This is a story about a Detroit restaurant's 30-year struggle between what's hopeful and what's inevitable. Which means it's a story about Detroit itself.

A couple of weeks ago, I and a willing co-worker of mine, Brianna Reilly, went to lunch at Hygrade Deli, at 3640 Michigan Ave., just outside Corktown.

It's almost a sin to admit it, but I'd never been to Hygrade.

It wasn't until I heard Terry Foster on 97.1 The Ticket talking about his affinity for the deli that I decided to give it a try.

A lot of places around town try to create a retro atmosphere (think every restaurant touting exposed brick and I-beams). Hygrade can't escape it.

Many of you know the story: Nate Stutz opened the Hygrade Deli some 60 years ago in what was then the Western Market. The deli got its name from the market's largest vendor, Hygrade Food Product Corp.

But after the Western Market was leveled to make way for I-75, Hygrade Food moved to Livonia, while Stutz moved the restaurant to Michigan Avenue.

And there it has sat ever since, in an unaltered state, serving some of the city's best corned beef sandwiches to an ever-shrinking customer base.

I'm just glad I got to see it before it's too late.

Bernie Litt owned a rather successful deli called Billy's on Seven Mile and Livernois for years. But a combination of the riots in 1967 and a unionized workforce proved too difficult for the fledgling deli to overcome.

"After the riots in '67, the neighborhood Billy's was located and changed," said Stuart Litt, the current owner of Hygrade Deli. "Between white flight and the Jewish population moving out to the suburbs, Dad's business couldn't survive."

Billy's closed in 1970.

But Litt's uncle was a frequent customer of Hygrade Deli and knew that Stutz was getting up in years and looking to get out of the business.

The Litt family bought Hygrade in 1972 and has owned it ever since.

Stuart Litt has been holding down the fort after taking over from his ailing father in 1977.

But it hasn't been easy.

Litt said that every year gets a little harder to stay open but that somehow, he finds a way.

"To be honest, there is a lot of sacrifice," Litt said. "My employees can't get raises. I have to cut costs on health insurance and grocery shopping. I pick up my own supplies to cut out middle men. It's a constant day-in, day-out struggle."

Stuart admits he is getting a little nervous that the supposed economic comeback of Detroit won't reach his end of Michigan Avenue.

"We are on our own island. Just a mile to our east is Corktown, and a mile to the west is vibrancy," Litt said. Between the train station to the east and Livernois to the west, we are on a deserted island."

But instead of focusing on Hygrade's slow march to inevitability, he remains steadfast that a comeback is not out of the realm of possibility.

"There are times when I have a couple of good weeks and it gives me hope," Litt said. "If it doesn't get any worse, I can find a way to stay here."

The first thing I noticed walking into the Hygrade Deli were the chairs. Their metallic gold, blue and red cushions seemed too new for the restaurant but not necessarily out of place.

"Those are the same chairs but have been recovered," Litt said in between answering the phone and preparing a large to-go order.

I ordered what I always do at a good deli: a plain corned beef sandwich on rye with a side of spicy mustard.

Brianna had a Reuben, which she swears is one of the best she's ever had.

The corned beef sandwich didn't stand out from others I've had around town, but that didn't matter.

I will always remember sitting in that deli on that afternoon.

Hygrade truly is a time capsule from a different era.

That experience alone was worth the trip.