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It looks precisely the same. The pillowy-soft steamed bun, gently surrounding a specially seasoned, natural-casing hot dog. The generous ladle of savory chili sauce that remains a secret family recipe. And, of course, the thin line of bright yellow mustard and a sprinkling of sweet, freshly chopped onions.
(Weβll give you a minute to put down the magazine and wipe your mouth.)
Ah, but how does it taste? From that first bite, when all the toppings blend gloriously inside your mouth and you hear the familiar snap of your teeth breaking through the casing, any Detroiter knows this is a true taste of home: a genuine, straight-outta-downtown, American Coney Island chili dog.
But this isnβt Lafayette Boulevard, or even Detroit. It is, however, downtown β downtown Las Vegas, where amid all the glitz, glitter, and nearby celebrity chef dining emporiums, one of our fair cityβs oldest family-owned and -operated businesses has been hitting the jackpot since October in a happy niche within The D Casino & Hotel as part of βthe Fremont Street Experience.β
![](https://cdn.hourdetroit.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2013/06/At-the-D-1.png)
βItβs just a little mini version of home,β says Grace Keros, the third-generation co-owner of American Coney Island. Keros has expanded her familyβs 96-year-old coney kingdom to the Detroit Zoo, Ford Field, and a satellite restaurant in Canton, but she never envisioned their iconic coney would be served outside of southeast Michigan, much less in Sin City. βThis is the best move we ever made.β
The cozy 1,000-square-foot eatery, including office and storage space, formerly housed a Krispy Kreme franchise. βWeβll still get the periodic person whoβll come in and ask, βWhere are the donuts?ββ Keros says. (This American location also carries Sanders bumpy cake, but they have a hard time keeping it in stock.)
Thereβs no mistaking the place now. Wide red-and-gold stripes across the off-white walls β¦ framed, faded photos of Detroit locations β¦ a wall-sized mural depicting festive American Coney diners from the early 1900s β itβs an exact, vest-pocket replica of the American flagship on Lafayette. βWeβre keeping it tastefully tacky,β Keros says. βJust like in Detroit.β Itβs faithful down to the open grill placed against the picture window and next to the on-street entrance, so passersby can see the dogs cooking and step right inside to buy one.
βA lot of the people here in the building, the executives, didnβt get it,β Keros recalls. βTheyβd ask, βWhy does the grill have to be here? Why canβt it be there?β Because it doesnβt work that way! Thereβs a reason, a method to this madness. Donβt ask; just trust us. Itβs not just a hot dog.β
Derek Stevens got it. Fact is, heβs the one who wanted it. When the East Side industrialist purchased the former Fitzgeralds Casino & Hotel from the estate of the late Detroit magnate Don Barden in October 2011 and transformed it into The D, many Vegas mavens assumed the initial stood for βDowntown.β Others thought he was massaging his ego by naming it after himself. But Stevens knew he wanted it to be a thematic tribute to his beloved hometown.
![](https://cdn.hourdetroit.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2013/06/At-the-D-2.png)
In the 1990s, Stevens lived on Detroitβs riverfront while earning his masterβs degree from Wayne State, and night classes frequently ran past 11 p.m. A fellow can get hungry after all that learning, and βAmerican was always there for me,β Stevens says. βWhen we decided to rename this property βThe D,β I thought, βWhatβs the most iconic place I can think of?β I kept coming back to American Coney Island.β
Coming back to American this time, however, was not initially filling. Keros, already immersed in opening new locations, wanted no part of westward expansion. Undeterred, Stevens persuaded her to fly in and just see the hotel, share his vision. Bingo. βIt was just the right fit,β Keros says, βand not just because it was Vegas. If it wasnβt for the person [Derek] is, I truly believe this would not have happened. We are very family-oriented, and itβs like we were all one family. Heβs a great guy β he goes all the way, first class β and thatβs why we clicked. If youβre going to do it, go big or go home.β
Stevens didnβt stop there. Wanting a top-drawer restaurant to replace the Don B Steakhouse from the Fitzgeralds era, he reached out to Joe Vicari, owner of metro Detroitβs Andiamo restaurant group, to join him at The D. Same story. βDerek and his brother (Greg, his business partner), were customers at Andiamo, so they had been experiencing us for many years,β Vicari says. βI was in Vegas, and he approached me and asked if I had any interest. I said, βNot really. The economy is tough in Detroit, and Iβm just trying to survive.β
βHe said, βWell, I really think thereβs an opportunity here,β and just through perseverance on his part and negotiating, it ended up making sense for us.β The lush Joe Vicariβs Andiamo Italian Steakhouse opened at The D last Super Bowl weekend, featuring the signature 32-ounce, bone-in βTomahawkβ steak. Vicari has also assumed management of The D Grill, the casinoβs impressive midrange cafΓ©, as well as the hotelβs banquet and catering operations.
