My time in Detroit ended as it began: on a Monday night at Selden Standard, sitting at the bar with a Negroni in my hand.
If I could leave readers with one great restaurant recommendation, it would be to go to Selden on a Monday, sit at the bar, and order a Negroni, steak tartare, and a seasonal pasta dish. Then, let your paltry anxieties wash away.
I came to Detroit in April 2024. Over the past two years, I learned much about this city by observing its eating habits. To the rest of the world, Detroit is a Rust Belt town rebuilding; it’s a cute narrative. But Detroit is much more than the sum of its working-class history, more than its factories and manual laborers. Detroit is a city of dreamers.
For proof, take note of the amazing chefs here. The barriers to opening a restaurant in Detroit are fewer than in other major U.S. cities — the rent cheaper, the overhead lower. As a result, some fascinating things are able to blossom here.
I often think about Warda Bouguettaya (of Warda Pâtisserie), a native of Algeria and a phenomenal baker whose cooking represents a more hopeful, united America. Her new space in Detroit’s Little Village is a sanctuary merging nature, art, and culinary excellence. Bouguettaya’s pastries — woven, textured, and laced with preciousness — are themselves a work of art. Warda is a bakery that feels like it can only exist in Detroit, a city with room to realize dreams.
I will remember Detroit fondly for its culinary eccentricities. For example, this city is full of wonderful interpretations of steak tartare. One such tartare exists at Tiliani in Dearborn, a halal Italian restaurant, where the chef preparing your pasta is also Lebanese. Tartare is a suitable expression of Detroit’s culture: In this area’s rich Arab American community, you’ll often find kibbeh nayyeh (that is, raw lamb mixed with bulgur wheat).
People often ask me what restaurant I’ll miss most, and I’d like to submit a full experience: lunch at Phoenicia in Birmingham. I will miss the way a flurry of mezze hits the white tablecloth all at once, the way the table becomes unruly with plates — tabbouleh with curly leaf parsley and a towering leaf of crunchy romaine lettuce; hummus topped with awarma (lamb confit); smoky baba ghannouj, and vegetarian onions stuffed with tomatoey rice. I’ll miss murky glasses of arak clinking in midday celebration and the ability to take advantage of a full bar while dining on Texas-style ribs inside a Lebanese restaurant. What a glorious and highly unusual experience!
Long after I’ve left Detroit, I will think about the soft, freshly baked pita bread paired with scrambled eggs and gooey American cheese at Mitsos, a Greek café in Eastern Market that opens at 6:30 a.m. I’ll miss ordering the tuna fahsa in Yemen Cafe’s diner setting and long nights at the homey-yet-debaucherous dive bars in Hamtramck — Bumbo’s, Kelly’s, and Trixie’s. I’ll miss the Filipino-inspired pastries from JP Makes and Bakes, the economical happy hour at The London Chophouse, and the warm, Romanian hospitality provided by the lovely married couple who run Bar Gabi in Hazel Park.
Mostly, however, I will miss the people. Every story I wrote for Hour seemed to connect me with a new passionate, wonderfully talented, and creative chef or restaurant owner. These are people I hope to stay in touch with over the years, whose success I’ll be rooting for from afar.
Alas, I’m moving to Los Angeles, and so I’m stepping away as the restaurant critic here at Hour. Thanks for the memories, Detroit — for the excellent food, conversation, and most of all, the sense of belonging. I’m sure I’ll be back to eat, only next time as a visitor. Who knows, maybe I’ll even see you at Selden Standard on a Monday.
This story originally appeared in the June 2026 issue of Hour Detroit magazine. To read more, pick up a copy of Hour Detroit at a local retail outlet. Click here to get our digital edition.
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