized we were across the street from Corktown’s FOLK Detroit (one of my favorite brunch spots) but now the feeling was palpable. Another two steps and I ran into the proprietor of Antietam as he was walking out. “Try the roasted carrots, he urged.” Yep, definitely going to like this place. 

A few minutes later, my husband and I were sitting at the bar only to learn the kitchen was closed. Damn! Naturally, I made a mental note to come back the next day before ordering a glass of wine. All was not lost, however, as we were in the company of a perfectly awesome bartender. I determined not to rate the whole experience based on his friendliness, though, as I had learned my lesson from that kind of naivety in the past (see Apparatus Room post). Between jokes at the bar, I managed to take note of the ambiance at Lady of the House. Pineapples, which I learned are the international symbol of hospitality and welcome, are displayed prominently in various areas. The main dining room is intimate and includes a lovely fireplace. I should also mention that there is a picture of Ryan Gosling on an ottoman in the ladies’ bathroom, and not the romantic Ryan from The Notebook you might want to marry but the sexy Ryan from Crazy Stupid Love you might want to…well, nevermind. I’ve not met you Chef Kate but thank you, kindly.

Roasted carrots, napkin, and photo of Ryan Gosling by April Eileen

I did visit the next day. I was not jazzy, there was no babysitter, and it was not Saturday night. Instead, my mother and I were without a reservation and toting a three year old into a crowded eatery – every restaurant proprietor’s ideal situation, I’m sure. Christian, the general manager who I had been emailing about my book club, was super accommodating nonetheless. If you’re reading this, Christian, know that it takes a village to raise a future gastronome and the foodie force is strong with the little one. She prefers a well-seasoned lamb chop with herbed goat cheese and lightly sautéed kale to chicken nuggets any day. Certainly, she eats dirt and paper too from time to time but hey, it looks promising. Thanks so much for everything!

Anyway, mom, kid and I sat down and ordered a few small plates. While we waited for our food, we struck up a conversation with an “expat” couple sans their tiny tots, just in from their native Chicago. They were jazzy, they did have a babysitter, and based on every available indicator, it was still Saturday night to them. Always a good omen when former cool kids (i.e. cosmo kids before kids) from another awesome city decide to visit an establishment. Just as they were telling us what a must-try the salmon was, our roasted carrots, cucumber carpaccio, and potato donuts arrived. Verdict? Yums all around. The carrots were perfectly cooked and the hollandaise sauce was a lovely compliment, the cucumber with walnut romesco was fresh and flavorful, and what can I say about the potato donuts? Creatively conceived and beautifully executed, the donuts were perfection, and there was some kind of custard upon which they sat that could have been a dish unto itself. Delicious and a confirmation of the fact that I never had a potato I didn’t like (except in potato salad - it should be a capital crime to chill a potato and douse it with mayonnaise).

Potato donuts and fireplace by April Eileen

All in all, we had a wonderful experience. There are good things in store for Lady of the House. I’ll certainly be back and I hear that brunch is afoot too in a few months! Nothing I like better than a good excuse for day drinking. The only thing I might recommend is that they do a bit more with the curated cocktails but I suspect that’s in the works and as long as there is wine and a full bar, I’m happy. Loving this one, guys! Check it out and, as always, let me know what you think!

Love in all things,

April Eileen

She Dines: The Devil Dons Michelin Stars

“Poverty was repugnant to her; degradation took away two-thirds of her greatness. Milady was only a queen while among queens. The pleasure of satisfied pride was necessary to her domination. To command inferior beings was rather a humiliation than a pleasure for her.”

— Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers

Rarely do I write a critical post. It’s not that I’m so optimistic, but rather that I was gifted with the ability to exercise a certain degree of diplomacy in most circumstances…except this one.

