Baba Ghannouj and the Bet Din
It’s been two weeks since I last wrote a blog entry. I skipped over the past two weeks because I had little time to visit any restaurants, and as a result, little to say. Empanada Boy and I have also been very busy in the run-up to our wedding (three weeks from today!). This past weekend was a particularly momentous one: EB’s parents, his siblings and my mom were all in town to witness and celebrate his conversion to Judaism. Yes, as of Friday, EB is officially a Jew! The parents, EB and I drove out to a synagogue in Wilmette where EB met privately with a panel— called a bet din— made up of one rabbi and two cantors. They asked him questions to be sure he was ready to go ahead with the whole thing. Then we all went over to the ritual bath, or mikveh, where he was given instructions to strip, clean himself and immerse himself into the bath, saying some important prayers in between. The male cantor witnessed his immersion, but the rest of us could hear him recite the prayers. When he was done with the last one, we all called out: “mazel tov!” It was an emotional and exciting process that left us feeling hungry for lunch. What could be a more appropriate stop than a restaurant serving kosher Israeli and Morrocan food? Taboun Grill in Rogers Park was a perfect way to welcome the new Jew.
Our elation and emotional expenditure made us ravenous, and the delicious smell when we walked into the restaurant added to our eagerness to get food to our table. A tasty array of pickled vegetables, including beets, cucumbers and a hot pepper kept us occupied until we ordered appetizers. We decided to start with Moroccan Cigars— thin, crispy, sticks, reminiscent of Chinese egg rolls, which came filled with beautifully spiced ground beef. Falafel, served with hummus was our second appetizer. The freshly made balls had a crackly textured, and were well-seasoned. EB and I agreed these were the best we’d tried in Chicago. Feeling a little more sated, we settled down to await the arrival of our entrées.
Tofutti Cutie ordered the eye-catching salad combination plate (pictured above), which came with hummus, Moroccan eggplant salad, purple cabbage and baba ghannouj. All were tasty, but I especially enjoyed the eggplant salad, which was rich a flavorful. A taboun is the oven used to make pita. And, indeed, the pita served on the side was exceptionally thick and fluffy with a nice char. Popover tried the fish pita made with tilapia. EB, Mango Mama and I were looking forward to trying the restaurant’s highly-touted meats. We couldn’t decide what to order, so we opted to share the Grill Combination platter and a schwarma pita. The pitas was packed with flavor and spices. Nothing about it was tame. But the combination plate stole the show. It had spiced meatballs called kefta, pieces of juicy steak and delicious chunks of chicken thigh. The meat was fantastic, juicier than any other kosher meat I’ve tried. Blood is drained from kosher animals when they are killed, usually making for a drier, chewier texture. This was not the case here. The only downside: kosher meat is expensive, which explains why our dish was $26. But this alone would have been enough to feed the three of us. I assume the same is true of the other meat entrées.
We finished our meal feeling completely stuffed, but satisfied. A friend of mine who went to Israel with me had mentioned Taboun Grill as the only place in the U.S. he’s tried that comes close to what we ate there. I will second his words and modify them; the food at Taboun Grill is better than most of what I remember eating in Israel. It was a meal fit for a special occasion, and EB’s entrance to Jewish life was just that kind of an auspicious event.
Taboun Grill
6339 N. California Ave.
Chicago, IL 60659
773.381.2606
I will admit, I haven’t seen the movie “Tampopo.” I know it’s one of those classic food-centered movies that all foodies should see. I also know the basic plot of this Japanese film revolves around two truck drivers who try to help a lady, Tampopo, build up her noodle shop to make it a paragon to “the art of noodle soup making.” Considering this rather loaded back story, it is a bold move indeed to give your own noodle and sushi shop the same name. That’s what the owner of 
A whole bowl of ramen wasn’t in the cards for Empanada Boy, considering his diet. He would order sushi, we decided, and try some of my ramen on the side. We started with a dish (pictured above) that was completely unique from anything I’ve tried. It was two large mussel halves topped with crabmeat and masago (smelt roe) and baked. The result was something like a Japanese version of escargot; beneath the lightly crisped, creamy, salty topping of crab and roe was the warm, juicy mussel. EB and I were impressed. We were also pleased with the quality of the nigiri sushi that EB ordered, including white tuna, red snapper, octopus, masago and scallop. These would have been better with more built-in seasoning from wasabi or vinegar, but the fish was firm, and the rice had a good freshly made texture. All fell into the reasonable $2 to $2.75 price range. 
