Mitten Moments and a Steel City Side
Jun 2nd, 2025 | 12:48 PM
#1
Original Poster
Joined: Nov 2006
Posts: 3,051
Likes: 26
Mitten Moments and a Steel City Side
The What: A “cousin summit” (four generations) with Lake Perch; Detroit-style pizza; the DIA; and a bonus overnight in Pittsburgh.
The Why: To celebrate a Class of 2025 HS grad cousin following in family footsteps and enlisting in the Marine Corps.
~~~~~
Preparation for this road trip began like all our travels involving the DDog/House Sitter:
1. Get on Sitter’s calendar. Securing dates is akin to the days when DH and I would shut our respective office doors at Noon (when registration opened) while we each frantically hit “refresh” on web pages to secure summer camp spaces for our children.
(We have the Sitter penciled in for two weeks in September 2026 for an as-of-yet-unplanned holiday.Good Responsible Sitters are hard to find.)
2. Generate a pre-travel housecleaning list that even Marie Kondo couldn’t manage. Our house is always generally clean; but it must be even cleaner for the Sitter. Notable examples from the to-do list: Brillo-clean the All-Clad cookware and vacuum the garage. Because.
Welp. Somewhere between 1 and 2 DH unfortunately threw his back out (being stupid, but that is a story for another day), rendering him practically useless.
Fast forward to the day before departure. Travel prep was humming along. We were packed and winding down to the last couple of items on the to-do list when I grabbed leftovers from the ‘fridge and tossed them into the oven to reheat for lunch.
Except. I forgot to remove the plastic lid from the Pyrex container.
Black smoke billowed from the oven when I opened the door to check on lunch. The smoke alarm went off, sending DDog scurrying upstairs to his safe room (a dog bed in our closet). Ooey-gooey plastic had melted onto the oven rack and the oven basin (and our leftovers). Lunch was ruined, and now I had just added an additional task to the to-do list. Quick thinking, and a couple of ruined wooden spatulas later, we had 99% of the melted plastic cleaned from the oven. Still, I messaged the Sitter: “Please use the lower oven.”
Our 0600 departure on the following morning held no surprises, thankfully. I had the yeoman’s worth of driving, which was unagreeable to me on two fronts. First, I don’t hate driving on the Interstate—I just think of it as high-speed meditation interrupted by existential dread and bad lane changes, with road construction as eternal as the Allegheny Mountains. Second, DH is not skilled at co-piloting. Over the course of our 30+ year marriage, he has yet to figure out the appropriate interval to offer me a handful of Haribo gummy bears (my preferred road trip junk food), and he takes terrible photos. Given his back woes, the 7-hour drive to Michigan became a 10-hour drive in order that we stop often so he could walk and stretch. No complaints, of course, it just made for a long day. A Trader Joe’s stop for wine and breakfast provisions, then dinner at the airbnb. We had grilled burgers the day before and I made my famous homemade Mac, so we had delicious leftovers and successfully avoided the, “What are we going to do for dinner?” question. While at Trader Joe’s, the clerk struck up a conversation with me, and upon learning that we were from out-of-town, gifted me a Michigan-themed TJ shopping bag. Midwest Nice.
We are fortunate that we get along well with our in-laws, who live in Michigan; and the following day DS’ MIL and I toured the Detroit Institute of Arts. (DH spent his time at the Henry Ford Museum.) On current display was a collection of early American embroidery that was exquisite. I cannot sew; the MIL is quite adept at all things needle and thread, however, so she described the various stitches and whatnot. I felt like I had a private guide! The rest of the museum did not fail to delight, either--turns out we’re both fans of the Dutch Masters, so we had a great day together.
That evening offered the first foodie treat of the road trip: Detroit-style pizza. The in-laws and one of their daughters joined us for this nuclear carb-bomb at none other than the original location, Buddy’s. (DH was a Buddy’s virgin until this trip.) If you’re not familiar, Detroit-style pizza is a beautiful rebellion against the ordinary—a rectangular marvel born in the Motor City and baked to perfection. Thick, airy, focaccia-like crust that’s simultaneously soft inside and irresistibly crispy on the edges, with layers of rich, buttery Wisconsin brick cheese that stretch to the very edges, caramelizing into a golden, crackling crown. This is no afterthought—it’s a celebration of the crust's corners, where flavor and texture collide in glorious harmony. On top, the sauce comes last, with the traditional pepperonis nestled into the molten cheese like jewels in a treasure cave. DH and I have a brick of the Wisconsin cheese shipped to our home in the DC area once a year, enough for three pizzas; and we have an authentic “automobile parts” pan for baking, but when in Detroit…Obviously we followed dinner with a Vernors Ice Cream Float. (It’s Lettuce and Water for every meal this week at home.)
