Couldn’t make it to the New Orleans Jazz Fest this year.
So there went the crawfish, jambalaya, gumbo and etouffe.
The visit to southern France got canceled.
So good-bye, foie gras, escargots, bouillabaisse and fromage de chevre.
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Don’t think I can’t hear those insincere “boo-hoo’s” and “poor baby’s.” But
you must understand that once certain cuisines have lingered on the taste
buds, it’s hard to spend a whole year doing without.
Absent a France, a New Orleans or an Italy, one must make do with the fine,
expensive and sometimes stuffy restaurants of the big city.
Or go to Michigan.
My trip up north may have been a compromise, but I found I could eat near
the top of the gourmet food chain in the Wolverine State — at least in that
part of the northwestern lower peninsula anchored by Traverse City and
Petoskey. Sure, I had angled for something more exotic, but…”Readers also
want to know what they can do in the Midwest,” said an editor as he rejected
most of my latest story ideas.
I could forget Hong Kong and its treasury of seafood. And sayonara, sushi.
Later, Lutece.
Hello, Suttons Bay, Leland, Northport, Ellsworth, et al.
I grew up in Michigan — Detroit to be exact — and I recall the Michigan
of my youth as a state highly suspicious of herbs and vegetables. Salad
involved Jell-O and marshmallows. The best entree in the city’s best
restaurant was a steak so expensive that my Dad’s boss took one look at the
menu and walked out with mortified salesmen and puzzled clients in tow. Better
to lose a sale than take a beating from somebody in Accounting.
But that was long ago. The sort of people who could afford those steaks —
industrialists from Chicago and Detroit — liked to spend their summer
vacations on the shores of Grand Traverse Bay and Little Traverse Bay. They
built fanciful and immense Victorian cottages in Petoskey and Harbor Springs
and dined sumptuously, as was their habit, on a cuisine that might be
described as Midwest Solid. Ernest Hemingway passed the warm months of
childhood at Horton Bay, where wily trout tested his budding manhood. A
wealthy segment of the heartland seemed to be crying out for sophisticated
dining.
Unfortunately, sophisticated dining didn’t appear at many places in the
heartland until the early 1970s, when the in crowds began to forgo steak in
favor of Beef Wellington and demanded broiled fish, instead of fried, and a
sauce other than tartar.
Over the years — especially the last 25 or 30 years — northwestern
Michigan’s wealth escalated. Tastes gradually escalated, too, because the
world’s great cuisines were only hours away from Chicago and Detroit by jet.
People of means had their pick of fine restaurants — at home in the big towns
and in those readily accessible world capitals.
Yet the lakes and woods and rivers and quaint little Michigan hamlets lost
none of their appeal. All they needed were a few places where families could
fulfil their minimum daily requirements of radicchio, truffle-infused oils,
creme Reine and antelope sausage.
That kind of upgrade actually happened at a few spots, as the decades
passed and the Dow Jones went up. I read a little background material on
northwestern Michigan dining and the growing wine industry there and realized
the editor might have a point. I would go to Michigan, eat heartily and
report.
As soon as I pulled into my first stop, the lakeside restaurant known as
Windows, I could see that the Michigan haute dining experience would be a bit
different from the haute dining experience in the average metropolis. No valet
parkers waited outside. (Or varlet parkers, as they say in the North Woods.)
No sign told me to wear a jacket or tie. The immediate neighborhood contained
mostly water and pine trees, swans, ducks, cottages, docks and pleasure boats
— all on the western edge of deep blue Grand Traverse Bay, about 7 miles
north of Traverse City.
Windows’ L-shaped dining room features nine massive picture windows, so no
one goes without a dandy vista of water and woods. But the roadhouse aspect
ends there. Patrons dine in a bright, casually elegant atmosphere on seafood
dishes cooked by owner/chef Phil Murray. The view stays put during all of
dinner, thanks to Michigan’s somewhat unreasonable insistence on using Eastern
Daylight Time. For its extra 50 miles of easterness, the state gets an unfair
amount of evening sunshine. Little pink-shaded lamps on each white-clothed
Windows table provided all the artificial illumination necessary.
