From the Heartland to D’Mongos
No ‘settling back in’ after the long journey - we just kept going
When Mage and I pulled into Eastern Market after the final stretch on the road, pulling off Gratiot Ave onto Russell, tracing the main parking lot from Winder to Market St., the next chapter of the adventure began. It would be one with far less rubber and gasoline, but a great one nonetheless. After a quick conversation with the security guard outside Vivio’s, a classic Eastern Market bar establishment neighboring our office, I crossed the bridge over the Gratiot entrance to I-75 and met Dom at another classic old Irish watering hole called Thomas McGees. Though I was somewhat weary from the post-hangover fog and another long day on the road, the night had just begun. I was determined to show my guest the best time possible. I staved off the pain by slugging down a few Modelos and caught up on life with Dom. We were also waiting on dinner, which I had ordered via Uber Eats while still on the road. I wanted to show Dom my favorite late-night spot to order from—Yemen Cafe, an incredibly authentic Middle Eastern eatery based in Hamtramck, which is an independent municipality (with its own mayor) nested inside of Detroit’s city limits.
When the food arrived, we downed our beers and walked back over to the office. As we walked, I explained to Dom what the ‘office’ would eventually be (and I hope to be able to share with you all soon, too). But in that moment, I was just about ready to eat my body weight in homemade hummus—it was going to be glorious. We caught the delivery driver as we crossed the street and headed upstairs to feast. I marveled at Mage’s presence outside the building as we walked inside, still in utter disbelief that I just did that shit and that the chapter was over. I think we can all relate to that feeling in one way or another—having a formative experience that so quickly passes and converts into a long-term memory. Or, more likely, fragments of many memories that become a part of life’s collective montage. The Yemen Cafe hummus certainly deserves some cerebral real estate in that montage—it really doesn’t get much better. Dom agreed. We inhaled the decadent whip of chickpeas, oil, tahini, and lemon—mine was topped with chicken shawarma and Dom’s with beef gallaba. No man left hungry.
I should have immediately sought sleep after the 9 days I had just had—but if you’ve learned anything about me, I don’t always do what I really ‘should’ do. Sometimes this is good, but other times I’d benefit from listening to my internal voice of reason—that voice has a pretty hard job trying to contain me. I’m not sure whether this was one of those times, but all I know is I needed to take Dom to D’Mongo’s. We would be immersed in the music festival fanfare for the rest of the weekend, and D’Mongo’s—my favorite bar in all of Detroit—is only open Fridays and Saturdays. The bar is run by one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met—Larry Mongo. Larry is a larger-than-life personality whose legacy in Detroit precedes him. His relationships and epic tales span generations, and his important adages for life stick prominently in my mind. An African-American Jewish convert sailor with deep political and social ties that run deep in the city. I can’t say enough about this man, and I needed Dom to meet him and experience the place—so we quickly ran home, changed, and set out to Downtown Detroit to see the legend himself.
Mage finally could rest at the stable of his new home, and we called an Uber to go Downtown. D’Mongo’s was situated directly beside the Downtown Synagogue—the only major place of worship for Jews in Downtown Detroit. Most Jews had left for the suburbs decades ago, but those who stayed called this congregation home. Its distinctive colorful stained-glass panel windows stood out on the city street, while D’Mongo’s beckoned passersby inside with its retro speakeasy aesthetic and vibrant music. As Larry got older, he contemplated closing the place, but his community would not let that happen, so he kept it open the 2 nights a week when most people would come downtown.
When we walked into the bar, we were greeted by all the regular characters of D’Mongo’s—Charles, the always-well-dressed security and ‘everything guy’ for the bar, and Christine, the pistol bartender and ‘everything gal’ who keeps everything and everyone in check—and a cast of patrons who I had grown to know and love. It was always a warm and happy atmosphere. While I enjoy my late nights at the club, the D’Mongo’s experience is one of a kind and I choose it every chance I get.