I’ve been to Apparatus Room – located inside the Detroit Foundation Hotel, the product of renovations to the Detroit Fire Department headquarters – several times now and feel I can make a fair assessment. Everything is always perfect – people say what they’re supposed to say, the food is exactly what you would expect from a Michelin 2-star chef, the ambiance is completely representative of a downtown city restaurant. But it’s the kind of perfection that suggests something sinister is going on behind the scenes…like Pleasant Ridge perfection or Stepford Wives perfection. It’s like reading Runway Magazine – the fictional publication that served as the contextual backdrop for the movie, The Devil Wears Prada – and then meeting its cut-throat, demanding editor-in-chief, Miranda Priestly. All examples of perfection followed by unadulterated evil (okay, perhaps I was a little hard on Pleasant Ridge).

Detroit Foundation Hotel entrance and dessert by April Eileen

What I found was precision (good) coupled with an air of superiority (not so good) and a seeming willingness to sacrifice whatever is necessary to achieve that air (even worse). And just as I’d rather not have avocado toasts, delicious as they might be, with the infamous Ms. Priestly, I’m also not really trying to have them at Apparatus Room either. I realize I may never dine respectably in the city of Detroit again by suggesting Apparatus Room is the Miranda Priestly – the unmitigated bitch – of Detroit restaurants but hey, it’s my truth. Despite excellent food, the unmistakable conceit in the admittedly beautiful atmosphere leaves a bad taste nonetheless.

I can usually tell how accommodating a restaurant will be when I try to make a reservation for a large party on an off night. Sometimes it’s simple and the restaurant has space or makes it happen in some other way. Sometimes it is difficult and they are persnickety about how the bill should be paid or mention the entire party must be there before anyone is seated or there is some inordinate fee associated with the room. I’m quite used to any of these rules and have even been in situations where they are compounded (anyone been to Wright & Company lately?) so no worries right? In this case, I never even got a call back.

Now let me back up. I had been to Apparatus Room once before the situation with the unanswered calls. I actually had a good experience, which is why I considered the restaurant for my meeting. In hindsight, it was entirely due to the service of a truly friendly bartender who, by the way, is now at The Whiskey Parlor (go figure). Anyway, I knew they had a private seating area because a member of the staff – longer hair, dark features, grey suit, aloofness seeping from his pores – showed it to me and we discussed it. Sadly, I didn’t write the gentlemen’s name down…total fail on my part because when I finally did get someone on the phone to continue the discussion, describing the gentlemen to which I had spoken – longer hair, dark features, grey suit, pore-seeping aloofness – of course none of it mattered. Not only did persnickety-ness abound, putting Apparatus Room squarely in the “exceedingly difficult” camp but apparently, no one with the description I provided worked there.

I pulled every trick in the book and even dropped a name (it’s literally the only one I have) to avoid some of the rigid rules and was able to make a reservation for the main restaurant area. When I walked in, I was greeted or rather assessed by the haughty hostess, and while I have no general issue with nonchalance, in this case, it was less about trying to create an atmosphere of exclusiveness, which is common among luxury brands, and more about ensuring I realized what a privilege it was for me to be in their establishment.

Pastries and Detroit Foundation Hotel entrance by April Eileen

Fortunately for me, I was in very good company for dinner so the rest of the dining experience was fine and, as I mentioned, the food is really spectacular. It is a real shame it’s overshadowed by a general disdain for all human life. After paying my bill, I took a few steps toward the door and – Gah! I spotted the man I was convinced was an apparition. There he was – longer hair, dark features, glaring aloofness and I swear to God, the very same grey suit! He was there in the flesh and my blood was boiling with rage.

Okay, I’m done. Check out Apparatus Room if you want to feel generally unwanted and inadequate in life (just tell people you went because it’s the only place that serves Sancerre by the glass…we won’t judge). But if you want great food, great atmosphere, great customer service AND that nice warm fuzzy feeling of belonging that makes for a favorite restaurant (wow…what a concept), take another route. Do yourself a favor and check out another of the many fantastic restaurants in Detroit (Selden Standard, Takoi, and Savannah Blue are just a few of my favorite).

What’s your take on ostentatious eateries? Tolerable or maddening?