“Chocolate is our specialty, so save room for dessert,” Mari Chamberlain,
the dining room manager, instructed.
Neatly dressed patrons tucked into portions one would think no dessert
could possibly muscle aside. I’d deal with the chocolate question later. Right
now my full attention turned to the “Napoleon” of slightly sweet blue lump
crab puffs and faintly salty smoked salmon drizzled with pink remoulade sauce
and artfully arranged peppercorns ($10.95).
I followed that with the week’s whitefish. Almost every self-respecting
Michigan-shore restaurant serves whitefish, but I wanted to try a variety of
dishes. Being fish specialists with an affinity for Cajun and French touches,
chefs Phil Murray and Randy Chamberlain, I decided, would do the whitefish
honors this time around.
As it turned out, the cooks were in a Hungarian mood that evening. The
baked fish fillet ($25) arrived bearing a generous sprinkling of paprika, as
well as beurre blanc. Lemon butter added a smooth texture and a slight tang.
The wine, a 1998 Chardonnay ($26), came from the Willow Vineyard. Willow is
one of several vineyards that dot Old Mission Peninsula, the green strip of
land visible across the bay. Wine and whitefish soon became fast friends —
firm fresh meat combined with a liquid that contributed hints of apple and
smoky oak. The plate held a color guard of shredded purple cabbage, carrots,
arugula, string beans, corn, cauliflower and miniature zucchini, all tasting
farm fresh.
Dessert, although I had absolutely no room for it, was Chocolate Olivia, a
bittersweet mousse ensconced in a crisp lattice of white chocolate and topped
with a raspberry sauce ($7). Had to have it. Wasn’t sorry.
Through the windows and a haze of satiation, I could see Old Mission
Peninsula. I fancied it resembled 17th Century Manhattan. Add 300 years and
tall buildings, put Windows in the middle of it, and probably it would hold
its own in the New York restaurant milieu.
Murray opened the place in 1986, but he was not the first to introduce such
exacting standards to Michigan’s rural dining scene. The process has been
gradual and subtle and probably surprising to those who expect little more
than fudge and cherry pie (although those are certainly not to be ignored).
Naturally, white-tablecloth establishments have been operating up here
since the days when steamboats brought vacationing Chicagoans from across the
lake. The restaurants served thoroughly satisfying breakfasts, lunches and
suppers. And a good many of them still do. Nothing wrong with that.
Northwestern Michigan’s haute culinary adventures began in 1972, when Wes
Westhoven bought the rustic Rowe Inn, a familiar roadside attraction on County
Highway 48 in tiny Ellsworth. The town lies about 14 miles southeast of
Charlevoix, a longtime tourist magnet, and not too far from Boyne City and
Boyne Falls, both popular golf resort and skiing venues now but relative
backwaters then..
Established in 1947 by a family named Rowe, the original restaurant served
such Michigan staples as chicken, hamburger and, of course, whitefish. It even
had a soda fountain. Westhoven envisioned a radically different sort of place.
“I wanted to have something styled on a little French country inn,” he told
me. Westhoven had worked since the age of 10 in the family’s Toledo, Ohio,
country club restaurant. He escaped into teaching for awhile, then returned to
the family business after his father died. When his mother retired, Westhoven
and his then wife set off to try something new.
“I could have taken over the country club operation after my mother
retired, but I said, I’m outta here. I know what I want to do. I want a little
place in the country, and I want to do fresh and from scratch — local
ingredients, French technique. Mine was probably the first restaurant in the
state to have that philosophy. We’re talking 28 years ago. It was all
whitefish and prime rib around here then.”
Those were the days when, gourmet-wise, Beef Wellington ruled — even in
little French-style country restaurants. “We actually did Beef Wellington for
awhile,” Westhoven recalled. “It’s a little cliched now, but it wasn’t a
cliche in 1972, believe me. We sold a helluva lot of it. We made a good one
too. We used a morel mushroom duxelle, instead of the pate.”
In year 2000, the duxelle might show up on a walleye entree, along with
such menu items as rabbit terrine with ham and pork, or smoked whitefish
cheesecake, or rack of lamb with Provencal sauce.
