From the Table: Detroit
The Motor City makes its way onto my food map.
Detroit hadn’t really been on my radar until recently. A few solid recs and a growing buzz around the food scene finally pushed me to take a closer look. What I found was a city full of grit, energy, and more than a few places that made me want to chill and stay awhile. From mezzi rigatoni and wood fired pizza to raw kibbeh with jalapeño and a bottle of Musar, Detroit delivered. Here’s where I ended up:
Forgive Me Father
A little off the downtown grid, Forgive Me Father is part natural wine bar, part tinned fish altar, part community hangout and it lives up to the name, occupying what I believe was once an old church. High ceilings, garage doors thrown open to an expansive gravel garden space, and an easy flow between inside and out make it feel like a modern chapel of leisure.
I ordered the mortadella sadwich with pistachio cream and stracciatella and I’d go back just for that. Ever since spending time in Bologna, I’ve been a sucker for mortadella done right. This one hit the spot.
For by first bottle in Detroit, I cracked a bottle of Marc Hébrart Blanc de Blancs Champagne. While admiring the back bar, I spotted a bottle of Lucano Amaro I didn’t recognize. I asked the bartender about it. It was their non-alcoholic version. I got a taste. Surprisingly not bad.
They had a small but thoughtful wine selection and a generous menu of conservas. I eat tinned fish three days a week at home, so I love seeing places elevate it in public. I’d like to come back some evening when the fire pits are going and chill in the garden.
Ladder 4 Wine Bar
Man, Detroit does a fantastic job of breathing new life into old spaces. Ladder 4 is another example. An old fire station turned wine bar that still carries echoes of its past. From the ceiling tile work to the preserved architecture, the bones of the building are proudly on display, including the original pole holes where firefighters once slid down.
The wine list here is impressive with plenty of offbeat and allocated options for the curious drinker. I struck out a couple times on my first choices, but the team made up for it by pouring a complimentary glass of bubbles while we worked our way through the list. The service was sharp and easygoing.
We caught the tail end of tomato season and ordered their colorful tomato salad along with crispy Brussels sprouts one of those dishes you expect to be an afterthought but ends up stealing the show. Everything was bright, layered, and well plated. We opened a bottle of La Pépière Muscadet which delivered that much needed acidity.
The adjacent wine shop is worth poking around in, especially if you’re a buyer or collector. You’ll see things here that never make it out to the Midwest. I could’ve spent another hour just browsing the shelves.
San Morello
Out of all the places on this Detroit trip, San Morello was the one I had boldly circled. It’s the signature restaurant inside the Shinola Hotel, helmed by Andrew Carmellini of NoHo Hospitality. The space feels pulled from somewhere along the southern Italian coast with marble counters, curved wood shelving, soft lighting, and a steady buzz of activity. It’s elegant without being precious. From the moment we sat down, it was clear every detail had been thought through.
We went with some classic dishes: mezzi rigatoni in a rich ragù topped with ricotta, followed by their wood-fired pizza. Simple, balanced, and much needed. We paired it all with a 2024 G.D. Vajra Barbera d’Alba, something that plays well with food. It was exactly what I wanted at that moment.
After dinner, we made our way just beyond the hotel lobby to Evening Bar, the moody sibling cocktail lounge tucked behind velvet curtains. It’s the kind of place that feels like a secret, even though everyone seems to know about it. Polished cocktails, plush chairs, and dark wood, the perfect spot for at nightcap.
Le Suprême
Out of the many stops on my Detroit itinerary, Le Suprême easily carved out one of the strongest impressions. Tucked into the ground‑floor of the Book Tower, this French inspired brasserie was the perfect blend of old world Paris and new age Detroit.
From the moment you walk in, you notice the intention: mosaic tile floors, art‑nouveau detailing, plush leather booths, and vintage accents. The restaurant sits at the center of this restored landmark, the Book Tower, a building originally designed by architect Louis Kamper and once the tallest structure in the city.
The menu stays true to the brasserie theme, with seafood towers, moules‑frites, steak au poivre, and a full blown boulangerie/patisserie mixing breads and pastries.
After the night before, I kept things light. I had a terrific jambon‑beurre sandwich (crusty bread, high‑quality ham, cold butter, cornichons) paired with a crisp Normandy cider. It hit the reset button perfectly, just like it does after a jet lagged trip and finally arriving in Paris.
My final thought: I need to come here for dinner.
Leila
For me, Detroit holds a deeper meaning. Many of my family members immigrated from the middle east to this city in the early 1900s, part of the larger wave of Middle Eastern migration that helped shape the cultural and culinary fabric of the city. So it felt only right to honor that history by dining at Leila, one of Detroit’s most celebrated modern Lebanese restaurants.
This isn’t a humble shawarma stop. Leila is something else entirely, an elegant, refined version of Lebanese food. Moody lighting, beautiful plating, and a cocktail program that incorporates ingredients like arak in clever, unexpected ways.
We started with a round of mezza labneh drizzled in good olive oil, falafel resting on creamy tahini, and a wildly flavorful jalapeño kibbeh nayeh. I’ve eaten raw kibbeh my whole life, but never with the heat and brightness of jalapeño and fresh mint layered in. It was a twist that somehow made total sense. I’m definitely going to try it at home with my own kibbeh recipe.
To pair, we opened a bottle of Château Musar Jeune, one of my favorites from the Bekaa Valley. I used to be able to get Musar wines back home in Kansas, but not anymore, so when I saw it on the list, there was no hesitation. It’s juicy and structured, with enough brightness to cut through the richness of the food.
Dessert was a generous slice of pistachio baklava, flaked apart with vintage-style shears, and a final toast with a pour of arak to close out my last dinner in Detroit.
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