That’s a coney dog
Living in Western Michigan as I do, there’s a huge hole in my diet. Namely, the Coney Dog. The Coney Island dog or chili-dog has somehow been perfected on the East side of the state and specifically in Detroit. Now, if you want a chili burger, you have to go to Los Angeles, but Detroit has cornered the market on the dog.
Next door to the American Coney Island, a poor excuse for a coney island joint, you’ll find the best there is: Lafayette Coney Island.
The natural casing makes the hot dogs snap when you bite into them. The fries are fresh and hot, covered in shredded cheddar and a ladle of chili. The onions are zesty. The service is… oh what’s the word… International, that’s it. The guys that work there speak enough English to take your order, deliver it and talk about the Tigers, Lions, Redwings, Pistons, and how Joe Louis was the greatest boxer who ever lived.
They have Coke at the soda fountain, and everything else comes in cans, including Vernors of course. That’s the Michigan state beverage.
… maybe it’s just me?