Still, Rowe Inn remains resolutely casual. Knotty pine covers the walls,
and — so far as the customers and wait staff are concerned — every day is
casual Friday. I took my son, Gabe, a former frat boy, to the Rowe Inn, and he
felt relaxed enough to order an Amstel Light as an aperitif.
Later, we would select something from a wine list that Westhoven diligently
maintains by making annual two-week visits to French vineyards. He claims to
have one of the largest cellars in Michigan and operates a thriving retail
wine dealership on the premises. As Gabe and I dug into pecan-stuffed morel
mushrooms ($12.50), venison pierogi ($9.50), the walleye ($26.50) and grilled
pork tenderloin in blackberry sauce ($24.50), we sipped from a half bottle of
1994 Chablis “Vaillon,” Domaine Moreau & Fils ($24).
“This is the best meal I’ve had since we ate here in 1991,” Gabe said,
remembering a time when he was only old enough for an aperitif of 7-Up. “Oh,
except maybe that one at Hattie’s the other night.”
We had turned up at Hattie’s, in the heart of downtown Suttons Bay, on a
quiet weeknight. The restaurant occupies an understated gray storefront with
an equally understated interior — gray walls punctuated by colorful canvases
from local artists (all works for sale). Owner/chef Jim Milliman started
Hattie’s (named for one of his grandmothers) in 1987. For three years before
that, Milliman worked at Rowe Inn.
Hattie’s has become a fixture in the fresh, creative, eclectic school of
northwestern Michigan dining that Wes Westhoven spawned. “There’s a market for
it,” Milliman said. “As people get more experienced, they begin to understand
that for $8.95 they can get food, but for a few dollars more they can get
great food, and that’s where we come in.”
Like most people in the business Milliman cites Westhoven as the Michigan
culinary pioneer. Milliman hired on at Rowe Inn soon after Harlan “Pete”
Peterson left to start his now-renowned Tapawingo, also in Ellsworth.
“Pete runs a great place. He had great training,” Westhoven said,
chuckling. “But it’s more a New York or California restaurant. It’s a city
restaurant. Whereas, we’re old shoe. People want to compare our restaurants
all the time, and they’re not anything alike.”
If he had been able to join me, son Gabe might have been intimidated enough
at Tapawingo to skip the beer and order wine or a cocktail before dinner. A
sommelier handles the beverages. Women wait the tables wearing white blouses
and long black skirts. They glide over expensive carpeting through rooms with
pale yellow walls hung with fine paintings. The gray clapboard house, a former
residence, is set off by a broad lawn, expansive terrace and carefully tended
flower beds. It’s the sort of place where the women dress up and the men wear
Rolex watches but no socks.
Given all that elegance, owner/chef Peterson comes across nearly as old
shoe as Westhoven, his former employer. When Peterson explains how the rather
ordinary town of Ellsworth become the location for two such ambitious
restaurants, it sounds like simplicity itself.
“I was a car designer for Ford for 10 years,” he began. “I took a one-week
vacation in Paris and went to a cooking school. It was the proverbial
epiphany. I said, `I like this!’ I had never worked in a restaurant in my
life. So I came up north and worked at the Rowe Inn for two weeks on a
vacation. They saw my crazy enthusiasm and they talked me into staying. I did
some cooking and some front-of-the-house duty and a lot of prepping. I ended
up hanging on for another seven years. When I left there in 1984, I was the
chef.
“I didn’t really intend to open anything that close to the Rowe Inn, but
this place became available, and it was an absolute steal.” Peterson and three
backers converted a five-bedroom house on Lake St. Clair into a restaurant
that would indeed befit a major city. “The house already had the name
Tapawingo. It’s a Chippewa name that means `place of peace’ or `place of
rest.’ We opened in May of 1984. So we’re getting to be one of the old-timers
now.
“The menu obviously has gotten more sophisticated and more complicated over
the years,” Peterson said. “But Tapawingo was always meant to be an upscale
dining event. The original intent, and still is, is to use the local
ingredients. We always try to have a balance of fish and fowl and meats, even
though it’s a relatively small menu.”