The Why: To celebrate a Class of 2025 HS grad cousin following in family footsteps and enlisting in the Marine Corps.
~~~~~
Preparation for this road trip began like all our travels involving the DDog/House Sitter:
1. Get on Sitter’s calendar. Securing dates is akin to the days when DH and I would shut our respective office doors at Noon (when registration opened) while we each frantically hit “refresh” on web pages to secure summer camp spaces for our children.
(We have the Sitter penciled in for two weeks in September 2026 for an as-of-yet-unplanned holiday.
2. Generate a pre-travel housecleaning list that even Marie Kondo couldn’t manage. Our house is always generally clean; but it must be even cleaner for the Sitter. Notable examples from the to-do list: Brillo-clean the All-Clad cookware and vacuum the garage. Because.
Welp. Somewhere between 1 and 2 DH unfortunately threw his back out (being stupid, but that is a story for another day), rendering him practically useless.
Fast forward to the day before departure. Travel prep was humming along. We were packed and winding down to the last couple of items on the to-do list when I grabbed leftovers from the ‘fridge and tossed them into the oven to reheat for lunch.
Except. I forgot to remove the plastic lid from the Pyrex container.
Black smoke billowed from the oven when I opened the door to check on lunch. The smoke alarm went off, sending DDog scurrying upstairs to his safe room (a dog bed in our closet). Ooey-gooey plastic had melted onto the oven rack and the oven basin (and our leftovers). Lunch was ruined, and now I had just added an additional task to the to-do list. Quick thinking, and a couple of ruined wooden spatulas later, we had 99% of the melted plastic cleaned from the oven. Still, I messaged the Sitter: “Please use the lower oven.”
Our 0600 departure on the following morning held no surprises, thankfully. I had the yeoman’s worth of driving, which was unagreeable to me on two fronts. First, I don’t hate driving on the Interstate—I just think of it as high-speed meditation interrupted by existential dread and bad lane changes, with road construction as eternal as the Allegheny Mountains. Second, DH is not skilled at co-piloting. Over the course of our 30+ year marriage, he has yet to figure out the appropriate interval to offer me a handful of Haribo gummy bears (my preferred road trip junk food), and he takes terrible photos. Given his back woes, the 7-hour drive to Michigan became a 10-hour drive in order that we stop often so he could walk and stretch. No complaints, of course, it just made for a long day. A Trader Joe’s stop for wine and breakfast provisions, then dinner at the airbnb. We had grilled burgers the day before and I made my famous homemade Mac, so we had delicious leftovers and successfully avoided the, “What are we going to do for dinner?” question. While at Trader Joe’s, the clerk struck up a conversation with me, and upon learning that we were from out-of-town, gifted me a Michigan-themed TJ shopping bag. Midwest Nice.
We are fortunate that we get along well with our in-laws, who live in Michigan; and the following day DS’ MIL and I toured the Detroit Institute of Arts. (DH spent his time at the Henry Ford Museum.) On current display was a collection of early American embroidery that was exquisite. I cannot sew; the MIL is quite adept at all things needle and thread, however, so she described the various stitches and whatnot. I felt like I had a private guide! The rest of the museum did not fail to delight, either--turns out we’re both fans of the Dutch Masters, so we had a great day together.
That evening offered the first foodie treat of the road trip: Detroit-style pizza. The in-laws and one of their daughters joined us for this nuclear carb-bomb at none other than the original location, Buddy’s. (DH was a Buddy’s virgin until this trip.) If you’re not familiar, Detroit-style pizza is a beautiful rebellion against the ordinary—a rectangular marvel born in the Motor City and baked to perfection. Thick, airy, focaccia-like crust that’s simultaneously soft inside and irresistibly crispy on the edges, with layers of rich, buttery Wisconsin brick cheese that stretch to the very edges, caramelizing into a golden, crackling crown. This is no afterthought—it’s a celebration of the crust's corners, where flavor and texture collide in glorious harmony. On top, the sauce comes last, with the traditional pepperonis nestled into the molten cheese like jewels in a treasure cave. DH and I have a brick of the Wisconsin cheese shipped to our home in the DC area once a year, enough for three pizzas; and we have an authentic “automobile parts” pan for baking, but when in Detroit…Obviously we followed dinner with a Vernors Ice Cream Float. (It’s Lettuce and Water for every meal this week at home.)
