Sorry Detroiters, But Flint Has the Better Coney Dog

Flint — When most Michiganders think of a Coney dog, they think of Detroit’s usual style. Sloppy wet chili, slathered in mustard and onion, atop a warm hot dog on a bun. It’s a Michigan icon for working class, peasant fare, the sort of meal you end up quickly wolfing down after a few beers after your shift at the factory.

Turns out, Detroit isn’t the only Coney dog in town. Flint has its own variety, and hear me out—it’s better than Detroit’s.

The Coney Island Hot Dog, known more affectionately as the Coney dog, is one of those unique regional culinary items that isn’t so much a new invention, but a new combination of existing foodstuffs.

The basic premise is a hot dog topped by a meat-based chili, mustard, and onion. No one knows who invented the first one, though the usual origin tale traces it to Balkan immigrants coming through Ellis Island in the early 1900s.

In a very literal sense, the Coney dog is slop. Chili, itself a big sloppy mess of stewed meat and spices. Hot dogs, made from the more mysterious cuts of meat you’d rather not eat otherwise. Mustard, a wet sauce of vinegar, mustard seeds, and spices. Chopped raw onion, which somehow works as a topping though you’d never eat it otherwise.

It’s slop, but we love our slop. It’s not an insult to call it that. Most of the great American culinary inventions are slop, slopped up combinations of various elements of ethnic cuisines brought over here generations ago.

The Detroit Coney, in particular, relishes in the slop. The chili is wet, and never poured on sparingly. The dogs are greasy, the mustard is plentiful, and the white bread buns soak it all up. You’re hard pressed to eat it with your hands without making a mess.

The Flint Coney is a different animal. Well, a different part of it at least. Flint-style chili is traditionally made from a base of ground beef heart, mixed with chopped onion sauteed in beef tallow and a variety of savory spices.

Flint-style chili is spicier and dryer than the Detroit style chili topping. It doesn’t soak through the bun at all, or make a mess all over your face. It feels closer to Balkan, or even eastern meat preparations, a sort of crumbled spicy gyro meat.

The fundamentals in Flint, too, are stronger than the Detroit Coney dogs. The actual hot dog is generally a Koegel’s frankfurter with a natural casing, which has a nice snap when you bite into it.

Starlite Diner, by all accounts, is the place to get one in Flint. When I stopped by on a Sunday afternoon, it was packed with locals, and I barely managed a seat at the bar.

Sitting down, the owner immediately greeted me and asked about my camera and what I was doing there. I told her I’d heard that Flint Coney dogs give Detroit a run for their money, and I was there to try them out.

The waitstaff, of course, vehemently argued that Flint has the superior Coney dog. They gently implied, in that particular Midwestern way, that I better agree with them, or I’d need to put my camera down and get out of their restaurant.

Credit to the ladies, they were right. The Flint Coney served up at Starlite Diner is a certified classic, and in my opinion, better than the Coneys I’ve had in Detroit. It looked so good, in fact, that I accidentally took a few bites before I’d even photographed it.

The chili on top was spicier than expected, mostly savory but with a little bit of heat too. The owner wouldn’t tell me outright what it was made of, other than insisting that it’s meat, but I already knew—it’s beef heart, according to all the lore online.

Beef heart finely diced into chili, a popular depression-era organ meat that immigrants could buy for cheap. Interestingly enough, it’s currently trendy as a health food, with high levels of protein and antioxidants. Considering the rest of it is supposedly onions fried in beef tallow, Flint chili might even get the RFK Jr. seal of approval.

The hot dog was a high-quality dog, grilled up with just a bit of char. The mustard, onions and bun were fairly standard affairs. I didn’t go there to try them, but the fries were excellent too, perfectly crispy diner fries served with gravy.

It was a classic American diner experience, the ideal place to sample the Flint Coney dog and see how it compares to Detroit.

Unfortunately for Detroiters and their beloved Coneys, Flint is mogging you. The spicy, drier chili is simply a better topping for a hot dog than big spoonfuls of wet chili.

I know you’ll never change your style. I wouldn’t ask you to. The Detroit Coney is iconic in its own right. I hope you understand I have a commitment to culinary truth, my reputation as an American slop gourmand is on the line here, even if it brings me death threats.

For Flint, here’s one thing you can hang your hat on: In this writer’s opinion, you have the best hot dogs in the state. It’s little consolation for all that your city’s endured and continues to suffer through.

But it does mean something, these little culinary icons. It means that generations of people lived there, and developed rich cultural history, and it’s survived through all the years regardless of everything else.

So take pride in your Coney dogs, Flint. When it comes to Michigan hot dogs, you truly are the best.