Serious Eats
On the Road Again: Zingerman's
The Zingerman's group is kind of like the Warren Buffet of the food world. Culinarily speaking, no matter what owners Paul Saginaw and Ari Weinzweig get their hands into, like Buffet's stock picks and corporate bids, things tend to blow up. So far they run a successful deli and gourmet carryout store, a coffeehouse, a coffee roaster, a slightly upscale roadhouse, a bread-baking operation, a creamery, a catering operation, and even a staff-training consultancy, all based in Ann Arbor, Michigan.
The crown jewel in their empire is the Zingerman's gourmet deli located blocks from the campus of my alma mater, the University of Michigan. In my first few weeks at Michigan, rumors abounded about this exotic deli where you could score hand-cut pastrami sandwiches as big as your organic chemistry textbook. Zingerman's deli was the spot where East Coast parents familiar with the glory of Zabar's and Dean & DeLuca took their kids to nosh on homecoming weekend. For me, it was truly the visit to the mountaintop, the personal audience with a swami that launched me in to this food adventure that's become my life.
I didn't grow up in a gourmet family. My mom rocked Ladies Home Journal recipes, and chicken cacciatore was as exotic as it got. Zingerman's became my proxy gourmet mentor, a spot where pickles were not only familiar garlicky dill, but also tangy and garden fresh, where chopped liver was not a gross eviscerated chicken organ, but a creamy rich spread, and where pastrami didn't come wrapped in plastic vacuum packs.
And so, in my commitment to explore more of the culinary heritage of I-94, the highway that connects my childhood home of Detroit and my current homebase of Chicago, I noticed that Zingerman's had a "roadhouse" about a block from the interstate. As Ann Arbor was located a little more than halfway to Detroit, I called up my dad and enlisted him to meet me for dinner.
Zingerman's Roadhouse is about as much a "roadhouse" as Patrick Swayze is a great actor. While there's a neon sign perched on the façade of the building that would make the Vegas strip proud, and a repurposed stainless steel–clad RV trailer outside the restaurant that channels John Candy in The Great Outdoors, that's where the kitsch ends. There are no sweaty bikers chain-smoking and throwing down beers waiting to cut you.
Instead, the interior sways between burnished glossy pinewoods and swank dark woods that would be welcome in the finest of wine cellars. Were any bikers—most likely of the BMW-riding CEO weekend warrior variety—to come to Zingerman's Roadhouse, they'd be drinking from the long list of incredible craft-brewed American beers. The Sacred Cow IPA from Ypsilanti's Corner Brewery that I tried at the restaurant was a hoppy balanced satisfying brew. In fact it was inspiring enough that after our meal, my dad and I took a ten-minute trip to the brewery to buy more. While at the brewery we also discovered Dark Corner Ale, an intriguing brown ale that I'm still thinking about weeks later.
The genius of the roadhouse is that while it's a come-as-you-are place, the food, while not pretentious or unfussy, is most definitely not. Having the Zingerman's crew run a full-service restaurant is like finding a place run by a dude who is a master forager, top chef, and longtime amiable barkeep-therapist. The menu is full of the best of American purveyors, including the stock of small-scale fisherman, local farmers, artisanal creameries, and great meat dudes like Niman Ranch.
Hogg Island oysters are wood-smoked and then served with spicy vinegar barbecue sauce. Corn fritters are hand-formed airy pillows with crannies stuffed full of sweet niblets and toothsome wild rice. Dipped in funky spiced tomato butter, you'd wish Dunkin' Donuts added these to their selection.
My father can be an adventurous eater, but he's also persnickety when it comes to meat. He generally hates braises, roast beef, and meat of the shredded ilk. He even skips rib eye and New York strip when filet mignon is available, despite my protestations about the superiority of bone-in preparations. So it was a total surprise to see him kick all meat to the curb and order a vegetarian entrée of grilled Anson Mills corn grit triangles topped with two-year-old Vermont raw cheddar, roasted vegetables, green chiles, and cider vinaigrette. When he took his first bite, his face lit up like the Cheshire cat on nitrous oxide. He said, "Who'd thought I'd actually like a vegetarian dish." I agreed. The smoky light grilled cakes and vegetables were like Alice Waters's wicked vision for the world's best deconstructed grilled cheese sandwich.
Then, there was my own dilemma: choosing between pit-smoked beef brisket and hand-pulled, free-range, Texas-style cabrito, aka goat. In a bout of inspired service, the waitress told me I could get my plate half and half. Even though I grew up here and have exotic tastes, finding goat in the middle of Michigan is about as likely as finding a lifelong Chicagoan who admits to eating ketchup on his hot dogs. I was skeptical, but damn if it and the brisket weren't perfect.
The goat was rich and evoked the true flavor of meat that we've lost to the Cryovaced corporate butchery that abounds in our grocery stores. Likewise, the excellent brisket was topped with Alex's Red Rage Barbecue Sauce, an awesome tomato-based concoction made with Bell's Pilsner, Urfa pepper from Turkey, piquin chile pepper from New Mexico, Tellicherry black pepper, coffee, Muscovado brown sugar, really good molasses, raw honey, and some chipotle. Even the braised greens on my plate, which are often an afterthought, were inspired with a chile and pie-spice profile (nutmeg or clove, I wasn't sure).
Now that I'm two for two on I-94 culinary adventures, I'm thinking about leaving Chicago and staying on the road for good. I'll keep you posted.
Zingerman's Roadhouse
Address: 2501 Jackson Avenue, Ann Arbor MI 48103 [map]
Phone: 734-663-3663
Website: zingermansroadhouse.com
About the author: Michael Nagrant writes for Serious Eats from Chicago, where he also publishes Hungry magazine. Michael never met an organ meat he didn't like. He hopes to meet many more.