This place has great cakes, he said. So after a quick lunch, we decided to get some cake. But as soon as we walked in, we realised that this wasn't just a cake place. Mouthwatering kebabs were being eaten at the nearby tables. What's up with those, we asked our Chicago friend. Yes, they also serve some good food, he said. So, then let's get some food too, the three of us thought in unison. Our Chicago friend understood and we got our tables.
Self Service, we heard the man from behind the counter. Clearly our friend has only been getting cakes from here. Kefte Kebob, he beckoned, sensing that we are new here. We took that as our cue and asked for that. He picked a couple of oven roasted lamb and stuffed it into bread, placed a bowl of herbed rice and some salad and handed it over to us. We also picked a skewered chicken, which got the same treatment with rice and salad.
Some soup from a large bowl and a baked puff like dish completed our order. The chicken was blah, the Greek chicken and rice soup with an overdose of lemon was strangely comforting, and the puff was blah.
But this post is about the Kefte Kebob. Nice and fat chunks of meat, roasted to perfection with a tinge of sauce, this was fabulous. I mean, this was beyond description, much to the chagrin of our friend, who took us here for cake and had to admit that the kebob was the best he has eaten in Chicago in his ten years of existence here.
Coming to the cake, he ordered a full cake. Not four slices for the four of us, but a full cake. Why would you do that, we asked. We were already full with our second lunch. You'll see, he said. He probably won't get entry into his house or will have to sleep on the couch if he didn't take cake for his wife, we thought.
Ten minutes later, the cake was missing. That's why I ordered the whole cake, he said pointing to the empty plate.
Self Service, we heard the man from behind the counter. Clearly our friend has only been getting cakes from here. Kefte Kebob, he beckoned, sensing that we are new here. We took that as our cue and asked for that. He picked a couple of oven roasted lamb and stuffed it into bread, placed a bowl of herbed rice and some salad and handed it over to us. We also picked a skewered chicken, which got the same treatment with rice and salad.
Some soup from a large bowl and a baked puff like dish completed our order. The chicken was blah, the Greek chicken and rice soup with an overdose of lemon was strangely comforting, and the puff was blah.
But this post is about the Kefte Kebob. Nice and fat chunks of meat, roasted to perfection with a tinge of sauce, this was fabulous. I mean, this was beyond description, much to the chagrin of our friend, who took us here for cake and had to admit that the kebob was the best he has eaten in Chicago in his ten years of existence here.
Coming to the cake, he ordered a full cake. Not four slices for the four of us, but a full cake. Why would you do that, we asked. We were already full with our second lunch. You'll see, he said. He probably won't get entry into his house or will have to sleep on the couch if he didn't take cake for his wife, we thought.
Ten minutes later, the cake was missing. That's why I ordered the whole cake, he said pointing to the empty plate.
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