Jun 2nd, 2025 | 05:32 PM
#2
Joined: Oct 2004
Posts: 11,672
Likes: 0
OMG!!!!! A Vernors Ice Cream Float!!! I grew up on those and how I miss them. When I moved to Cape Cod Vernors was not available here and I offered bribes to friends to mule it in to me. Has it gone back to the old formula with sugar? I hope. It was changed to corn syrup and I gave it up.
Jun 3rd, 2025 | 05:20 AM
#3
Original Poster
Joined: Nov 2006
Posts: 3,051
Likes: 26
The next morning, we pointed my wagon into the Thumb area to tour lighthouses (bonus points for finding a restaurant that served Pierogi for lunch!) and made our way to the house (along the water, naturally) of one cousin who offered to host nearly two dozen cousins for the second foodie treat: a Lake Perch Fish Fry. Her hubby even caught all the fish! As is standard with my family, if there was food enough for the 20 of us, there was food enough for 100, along with hugs, laughter, gossip and all the good stuff that comes with being with family. As DH quipped on the drive back to the airbnb, “This was my first time gathered with so many unfiltered women of Eastern European heritage, and I’ve lived to talk about it.” 
On the drive that evening to the airbnb we also decided to cut our stay in Michigan short in order to break up the return drive for DH’s back, and booked a hotel in Pittsburgh. Having accomplished the primary goals of Detroit-style pizza with friends and gathering with family, we had planned to spend our final day in Grand Rapids at the Meijer Garden. Instead, we traded one garden for another and purchased tickets to the Phipps Conservatory to enjoy their jungle-themed Summer Flower Festival.
Enter the third, and unexpected foodie meal. We arrived in Pittsburgh in time for the midday meal. Our garden tickets were for the following day, so on this afternoon we opted for the Andy Warhol Museum. But where to eat? The museum is a couple of blocks or so from PNC Park, so we resigned ourselves to the standard pub offerings at whatever the closest eatery we could find.
We were spared. The menu at a tavern one block from the museum offered a “Yinzer Wrap,” a handheld with kielbasa, pierogi, haluski and sour cream. We’re not Yinzers (Pittsburgh natives), so I asked if I could order the wrap, minus the wrap. No problem. What appeared was a glorious bowl of happiness. Another foodie win.
The Warhol Museum was everything we hoped it would be. (Warhol was of Eastern European heritage (Slovakian), did you know?) It was a vibrant shrine to pop art’s king, pulsing with color, celebrity, and counterculture. Each floor was a journey into the glamour of fame, identity, and the beauty of repetition. We loved it.
An early Warhol from his illustration beginnings
This one was titled "St George and the Dragon," though DH and I thought the dragon more resembled Mr. Crabs from Sponge Bob.
Dinner this evening was the first foodie (and wine) fail. We lost 30 minutes in traffic heading to a Trader Joe’s for road snacks and a bottle of wine.
But, no. Pennsylvania is one of those states. After securing dessert and road snacks, we had to trek to a wine store, possibly the saddest wine store I have ever been in, with varietals that we would not even have consumed in college. I managed to find a bottle of something that, thankfully, did not taste like kerosene.
By this time the rain had begun to fall in Pittsburgh. The Sitter messaged that a tornado warning had been issued at home, and asked if there was anything we wanted her to take into the cellar if necessary. (This is what we pay for.) The storm turned out to be “intense directional winds” and all was soon well.
After checking in and consuming a glass of the not-kerosene wine we were both in the mood for something Italian (specifically lasagna), but neither of us wanted to present like humans and go out to eat; and nor did we want to risk a bad lasagna delivery. A full hour passed while we scoured “Delivery Italian” options on the Internet, eventually deciding on a highly rated place. Even accounting for the delayed delivery due to the rain and the fact that we had to microwave our stick-pasta dinner, it was at best, “Meh.” Live and learn.
Breakfast the following morning was lovely (the people watching, spectacular), then it was on to the Jungle Fest flower show at Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens. The tour was a lush explosion of color, scent, and tropical wonder—like stepping into a vivid daydream sprung to life from the heart of the rainforest. Possibly the prettiest conservatory or botanical garden we've ever visited.
As we wove our way through the conservatory we spied not one, not two, but eight Chihuly sculptures! An extra bonus delight!
One culinary challenge remained: lunch. Along the Penna Turnpike. The stars were aligned, and I identified what turned out to be a gem just 3 minutes off the turnpike. An Amish Fried Chicken Sandwich for DH, and a Smoked Salmon Charcuterie (appetizer!) that was so sizeable we enjoyed the leftovers the following day. One more foodie win.
But the culinary wins were not over. The restaurant also sold several of its in-house foods, so we added a quart of Mesquite Pulled Pork, Everything English Muffins and house made Macarons to our tab. The macarons didn't make it to the turnpike. Arrived home in good order to a clean house and an entirely spoiled DDog.