The place is steeped in rich history—photos of Detroit icons, eclectic memorabilia (including an original Michael Jackson jumpsuit hanging from the ceiling), the Mongo family, and powerful art lined the walls. A lot of the art really spoke to me from the moment I walked in, featuring unique imagery and text carrying messages calling for unity among the Jewish and Black communities. While discrimination and prejudice is different in nature and has manifested on different timelines, we are bound by shared struggle nonetheless. Larry’s love for the Jewish people and their dedication to resilience and unity ultimately led him to convert. And he truly does embody Jewish values in the way he leads his life. Larry is the consummate community builder whose life has been guided by tzedakah and mitzvot—his desire to give back and help others has defined his life and legacy. My favorite example of this is in how he ended up bringing his nightly band, Carl & Company, to the venue. One evening over a decade ago, Larry was walking in the rain and came across a homeless man named Carl playing in the rain. He was a human jukebox of classic rock and folk, but knew absolutely no Black music, Larry told me. He played song after song, barely taking a breath between each. Larry was in awe and stood in the rain listening. After a few songs, Larry walked over to him, invited him to his home, bathed and clothed him, and gave him a job that he holds to this day. Carl now has a home and a car and gets to do what he loves. Larry—what a mensch.
The bar also features an oh-so-Detroit cocktail called the Detroit Brown, a potent but harmonious mix of Vernors Ginger Ale (the only ginger ale people really drink in Detroit), Crown Royal whiskey, and a dash of Angostura bitters. It was not a night at D’Mongo’s without putting down 4 or 5 of these. Tonight I learned through some research that while the drink was named by Larry himself, it was invented by Courtney Henriette, who at the time was a bartender at D’Mongo’s and went on to be an accomplished restaurateur who worked with the legendary Brad Greenhill in founding the Thai-fusion restaurant Takoi (which was originally called Katoi)—one of my favorite restaurants in the entire city. As my friend (and the founder of the incredible East African restaurants Baobab Fare and Waka) says, ‘Detroit is but a small village.’ While the city continues to grow, the highly interconnected ecosystem remains.
It was also not a night at D’Mongo’s if there wasn’t a White Boy Rick grilled cheese order after 3–4 Detroit Browns. The grilled cheese was masterminded by my friend Sandy, who actually helped convince Larry to keep the bar open when he was considering retiring a handful of years ago. One day Sandy showed up at the bar during the day, unloading a large grill top into the kitchen. They made all sorts of artisanal grilled cheeses, ultimately earning the bar recognition in Bon Appétit as one of the best bar foods in America. This helped re-energize Larry to keep the place humming and reinvigorated his love for hospitality. The simple but immaculate White Boy Rick, made with fontina, white cheddar, and havarti, has remained a mainstay on the menu to this day, feeding us drunks every weekend without fail.
Dom got overloaded with all of this information in short time. I hope he enjoyed it. As we schmoozed with the regulars, drank a few too many, and made new friends with the Carl and Company tunes delivering as always, we had already set the tone for a weekend to remember. Before we knew it, 2 a.m. had come around and the bar began to close. Sometimes I would end up lingering around until past 3, but we were both itching to go dance. So we headed to another local favorite of mine closer to my apartment—Spot Lite.
Spot Lite is another unique spot that’s very authentically Detroit. With dozens of incredible murals lining the walls down the street and local art filling the walls, the place was filled with culture and high vibrations. Inside the space there was a cafe (open to patrons by day for coffee and coworking), a record shop open for late-night browsing, and an indoor-outdoor space that allowed people to hang, socialize, and smoke—it was designed for exploration and adventure. The music was always good—often a mix of Detroit techno, house, and drum & bass. It always keeps me on my toes. We showed up at about 2:15 a.m. and got a good 30 minutes of dancing in before I finally ran out of gas. It was time to go home and reset. Three days of dancing were still ahead of us, and I wanted to be ready for it. Movement is an iconic festival that pays homage to the global birthplace of electronic music. I can’t wait to share this experience with you all, especially as a newcomer. More on this very soon.