Hyper-sensitive locals respond to outside criticism by overcompensating with an over the top abundance of community pride. If anything has so much as a slight connection to the Detroit metro area (think Madonna), it becomes the coveted love child of the tri-county area. Whether it's people, cars, music, sports, or food, if it came from Detroit, we'll sure as hell let you know about it. Besides the coveted names associated with Motown music, and the iconic cars that roll off our assembly lines, nothing sparks a more passionate following than the Detroit Coney Island hotdog.
What the Philly cheese steak sandwich is to Philadelphia, the Coney Island hotdog is to the city of Detroit. Make no mistake about the name either. Named in homage to the birthplace of the hotdog, any similarities end there. The Coney Island hotdog is, and will always be a Michigan invention. If you overhear some out of town jackass trying to stake claim to it's invention, make sure you tell them where they can stick their Coney dog.
For the uninformed outsider, there are several variations of the "Coney dog", or simply the "Coney." The Detroit-style dog is a hotdog served in a steamed bun, with an ample amount of thin, somewhat runny, beanless chili, with a thin stripe of yellow mustard, topped off with a mound of finely diced onions.
At Todoroff's in Jackson, Michigan, the chili topping is served with a drier gravy-less meat chili, that is more like ground beef, than the Hungarian spiced chili served on Detroit dogs, but otherwise it mirrors the ingredients of Detroit style Coney's.
Flint style Coney's are similar to Todoroff's, but in order to be considered a true Flint Coney dog, Koegel hotdogs are the wiener of choice.
Other menu items for consideration are the chili-fries, the loose burger, or just plain chili. For the entirety of my Coney eating life, I have faithfully ordered, two Coney Dogs, with Chili-Fries (well done), and a pop. I don't consider myself superstitious, but not once have I ordered anything different. I consider this a ritual of the highest order, and to deviate from my order is not an option.
Receiptless waiters bark out extensive orders in cryptic verbiage to a waiting cook, who fill out orders with the frenetic speed of a street hustler playing Three-card Monte. Orders can be altered by asking for light onion or no onion, and so forth, but otherwise, why mess with a near-sacred combination of ingredients? Putting ketchup on your Coney dog (at least in my opinion) is the equivalent of wearing a Yankee's cap at Fenway Park, so be advised to eat it like it was meant to be eaten, or take it down the street buster.
There are many stories as to who actually invented what we consider to be the Coney Island hotdog, and most stories are filled with passionate conviction, so rather than focus on where they originated, let me speak to the passionate allegiance that Michiganders have for where they choose to indulge.
Todoroff's in Jackson, Michigan, opened its doors in 1914, and has claims to being the first. Flint, Michigan has Angelo's Coney Island, and it too has a loyal following. The true battleground for Coney dog supremacy though, is fought in downtown Detroit, on Lafayette Street.
American Coney Island, and Lafayette Coney Island sit side by side from each other. Greek immigrant, Gust Keros founded American Coney Island in 1917, and after several years in the hotdog business, sent for his brother William to come to the U.S to join him. The brother's didn't get along so well, and soon after his arrival, William parted ways with his brother and opened Lafayette Coney Island next door to his brothers place. To this day the two restaurants are fierce rivals, and the rivalry has carried over to patrons, who either patronize one or the other. There exists no middle ground that I know of. I proudly claim allegiance to Lafayette Coney Island. I'm 53 years old, and have never set foot in American Coney Island. I don't have the faintest idea of what their Coney's taste like, nor do I have any interest in finding out. I wear my rigidity as a badge of honor, and make every effort to promote Lafayette Coney Island at every turn. This is not a food review. This is a manifesto.
American Coney Island is triangular in shape and takes up the end of the block, sandwiched between Lafayette and Michigan Avenue. Because it is surrounded by glass, patrons appear to be eating in a fishbowl, in full view of pedestrians and passerby. The interior has a cookie-cutter retro look, the result of a poorly excecuted renovation in 1989. When you pass American Coney on foot, you run the chance of being confronted by waiters standing on the sidewalk, who play the role of a circus barker, aggressively trying to persuade you to try American Coney Island, rather than Lafayette. This annoys the hell out of me, and kills any chance they might have of converting me to their side.
Lafayette on the other hand, makes no attempt, to lure, promote, or impress any of its patrons. The interior is drab and cramped, and the trip to the descending staircase leading to the basement bathroom, feels like Buffalo Bill's dungeon in Silence of the Lambs. You can't help but laugh, seeing first- time patrons with expressions of disgust, ascending the stairs after having used the bathroom. Loyal customers willingly turn a blind eye to deficiencies, in favor of long lasting traditions passed down from family to family. Despite its pitfalls, Lafayette Coney Island is a living breathing entity that possesses the vitality and fighting spirit that encapsulates the true spirit of Detroit. When you walk into Lafayette Coney Island, you know you're in Detroit. And of course, it goes without saying, the Coney dogs are to die for. The buns are soft and sweet, the chili mild but flavorful, and the hotdog has a tough outer encasing that snaps as you bite into it. Nirvana.
Now go get some TUMS and a couple of breath mints, you're going to need it.
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| "Two on one, light onion" |
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