Tapawingo’s wine list, however, is thicker than the Ellsworth phone book —
offering an extensive array of labels. Prices of a few rare vintages nudge
past $500. Yet Michigan wines make only a token appearance. “A lot of them
just don’t measure up to our standards,” Peterson explained. “Cost-wise, in
some cases, they’re more than some fairly nice things from California or
Australia can be. I don’t want to bad-mouth Michigan wine by any means. It
keeps getting better. And it certainly gives a good impression when this area
is considered a full-fledged wine region.”
Instead of something local, I started off my Tapawingo experience with a
glass of Mourgues du Gres rose, Costieres du Nimes ($7). Appetizer: peeky toe
crab mousse. An English pea and mint soup followed. Almost without thinking, I
ordered a half bottle of Bandol Domaine Tempier 1995 ($26) to go with my
exquisitely tender Colorado lamb. The meat was surrounded fetchingly by
English peas, leeks and roasted potatoes. ($54 for all the food).
I had been ordering, and enjoying, Michigan wines whenever possible, but I
noticed they got a rather cool reception at the likes of Rowe Inn and
Tapawingo. The state’s wineries are almost evenly divided between the
southwest and northwest corners of the lower peninsula with 10 in the south
and 15 in the vicinity of Grand Traverse and Little Traverse Bays. Those
concentrated on the Old Mission and Leelanau Peninsulas, up north, look
substantial and serious — neat rows of vines covering acres of hilly terrain,
substantial tasting rooms, long rows of barrels and fermenting apparatus.
“We’re kind of surprised that the restaurants around here haven’t been
pushing local wines more,” said Liz Berger, manager of the 7-year-old Chateau
Chantel winery in Old Mission. “In some ways, we feel like we’re fighting an
uphill battle. As more wineries come on board, the bigger the industry will be
in people’s perception and the more legitimacy we will have.”
Chateau Chantel spreads across 65 acres of peninsula hilltop, 40 acres in
grapes, the rest in graceful gardens and a Mediterranean-style tasting room
with a three-unit bed-and-breakfast on the floors above. It appears ready to
be taken seriously, but clearly the high-end restaurants are trying to meet
standards that were established far beyond the state line.
Only one Michigan label appears on the 20-bottle wine list offered by the
Grand Traverse Dinner Train. It’s a Riesling, vintage unlisted, produced by
Chateau Grand Traverse on Old Mission ($26). But the patrons who climbed
aboard the Emerald Forest dining car the Tuesday evening I was there seemed
more interested in choo-choo than chateaux. They filled most of the car’s 56
seats (while the three other dining cars remained empty on that rather slow
night.), and prepared to enjoy a serving of railroad nostalgia with their $75
meals. In the kitchen on wheels, formerly a baggage car, Chef Steven Michalski
whipped up cherry sausage-stuffed pork tenderloin, Chicken Wellington (chicken
in puff pastry), whitefish encrusted with walnuts and cherries, and medallions
of beef tenderloin in a ginger cashew cream sauce.
I had the chicken. My table companions, Cindy Goodman and Dan Adler, went
for the whitefish. Cindy is curator of the Peace Bell project in Newport, Ky.
Dan, formerly a professional guitarist, lives in East Jordan, Mich., and since
1992 has worked as a railroad engineer on various Midwest freight lines.
Railroading seems to be in Dan’s blood, and railroading lore dominated the
dinner conversation. Cindy and I learned, for example, that the twin diesel
locomotives were hooked up “elephant style” (nose to rear, rather than back to
back). There would be more.
From Traverse City’s downtown depot, the train would take us 65 miles along
the Boardman River valley and back again — a ramble through woods, farmland
and the back yards of small communities. At 6:30 p.m., the train began to
move. “Ah, this is great,” Dan exclaimed as he settled into his seat. A few
minutes before, he had reconnoitered with his colleagues up in the lead
engine. Therefore, we were the only passengers on board to learn that just one
of the locomotives would be pulling, while the other, temporarily disabled
except for its generator, would supply electricity to the kitchen and to the
fancy lights illuminating the tables in Emerald Forest, also known as Car B.