Thank you for reading.
On the drive that evening to the airbnb we also decided to cut our stay in Michigan short in order to break up the return drive for DH’s back, and booked a hotel in Pittsburgh. Having accomplished the primary goals of Detroit-style pizza with friends and gathering with family, we had planned to spend our final day in Grand Rapids at the Meijer Garden. Instead, we traded one garden for another and purchased tickets to the Phipps Conservatory to enjoy their jungle-themed Summer Flower Festival.
Enter the third, and unexpected foodie meal. We arrived in Pittsburgh in time for the midday meal. Our garden tickets were for the following day, so on this afternoon we opted for the Andy Warhol Museum. But where to eat? The museum is a couple of blocks or so from PNC Park, so we resigned ourselves to the standard pub offerings at whatever the closest eatery we could find.
We were spared. The menu at a tavern one block from the museum offered a “Yinzer Wrap,” a handheld with kielbasa, pierogi, haluski and sour cream. We’re not Yinzers (Pittsburgh natives), so I asked if I could order the wrap, minus the wrap. No problem. What appeared was a glorious bowl of happiness. Another foodie win.
The Warhol Museum was everything we hoped it would be. (Warhol was of Eastern European heritage (Slovakian), did you know?) It was a vibrant shrine to pop art’s king, pulsing with color, celebrity, and counterculture. Each floor was a journey into the glamour of fame, identity, and the beauty of repetition. We loved it.
An early Warhol from his illustration beginnings
This one was titled "St George and the Dragon," though DH and I thought the dragon more resembled Mr. Crabs from Sponge Bob.
Dinner this evening was the first foodie (and wine) fail. We lost 30 minutes in traffic heading to a Trader Joe’s for road snacks and a bottle of wine.
But, no. Pennsylvania is one of those states. After securing dessert and road snacks, we had to trek to a wine store, possibly the saddest wine store I have ever been in, with varietals that we would not even have consumed in college. I managed to find a bottle of something that, thankfully, did not taste like kerosene.
By this time the rain had begun to fall in Pittsburgh. The Sitter messaged that a tornado warning had been issued at home, and asked if there was anything we wanted her to take into the cellar if necessary. (This is what we pay for.) The storm turned out to be “intense directional winds” and all was soon well.
After checking in and consuming a glass of the not-kerosene wine we were both in the mood for something Italian (specifically lasagna), but neither of us wanted to present like humans and go out to eat; and nor did we want to risk a bad lasagna delivery. A full hour passed while we scoured “Delivery Italian” options on the Internet, eventually deciding on a highly rated place. Even accounting for the delayed delivery due to the rain and the fact that we had to microwave our stick-pasta dinner, it was at best, “Meh.” Live and learn.
Breakfast the following morning was lovely (the people watching, spectacular), then it was on to the Jungle Fest flower show at Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens. The tour was a lush explosion of color, scent, and tropical wonder—like stepping into a vivid daydream sprung to life from the heart of the rainforest. Possibly the prettiest conservatory or botanical garden we've ever visited.
As we wove our way through the conservatory we spied not one, not two, but eight Chihuly sculptures! An extra bonus delight!
One culinary challenge remained: lunch. Along the Penna Turnpike. The stars were aligned, and I identified what turned out to be a gem just 3 minutes off the turnpike. An Amish Fried Chicken Sandwich for DH, and a Smoked Salmon Charcuterie (appetizer!) that was so sizeable we enjoyed the leftovers the following day. One more foodie win.
But the culinary wins were not over. The restaurant also sold several of its in-house foods, so we added a quart of Mesquite Pulled Pork, Everything English Muffins and house made Macarons to our tab. The macarons didn't make it to the turnpike. Arrived home in good order to a clean house and an entirely spoiled DDog.
Thank you for reading.
Jun 4th, 2025 | 03:56 AM
#7
Original Poster
Joined: Nov 2006
Posts: 3,051
Likes: 26
Oh, geez, esm. What a pain (pun intended) that must be with DH out of commission before every trip!
gomiki, thanks. Our next "big" adventure is in the works for September 2026. Trying to decide between the Hebrides, Georgia (the country) and Vietnam.
gomiki, thanks. Our next "big" adventure is in the works for September 2026. Trying to decide between the Hebrides, Georgia (the country) and Vietnam.
Last edited by fourfortravel; Jun 4th, 2025 at 03:58 AM.
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Jun 4th, 2025 | 09:19 AM
#9
Original Poster
Joined: Nov 2006
Posts: 3,051
Likes: 26
Love, love that you're a fellow Gummy Bear fan. They are the best travel junk food ever.
