At Leo's Coney Island in Flint, Michigan, the waitress asks me: Detroit-style or Flint? I don't understand. Born and bred in Detroit's western suburbs, a good hour or so south of Flint, there was only one way to eat a coney dog: piled high with bean-less beef chili, mustard, and chopped white onions. Granted, as a kid, I'd forgo the mustard and onions and slather my own chili-covered hot dog with ketchup, but that's beside the point. I soon learn that Flint-style involves a dry chili—just seasoned ground beef to me—in place of the wet, sloppy mess of my childhood. While common knowledge to some, this, to me, is a revelation: Even now, there are things to learn about my home state.