EB also ordered a tasty crispy unagi maki, which was filled with thin, sweet strips of eel and got its crunchiness from a thin layer of panko around the exterior. It was another winning sushi dish for under $8. You may be wondering why I have yet to discuss or picture the ramen. That’s because the Gomoku ramen, which I ordered, was a big letdown. (The reason I don’t have a picture, though, is that my camera ran out of batteries during the meal.) The dish was a huge bowl of soup filled with noodles, napa cabbage, baby corn, bamboo shoots, onions, bean sprouts and carrots. It was also supposed to come with shumai shrimp and fish cake. What I got was a few thin pieces of fish cake, one tiny shrimp shumai dumpling and one shrimp. When I found the shrimp, I assumed that it was one of many in my bowl and offered it to EB. Little did I know it was the only shrimp to be found in my huge $10.50 bowl. To make matters worse, the broth was under-seasoned and severely lacking in that inexplicable flavor found in many Asian foods, known as ummami. Empanada Boy defended the soup, but I could not be convinced. Maybe I had built my hopes too high, eating flavor-packed pho at so many Vietnamese restaurants. Still, there was no excuse for the skimpy seafood and the broth did not quench my craving. 
The subtitle, painted on the window and typed onto the menus below the name 
This gave us plenty of time to peruse what the other diners, including a number of Peruvians, were eating. When we sat down, we ordered a plate of the paella, which we had seen on nearly every table in the restaurant. We also ordered a plate of slow-cooked lamb, with vegetables and sides of rice and beans. While we waited, we dipped pieces of airy, white pieces of very South American bread into a creamy habañero sauce.
Unlike Spanish-style paella, the Peruvian version is made with only seafood. Ours came with a delicious blend of clams, mussels, crab, shrimp, squid and tiny scallops. The rice may not have seen much saffron, but it certainly had the color and the deep, rich flavor that comes from being slowly cooked in broth. As if that huge plate of food weren’t enough, a massive portion of lamb arrived falling tenderly off the bone after being braised in wine. The menu said the sauce that coated it was made with beer and pumpkin, in addition to the apparent peppers and onions. 
We ate until we could eat no more, chatting intermittently with the friendly people sitting next to us and with the gregarious Mr. Izquierdo. He chided us for having brought German beer and insisted on having all of us sample his Concord grape Peruvian wine and his Peruvian beer. Despite our fullness, he also insisted we try his desserts. Empanada Boy and I managed to eat quite a bit of the dense smoky wedge of flan and the delicious alfajor, a powdered sugar coated cookie filled with dulce de leche.
Every diner has experienced orderer’s envy where you wish you had ordered the same thing as someone else. I have learned to avoid this unlucky condition through a number of strategies, including: Choosing whatever sounds best from on the menu with no regard for health or calories; opting never to order a salad at a place that specializes in burgers or tacos. (Iceberg lettuce with wilted tomatoes and bad dressing is usually the result); and, finally, looking around at what other people who seem to be in the know are eating.
Now, on to our rather lackluster meal. EB and I started of with the chili pakoras, which were hot peppers dipped in chickpea flour and deep-fried. The peppers were definitely spicy, but the chickpea flour batter was too thick and bread-like for my taste. I know this is the traditional texture of the flour when it’s fried, but I think it works better with larger items like vegetable pakoras because it spreads out more thinly. The heat of the peppers was also moderated by lively mint and tamarind chutneys.
When he saw his entree, EB immediately regretted having ordered it. The dish was a piece of thin, tortilla-like Indian bread, wrapped around kadai paneer, cubes of Indian cheese cooked with onions and green peppers. It came with a sad garnish of old lettuce and unripe tomatoes, looking like one of those dreaded “health wraps” that so many restaurants have added to their menus. The filling tasted miserably under-spiced and kind of mushy. Quoth EB: “I never should have ordered something called a wrap.”
My selection, an eggplant dish called bhaigan bartha, was a bit more successful. It was rich with plenty of eggplant and curry flavor, but the creaminess of the eggplant and the lack of depth that would have come from meat left me wanting more of a kick. That could have come in the form of spice or acidity, but it seemed sorely lacking in this dish. The basmati rice that we ate it with could have also done with more flavoring from ghee or other spices.
Desserts came to the rescue in a small but significant way. EB and I shared an order of rasmalai, crumbly cottage cheese balls served in condensed milk flavored with rosewater and pistachios. This was refreshing and tasty, although I prefer other versions I’ve tried that had a richer condensed milk and a stronger rosewater flavor. Fittingly, EB and I both enjoyed the mango lassi, my namesake and a drink made with mango pulp and yogurt. It was smooth and creamy without weighing us down. 
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