UPDATE: I decided to give Apparatus Room another shot when I held my monthly mastermind there a few weeks ago. I know, I know! I was hesitant, believe me, but most of my fellow content creators had never been and I felt they at least deserved a chance to form their own opinions. I was the first to arrive and the restaurant was nearly empty so I asked the host if the head chef, Thomas Lents, was around. He was. I was simply going to introduce myself and share that I had met his lovely wife and son during a parent/child class we all had together during the fall. Unworthy as I am, I did expect to have an opportunity to compliment him on his truly delightful family (and the spectacular blueberry lemon pancakes). Nothing major, just the exchange of a few pleasantries. Well, brunch - scrumptious as it was - came and went and I found myself indignantly sipping grapefruit mimosas because I wasn’t given the chance to praise the him. Well, Apparatus Room had done it again and I was put squarely in my place - a mere paying customer. On a MUCH brighter note, we had a delightful server who, like the bartender mentioned above, might make you forget you are in the 7th level of hell but only briefly. There are still red flags - references to the head chef always being “pissed;” the mysterious plate of free pancakes that showed up at our table after my friends and I had openly talked bad about the restaurant in the ladies room; french fries - far too plebeian I suppose - only being served on the less bourgeois side of the restaurant. I suspect nothing has really changed and Apparatus Room is still a sumptuous tragedy but who am I? Just a poor foot soldier, too lowly even to be noticed. Oh wait, that was Mr. Wickham from Pride and Prejudice but you get the idea.

Love in all things,

April Eileen

The Promise of Spring Rain

Rain on blossom by Maddy Hunt

“Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby”

— Langston Hughes, April Rain Song

I sat on the front steps of my 1925 bungalow, surveying the street lined with its brick houses and big trees. A precious little leather-bound notebook lay next to me, beckoning me to pen my thoughts and reflections. I was in a sentimental mood so I obliged, opening the book and thumbing the pages until I reached the first blank one. It was full of promise and so seemed the world around me.

On the surface, the street scene unfolded in typical Michigan May morning fashion. The tulips decorating my garden beds opened to meet the sky, the birds sang excitedly competing with the hum of a distant lawnmower, and my neighbor dutifully inspected the blooming buds in his flower boxes. As I tuned in though, I could sense the magic that hung suspended in the humid, warm air. It became apparent that everyone and everything was in open anticipation. It was going to rain and there was something lovely about the whisperings of the impending showers. A gentle breeze passed through the air like silk and carried a bounty of surprises for the discerning – soft floral fragrances; bees dancing together, having taken a short break from their work; and the suggestion of coolness that comes when wind touches wet. Everything carried a subtle moisture, as though trees, plants and bodies alike had sucked the dampness into themselves from the heavens. Or perhaps it was that the mist had swelled from an infinite Earth supply up and into the ethers instead. A blanket of clouds moved slowly across the sky providing a gray backdrop against the colors of spring, still vibrant even in the muted light of the sun; and I sat there taking it all in and doing my best to capture the uncapturable as the first drops hit my notebook pages.

I watched it all knowing that somehow my deep appreciation and willingness to be sensitive had created the magic. I had connected, if only for a moment in time, to all that is and was gifted with the opportunity to be nourished alongside of everything else. There is a certain stillness just before spring rain, a pause before the release like the pause between breaths and in that brief but vast space, there is a promise. It is a promise of messes and mud pies and heartfelt tree hugging, and of tiny mirrors all along the sidewalk yearning to be disturbed by the rubber boots of laughing children, my own daughters among them. It is a promise of calm and contemplation invited by the pitter patter of rain on the roof and the beads of water left behind on the window, each small windows in and of themselves. It is a promise of care with each falling drop as it kisses the ground. It is the promise of love. Love, ever-present, Divine in its nature, gathering and pooling everything into itself until it is reflected everywhere, until one color is indistinguishable from the next, until all is blended and blurred and beautiful. “It is love,” my mud-covered 5-year-old reminded me. “Rain and love. That’s how the trees grow.”

Love in all things,

April Eileen