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“Because of that missing engine,” Dan said, “we’ve got to go all the way to
Walton, and then we’ve got to Y the train. And we might see some freight
action there as well, because a freight train is coming on duty around 7 in
Cadillac. It’s probably working just this district tonight, so they’ll be
coming behind us.” When a train “Y’s” it makes some sort of maneuver that
Cindy and I couldn’t quite understand. We exchanged shrugs.
“Dan is the right person to be riding with,” Cindy assured me. “He knows
all about this sort of thing.”
“This railroad is in pretty good shape,” Dan observed. “This branch is kind
of marginal, but I think because the state was involved at a more recent
stage…” He paused to pour Coke into his half-filled glass of Merlot. “This
is going to appall you,” he warned. “I call it a poor man’s sangria, or a
Florida Libre.”
“Why?” Cindy asked.
But Dan’s mind had returned to the business of trains. “As a result of
improvements, all the trains out of Traverse City may leave on the old C&O
main, which used to go from here to Manistee and down to Grand Rapids…”
Oh, yes, dinner. Dan did take time for some mmm’s and ahhh’s as he worked
on the whitefish. I asked him to name his favorite restaurant in Michigan’s
northwest. “Grey Gables in Charlevoix is just superb,” he said. “Don’t miss
it.”
Unfortunately, I did miss it, and I had to miss a lot of other places
people were raving about: Andante and its Continental cuisine in Traverse
City; Latitude in the new Bay Harbor resort complex near Petoskey (it got a
respectful nod from Wine Spectator last March); the Cupola, a favorite
breakfast source in tony Harbor Springs; Bowers Harbor Inn, an Old Mission
classic; the Bluebird in the very heart of Leland…
And what about all those casual restaurants people want to visit when
they’re sunburned and have sand in their shoes? On those many occasions when
hearty trumps haute? Well, there was Juilleret’s in Charlevoix, where the
week’s second helping of whitefish became mandatory because the whitefish
sandwiches there (cheap, but I forgot the tab) are so thick and delicious. And
the Best Hamburger awards in Traverse Magazine reader surveys still tend to
end up in the hands of Fischer’s Happy Hour on rural Michigan Highway 22 near
Northport or Don’s Drive-in on teeming, motel-pocked U.S. Highway 31 in
Traverse City.
Fischer’s looks like an expanded version of somebody’s summer cottage. The
Double Decker Burger ($5.95) comes in the form of two 1/3-pound patties, and
the server brings a huge tray of condiments and steak sauces to go with it.
Don’s started in 1958 and seems frozen in the era of its grand opening. Old
hubcaps line the walls, plastic models of Detroit muscle cars parade along the
kitchen partition, and album covers from the Platters, Beach Boys and Elvis
Presley fill the wall space left between the hubcaps. Between the hamburger
buns, I found a big, juicy slab of ground beef ($8, including fries) that
definitely did the job.
As I chewed on one of Don’s thick french fries that afternoon, I realized
there would be no more meals in northwest Michigan for awhile. Time to
reflect. I couldn’t say Don’s burger was any better than my lunch of
chicken-cheese florentine soup and Deli Wrap at the Roast & Toast in downtown
Petoskey, or the chicken quesadillas at the Little Traverse Bay Golf Club
dining room in Harbor Springs, or the blackened char with crawfish dressing at
Chandler’s in Petoskey, or the stuffed scallops at Freshwater Lodge.
All I know is that food quality is relative, that location may not be quite
so important as real estate people would have us believe, and that in a
certain part of Michigan it’s extremely hard to save room for dessert.
IF YOU GO
GETTING THERE
The drive from Chicago (a pleasant one) takes about seven hours, using
eastbound Interstate Highway 94 and northbound U.S. Highway 131 into Traverse
City.
United and American Airlines fly from Chicago O’Hare to Traverse City’s
Cherry Capital Airport. The flight takes an hour, and both airlines charge in
the neighborhood of $500, round trip. Of course, fares are subject to change
without notice.
