An Afternoon at Buddy's

Can we talk? Buddy's. Six Mile and Conant. One of the many mysteries of Detroit is that its own home grown version of a Sicilian pie, also known as Detroit-style pizza, never hit the big time.

People crowd into Chicago to cram leaden slices of deep dish pie down their gullets because Chicago is famous for it, even if they really should be eating instead the wonderful thin crust pies you can get all over town.

I happen to think that Buddy's pies are marvelous. Light crust, no sugar in the dough and little to none in the fragrant tomato-basil sauce; the cheese isn't exactly fresh mozzarella but it is not the plastic mess that New Yorkers have begrudgingly become accustomed to.

In a word, this pizza is interesting. If you're not from around here, well, it isn't like lots of other pizzas you have had.

The original Buddy's, a former speakeasy, is in one of the more desolate parts of the East Side, and yet inside it's all smiles...

...outside, too -- this guy was out in the parking lot waiting for his order to come up and told us we had made the right decision to drive all the way over here. He wanted to pose with my friend Justin in front of his Land Rover. "You may forget everything you saw in Detroit today," our new pal said, "But you won't forget Buddy's."


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