When in the Upper Peninsula, or U.P., do as da Yoopers do. And da Yoopers do pasties.
So when I traveled to Marquette, Mich., recently for a winter getaway, I too did pasties, eating my way through the northern hinterlands and evaluating what could possibly be the world’s heartiest — and least photogenic — food.
Before going, I spoke with Fred Huffman, owner and operator of Marquette Country Tours, who regularly educates visitors about the history of the Upper Peninsula. Huffman explained that the pasty, pronounced “pass-tee,” arrived in the U.P. in the 1800s by way of miners who came from Cornwall, England, to work in Michigan’s iron and copper mines. “They brought with them their saffron cakes or buns, their afternoon tea-time tradition and, of course, their pasty-making tradition,” Huffman said.
The dish, which is like a pastry purse packed with meat, potato, onion and rutabaga, was portable and filling, perfect for a miner to take into the earth. “It was a complete meal, and it didn’t require any utensils or plates,” Huffman said.
Today the pasty remains popular in restaurants and bakeries in the U.P. Nonprofits lean on their popularity and sell them at fundraisers. The ingredients have expanded beyond meat, and you can find gluten-free pasties, vegetarian pasties, breakfast pasties, pizza pasties, ham and cheese pasties, chicken pot pie pasties, fruit pasties, mini-pasties and more. Each pasty can weigh upward of a pound and sells for $3 to $5. That, of course, doesn’t include the cost of any cholesterol medication you might need. “People often ask is a pasty nutritious, is it good for you?” Huffman said. “I always say, ‘Well, it tastes good. And if you’re diet-conscious, just cut it in half.'”
I keep that advice in mind as I head north, driving from Chicago through Wisconsin and into the U.P, watching the focus of roadside signs morph from cheese to pasties.
The first stop on my pasty prowl is Colonel K’s Pasties in Menominee, Mich. It’s my first pasty — ever — and I’m not sure of what to expect. I stick with a traditional beef with rutabaga pasty, and when it’s handed to me in a foam shell, surrounded by ketchup packets, I take it all in. The dough is golden, with a crimped edge. I take a bite. The innards are packed tight and thick, the meat mountain pocked with potato, onion and rutabaga. I chew, waiting for the flavor to kick in. Somehow, the rutabaga seems to overwhelm the protein. The ketchup packets begin to make sense but not enough to help me finish the hefty steamer.
I travel on, taking a winding, snowy county road to Iron Mountain, where I’ll be staying the night. With a long mining history, the town is appropriately pasty rich. I pull up to Antonio’s Pizza, Pasta & Pasties, secretly hoping they’ll have a pizza pasty. Instead, I find only the traditional offering. A bit gun-shy and still mentally full from the last encounter, I bite into the pasty. Though the appearance of the meat — pink and brown, with chunks of white potato — is grisly, the flavor, rich with beef and onions, is warm, homey and, somehow, nourishing. It all comes together, like meatloaf wrapped in pizza dough, and I immediately understand the love of pasties. No ketchup necessary here.
The next morning, I drive about an hour and a half to Marquette, stopping at Da Yoopers Tourist Trap in Ishpeming along the way. I figure if any store in the world carries pasty paraphernalia, it’s this one. I’m right. If you’re looking for pasty magnets, pasty plates, pasty earrings, pasty T-shirts and pasty bumper stickers, this place is a Cornish dream come true.
As I pull into Marquette, I’m a little nervous about eating another pasty. Three in two days seems like a lot to ask of my system, but I head to Jean Kay’s Pasties & Subs anyway. There, I’m ecstatic to see a veggie offering, with cauliflower, broccoli, potato and rutabaga — along with cream cheese and cheddar, lest you think it’s too healthy. Now, a true Yooper may try to tell you, as a friend of a friend told me, “If there is anything green inside, it ceases to be a pasty.” Regardless, it’s absolutely delicious and merciful on my stomach.
Now that I’m in Marquette, I take a couple of days off from pasties and try to burn the recent accumulation of lard by snowshoeing and riding a fat bike with huge, bouncy tires along the snowy shores of Lake Superior. It’s a nice reprieve, and when it’s time to return home, I’m ready to conquer the Cornish crawl.
On my way out of town, I stop at Lawry’s Pasty Shop, a Marquette restaurant open since 1946 and a favorite among Yoopers. With one bite of a beef pasty, it becomes my favorite too. Imagine the lightest, flakiest crust you’ve ever had, filled with aromatic, perfectly seasoned meat. This is what a pasty was meant to taste like. I stop myself after a few bites, stashing about two-thirds of it on the passenger seat. The roads are getting snowy, and I figure, should something go wrong, the leftovers could quite possibly get me through the end of winter.
Passing back through Iron Mountain, I make my last pasty stop at Dobber’s Pasties. Despite the many pasty options (pizza, breakfast, ham) I stick with the baseline and go with the traditional beef. Similar to the first pasty of the trip, the smell and taste of rutabaga dominates, and after a couple of nibbles, I wrap it back up. Three days ago, I would have added ketchup and given it another try. Today, a seasoned pasty taster, I eye the leftovers from Lawry’s and keep driving.
If you go
Colonel K’s Pasties, 1229 10th St., Menominee, Mich.; 906-863-5315.
Antonio’s Pizza Pasta & Pasties, 400 S. Stephenson Ave, Iron Mountain, Mich.; 906-828-1818; antoniosmi.com.
Da Yoopers Tourist Trap, 490 N. Steel St., Ishpeming, Mich.; 906-485-5595; dayoopers.com.
Jean Kay’s Pasties & Subs, 1635 Presque Isle, Marquette, Mich.; 906-228-5310; jeankayspasties.com.
Lawry’s Pasty Shop, 2164 U.S. Highway 41, Marquette, Mich.; 906-226-5040; lawryspasties.com.
Dobber’s Pasties, 1402 S. Stephenson Ave., Iron Mountain, Mich.; 906-774-9323; dobberspasties.com.