GETTING AROUND
Smooth roads link the towns where restaurants and wineries operate. A car,
a regional map and asking a few friendly citizens for directions should make
the navigation easy.
WINING AND DINING
Almost every winery you encounter on the Leelanau and Old Mission
Peninsulas has a retail store and tasting room open to the public. Tourism
offices (see below) can help arrange self-guided winery tours.
Cherry orchards abound, so don’t pass up the chance to find out how some
restaurants handle the local product. Try the Cherry Hut in Beulah, for
example, or Mabel’s and the Grand Traverse Pie Company in Traverse City. For
whitefish, the most recent Traverse Magazine readers poll gives high marks to
The Bluebird in Leland and the Bowery and Bowers Harbor Inn, both on Old
Mission Peninsula.
Restaurants mentioned in the main article (B=breakfast, L=lunch, D=dinner):
Andante — continental cuisine: 321 Bay St., Petoskey, 231-348-3321. D.
The Bluebird — whitefish, meat, pasta, Sunday brunch: River Street,
Leland, 231-256-9081. L, D.
Bowers Harbor Inn — regional specialties: 13512 Peninsula Dr., Old Mission
Peninsula, 231-223-4222. D.
Chandler’s — seafood: Howard Street, Petoskey, 231-347-2981. L, D.
Don’s Drive-In — hamburgers, ’50s rock: 2030 U.S. Highway 31 North,
Traverse City, 231-938-1860. L, D.
Fischer’s Happy Hour Tavern — soup and hamburgers: Michigan Highway 22,
between Northport and Leland, 231-386-9923. L, D.
Freshwater Lodge — rib-sticking North Woods fare: 13890 SW. Bayshore Dr.,
Traverse City, 231-932-4694. L, D.
The Grand Traverse Dinner Train — gourmet menu in a moving dining car: 642
Railroad Pl. (Traverse City Depot), 231-933-3768. D.
Grey Gables Inn — whitefish, prime rib, vegetarian: 308 Belvedere St.,
Charlevoix, 231-547-9261. D.
Hattie’s — mixing international and Midwestern cuisines: 111 St. Joseph
St., Suttons Bay, 231-271-6222. D.
Juillert’s — hearty breakfasts and fresh whitefish lunches (no dinner):
1418 Bridge St., Charlevoix, 231-547-9212. B, L.
Roast & Toast — soups, sandwiches, fresh-roasted coffee: 309 E. Lake St.,
Petoskey, 231-347-7767. B, L, D.
Rowe Inn — stuffed morels, fish, venison, big wine list: East Jordan Road,
Ellsworth, 231-588-7351. D.
Tapawingo — fresh local ingredients in nouvelle cuisine: 9502 Lake St.,
Ellsworth, 231-588-7971. D.
Windows — seafood, meats, homemade desserts: Michigan Highway 22, seven
miles north of Traverse City, 231-941-0100. D.
BETWEEN MEALS
Ferry companies in Leland and Charlevoix offer excursions to, respectively,
North and South Manitou Islands and Beaver Island.
Fishing opportunities present themselves not only in Lake Michigan but in
numerous inland lakes, rivers and streams.
Fine golf courses dot the area, backing up Michigan boosters’ claim that
the state has become the nation’s summer golf capital.
Grand Traverse and Little Traverse Bay are rife with water sports of all
kinds.
Make the 36-mile drive from Petoskey up to Mackinaw City and see the
magnificent suspension bridge linking Michigan’s two peninsulas.
Don’t miss Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, between Leland and
Frankfort, where a sweeping vista of shoreline combines towering sand dunes,
ever-changing lakeshore beaches and dense stands of pine and hardwood.
INFORMATION
Traverse City Convention & Visitors Bureau, 101 W. Grandview Pkwy.,
Traverse City, MI 49684; 800-872-8377, 231-947-1120; fax 231-947-2621;
www.tcvisitor.com.
Petoskey-Harbor Springs-Boyne Country Convention and Visitors Bureau, 401
E. Mitchell St., Petoskey, MI 49770; 800-845-2828, 231-348-2755; fax
231-348-1810; www.boynecountry.com.
———-
Robert Cross’ e-mail address is [email protected].
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