Detroit keeps a few high-fidelity time capsules, and this woody hall on John R Street is easily the warmest among them.
Stepping inside feels like someone flipped the “history” switch to the on position, instantly bathing you in the glow of hand-carved walls and the boisterous energy of a room that has seen generations of toasts.
It’s a rathskeller in the truest sense: a subterranean-feeling sanctuary where the songs are lively and the plates are stacked with a kind of honest, soul-deep comfort that modern bistros often try to fake…