Detroit basks in the glory of resiliency, welcoming praise for its triumph over a series of tribulations — bankruptcy, political corruption, deindustrialization. This resilience has earned Detroit the moniker of “America’s Comeback City,” reemerging not to her former glory perhaps, but, after weathering a few storms, into an even more beautiful patinaed version of herself.
Rose’s Fine Food on Detroit’s east side is a reflection of the city in which it resides.
When it returned after a two-year shutter, Rose’s, the Comeback Kid, didn’t come back with flash or the pizzazz that some restaurateurs see as a prerequisite for dining in the age of social media. I’d argue it did the opposite.
Sure, a fresh start seemed a ripe opportunity for owner Molly Mitchell to give the tiny East Jefferson building a fresh coat of paint in a custom green that nods to the shade of the Detroit River. A pair of charging stations for electric vehicles were also added to the parking lot, but inside, things feel much the same — delightfully lived-in.
Aptly so. For nine years, guests filed into the quintessential diner, ordering the egg sandwich specials scrawled on a chalkboard and griddled pancakes browned by the flat top, which followed a recipe from Mitchell’s grandfather. When the space transformed into a bottle shop during the COVID-19 pandemic, guests would collar sparkling wine or pét-nats well before the average diner became fluent in natural wines, understanding that skin contact means more than brushing up against your neighbor at the bar. Today, scuff marks from nearly a decade of foot traffic add to the restaurant’s wear, and therefore its charm.
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Visiting the new Rose’s is as if you hit pause on a classic film in VHS and pressed play in 4K UHD. The place is slightly spruced up — photos on the walls have been rearranged, ornamental mirrors added and that pink-cushioned soda fountain barstool, once anchored off kilter at the end of the 12-seat bar, now splits the counter seating evenly at the center — but the premise is the same. Diners gather around wooden tables topped with dishes that wink at Mitchell’s Polish heritage and smile at in-season ingredients.
Whereas Rose’s was once a brunch destination, new evening-only hours mean you’ll slice into fork-tender kopytka, chubby potato dumplings seared and dressed in dill and garlicky butter. Paired with zucchini spears and pine nuts, your tongue tussles with pillowy soft textures and crunch. Creamy navy beans, once served with an egg at the former Rose’s Fine Food, are now a dinner snack, glossed in a pungent broth spiked with herbs, most notably dill, which you’ll see a dozen times over — in the tomatoes and the sourdough, on the Polish nachos, the plate of pickles and the cabbage slaw.
As the sun sets, the room bounces in the light of flickering tapers, dripping wax in shades of merlot and blush down to their vintage saucers. Servers drop citrusy, umami pickle martinis with dots of dill oil floating at the surface, as if you dropped a beaded bracelet into your glass.
Rose’s exists as a reset for a restaurant scene awash with bells and whistles. Here, cooks honor the thankless work of local farmers, not rendering Michigan produce unrecognizable, but enhancing its beauty by kissing baby radishes with just enough heat to make the dish juicy, and tossing sugared peaches in a simple syrup with vanilla bean and jalapenos until they’re slippery and just spicy enough to sting your lips. The peaches, plump and succulent, are the sort of ambrosial starter that fills you with so much joy you could cry.
Red and golden beets massaged with whey caramel and sprinkled with poppyseeds are so soft they melt. My heart eyes for the beets and the overall experience at Rose’s almost blinded me from noticing the dressing was hardly a caramel, but rather a congealed marinade with a grainy mouthfeel.
On one visit, a friend and I headed to the backyard garden where Mitchell grows many of the herbs incorporated throughout the menu, lanterns lighting up the space just enough for us to see the sunflowers, dahlias and cut flowers that decorate many of the dinner tables.
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Come to think of it, your welcome to Rose’s is a preamble to the experience. A wooden console, something like an ofrenda, is topped with a whimsical floral arrangement, a few menus, a shiny silver water pitcher and produce as art. A crookneck squash wraps around two twinkling tea lights, and a massive bowl is filled with a rotation of seasonal ingredients — fresh garlic bulbs filled the summer bowl, while beautiful crimson apples were piled up for fall.
In the dimness of the room, you may miss the specials scribbled onto a mirror that hangs on a wall leading to the kitchen, but a server will bring it into focus. Food and drink specials are listed, like kompot, the refreshing Eastern European fruit juice — this one, tart and mildly flavored of cherry and plum.
There’s a delicate balance of fine food, as the diner’s name suggests, and homey meals. Duck confit veers toward the finer side, a delicate duck leg served on a silver platter with a sweet-savory creamy cherry glaze spilled beneath it. The meat is seductive in the way it’s tender and flavorful, and, tantalizingly, gone far too soon.
Dishes like smoked kielbasa and Rose’s burger are more comforting — the sausage link, split down the middle, has a thick, crisp skin and comes with sweet cabbage and corn doused in a rich, heavy cream sauce that delivers decadence without guilt. The burger feels as if it could very well have come out of your own kitchen, replacing fluffy buns with buttered slices of toasted sourdough. You’ll realize it’s a bacon burger in the playful way the cured meat is ground into a smoky-sweet jam and spread onto the bread.
In the same way that Mitchell celebrates Michigan farmers with the produce served at Rose’s, she links arms with other local purveyors. The kielbasa and beef for the burger are sourced from the women-owned butcher shop Marrow in Detroit’s West Village and sourdough from Black-owned home bakery Lillian’s Loaves.
Retro cakes by Venla’s Cakes are referential to the nostalgic time Rose’s aims to conjure. A time when diners had an identity and served affordable, handmade food, like fresh baked breads and signature sauces, to regulars who’d stop in several days a week. A time well before the ’90s, when Mitchell started working in diners. Buttercream frosting with intricate, drape-y piping covers tar, lemon poppyseed and floral raspberry rose slices. A chewy piece of candied carrot pierces the frosting on a spectacularly moist carrot cake. The potency of the carrot flavor on the candy is surprising and new, and the only drawback is that it sticks to my teeth so well, I’m concerned my tooth might go with it on the release.
The return of Rose’s feels like the homecoming of a lost love, like the return of the one that got away. Sometimes, you just want that old thing back
Rose’s Fine Food, 10551 E. Jefferson Ave., Detroit. 313-822-2729; rosesdetroit.com
While Detroit Free Press restaurant critics are no longer anonymous at area restaurants, they do their best to avoid being pandered to by restaurant staff. They show up to most restaurants unannounced at least three times, and do not accept complimentary meals. The Free Press covers all meals reviewed by critics. Our journalists adhere to the USA TODAY NETWORK Principles of Ethical Conduct For Newsrooms.
Contact Detroit Free Press Dining and Restaurant Critic Lyndsay C. Green at: LCGreen@freepress.com. Follow @LadyLuff on Instagram and Twitter. Subscribe to the Eat Drink Freep newsletter for extras and insider scoops on Detroit-area dining.
