Posted by Michael Nagrant, May 10, 2008 at 2:00 PM
It seems like every year one of my favorite Pakistani restaurants burns down. Two years ago it was Khan BBQ, my favorite spot to grab green chili slathered charcoal tandoor fired chicken boti. The fire turned what was once a dingy smoky cabbie joint, thick with smoke from poor ventilation, into a relatively elegant peach colored banquet hall with a chandelier that would be at home in the Taj Mahal.
Last year, apparently due to faulty wiring, my other go-to spot, Sabri Nihari, burned down. Unlike Khan BBQ, the new incarnation, a narrow El car-wide corridor of a restaurant outfitted with more mirrors than a ballet studio, is a step down from the old, pure white Liberace-like garishness of the old spot. The owners assured me this was a temporary location, though it’s been open for over a year now, so maybe not.
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Posted by Michael Nagrant, March 7, 2008 at 11:00 AM
Chicken boti at Khan BBQ
When looking for serious ethnic spots, I find if you're the only white anglo dude in the joint, you're probably in the right place. Khan BBQ, on Chicago’s Devon street—a strip of Pakistani, Indian and orthodox Jewish bakeries, restaurants, and clothing shops—is one of those places.
It shouldn't be, as I and a few others have written about the perfume of coriander from the tandoors, the puffy stacks of Naan bread, and the grilled succulent meat over the last couple of years. Yet, last week when I stopped by for a bite, the dining room was filled with the usual smattering of cabbies and Pakistani families.
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Posted by Michael Nagrant, September 20, 2007 at 12:00 PM
Ed Levine made ethnic and cheap eats safe for America, or at least New Yorkers, anyway. In some ways, his seminal work, New York Eats, put pastrami and pizza on the same table as foie and truffles. It's precisely why I've been excited to contribute to this site, as my personal philosophy is that haute cuisine and the antiquated starred review system panders to people who are more likely to equate the cost of a meal with the quality of a meal, the same people who shove food in their mouth but never taste it, the folks rocking mediocre Cristal because that's what Jay Z clued them in to. I believe that the Italian beef sandwich should be as vaunted as a Waygu beef, and that's why I'm here. So in the vein of Mr. Levine, I've put together a short primer below on some of Chicago's truly best and relatively cheap ethnic joints that are as relevant as our four-star palaces like Alinea and Charlie Trotter's.
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