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For American Coney to happen in Vegas, Keros lured her younger brother, Chris Sotiropoulos, from his position as vice president of marketing for the Pita Pit sandwich chain to join the family business as co-owner. βIβm very pleased, and Iβm blessed,β Keros says. βI wouldnβt have been able to do this if he hadnβt come on board. Would I have tried? Yeah. But we have other things to take care of at home. Weβre a little busy! At some point in my life, I have to rest, so this is the best thing that couldβve happened.β
Maintaining coney integrity in the desert is a strategic undertaking that involves Dearborn Sausage helping coordinate the arrival of its dogs, chili from Americanβs Detroit Chili Co., and buns from Metropolitan Baking Co. in Hamtramck on the same Detroit loading dock at the same hour. Then all the core ingredients are packed into a refrigerated semitrailer and driven to Las Vegas at least once a month. βLogistically, itβs not easy,β Keros says. βBut itβs not impossible. Too bad they donβt know how to make bread here.β
Sotiropoulos says that at first, the bun conundrum was their biggest issue. βObviously, bringing the hot dogs and chili was a no-brainer, but we figured, βOK, everything else weβll be able to get here.β So weβre having meetings with all these huge bread manufacturers that bake for the Bellagio, the Venetian. They make 80 percent of the bread in all the hotels. They bring in their samples, and they were pretty cocky. βHere they are! Regular hot dog steamer buns!β Weβre going, βNo, we donβt use poppy seeds.β βNo, thatβs too big.β βThatβs too hard.β I think we literally tried over 100 different buns. It was just nuts.β
βMetro Bakery went as far as to say, βFind someone there whoβs willing to work with us, and weβll give them the recipe,β and they still couldnβt do it,β Keros says. βIt was annoying, but if you know us, we were like, βThatβs it! Enough of these people in this town. Weβll handle it.βββ The coneys are a little pricier at The D, $3.75 as compared to $2.35 in Detroit. That can be explained in two words: Shipping and Vegas.
Americanβs desert dogs attract a large, diverse clientele. There are the many Detroit expatriates who moved to Vegas during the great economic migration of the β90s and miss the taste of an honest-to-Motown coney. There are the Fremont Street revelers who drop by the 24-hour spot for a late-night snack. There are the tourists and conventioneers who are either current or former residents of Detroit, like Brian Shillair. A Troy native now living in Chicago, Shillair had American cater his wedding reception 10 years ago and still buys do-it-yourself βconey kitsβ from the company. During a visit to the Venetian for a convention, Shillair made the trip from the Strip to grab a hug from Keros and a dog or two from the counter. βEverybody loves coneys, man,β he says.
![](https://cdn.hourdetroit.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2013/06/Panoramic20American20Coney20Island20STORE20LOGO_cx.jpg)
Which is great news for Joe Sobocinski. A native of Taylor, Sobocinski started as a waiter at the original location a few years back and so impressed Keros with his work ethic and ambition that he was tabbed to move to Vegas last February and become the storeβs general manager while still in his 20s. βItβs been really awesome; really good so far, says Sobocinski, more affectionately known as βJoey Cupcakesβ by his bosses. (Long story.) βIt keeps me out of trouble in this town; thatβs for sure.β Many of the other Vegas employees have Detroit connections, as well.
With this gamble paying off, American has fielded inquiries about spreading its coney caravan to other states. βItβs got to be something special,β Keros says. βWeβve been approached by β I donβt want to put anybody down, but βregular citiesβ β and thatβs not us. If you want our coneys, we have a way: go and order coney kits. We ship all across the country. Weβre a specialty hot dog, and thatβs how weβre going to stay.β
Almost too special, perhaps, for that last segment of American in Vegas consumer: the coney virgin. βCustomers come in and say, βOh, we saw you on the Travel Channel, on the Food Network, and weβve always wanted to try one,β Sotiropoulos says. βThen they go, βOh. You donβt use a good-quality hot dog.β
βI say, βExcuse me. Why would you say that?β βBecause the skin is so tough.β You laugh sometimes and try to explain that itβs a natural casing; itβs supposed to be like that. But they donβt know. Some people think [the hot dogs are] old because theyβre hard to bite into.β
Heathens.
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