Sultan’s Market- A treat for Your Wallet, Your Health and Your Soul.

There’s something about food you can eat while walking, while riding the train, on your way to or from work, as a snack or a meal, on good days or bad, that sets you right back to zero, cleans your slate, warms your belly and heart, and acts as a tool in bringing you back to the moment, crankiness begone, who cares? I’m not talking about the fast food stylings of mystery meat factory chains designed to keep us unhealthy and yet craving more and more. I’m talking about a satisfying, hand-held pouch of nutritious deliciousness (pardon the terrible rhyme) to be enjoyed during any time of year, standing up or sitting down, in stillness or in motion, good mood or bad, alone or in a crowd. For this, any day of the week, I make my way to Sultan’s Market. Back during my time in New York City, I was fortunate enough to attend Yoga teacher training at a remarkable studio in Hell’s Kitchen, an embarrassment of riches in the food department, anything you could need or want within blocks. In the middle of many long days, me and my fellow students would walk a few blocks west to an amazing cafe for falafel pita sandwiches. We’d crowd the literal 260 square feet of space Azuri cafe took up, ordered from the sometimes cranky, sometimes flirtatious man, and walked out with a pita pocket full of the best falafel, hummus, herbs, and spices you’d ever experienced. I left the city and its amazing topography, culture, food and yoga scene to emerge in the midwest, hoping for their own version of the same. I love Chicago. I think it trumps Manhattan in many ways. Some it does not, but what I was very satisfied to find was a fantastic falafel pita sandwich at Sultan’s.

You’ll need to venture to one of two parks. One with a ton of hipsters, large framed glasses, skinny jeans and young artists. That would be Wicker Park. Sultan’s is on West North Avenue, a street with an endless supply of good food, occasionally intersecting with other streets carrying more great food, shops, small businesses and expensive clothing made to look like it’s cheap. The other is a combination of successful, middle-aged parents and college students, also replete with great restaurants and shopping, this time with stores carrying overpriced items that do in fact look expensive along with actually being expensive. That would be Lincoln Park. The LP Sultan’s is on North Clark Street, a long stretch running northwest, cascading from swanky to classy to casual to party. Sultan’s is toward the beginning of a multiple block run of great, valuable cuisine. You can access either through bus, train, bike, cab or foot. Just keep a sharp eye for your fellow man, those narrow curved roads can be dangerous. I want only safe, happy trips to and from Sultan’s.

As you’d imagine since I ranted on about it two paragraphs above, I always order the falafel sandwich. Every. Single. Time. Yes, I’ve ordered other items to accompany my repetitious choice, but never do I neglect to open my mouth as wide as possible and cover the corners of my mouth with hummus, pita and falafel, because it’s that damn good. It satisfies my nostalgia for some NYC middle-eastern while providing an even better atmosphere, and dare I say staff, to round out my experience. Sultan’s is small, with tall ceilings and bright colors, a small buffet table with numerous sides should you need additional toppings. I can vouch 100% for their lentil soup, passed down from Grandma Zafira, for their spinach pies, their meat pies, their egg and cheese pies, their lamb or chicken kebab, lamb or chicken shawerma, their basmati rice, and their impeccable execution of my favorite simple delights, hummus, tabouli, and baba ganuj. Everything tastes fresh, homemade and heavenly.

Beyond the cozy environment, the friendly staff, and the insanely delectable food is the excellent prices. Falafel sandwich will fill most adults with normal appetites. It’s $3.75. I can’t even fathom how they manage to profit enough, given their most expensive item is Mediterranean style tilapia with seasoned tomatoes, onions and lemon for $7. A small soup is $2, large is a measly $3, so I walk out of there spending around 8 dollars (almost as worthless as monopoly money at this point) with tip and feeling satiated, healthy, comforted and energized. My dream is they open one near my apartment soon. For now, I’ll enjoy what have been some amazing days here in the windy city. They deliver and of course offer carry-out, in the event you're unable to make it to either location. Hope you can experience it.

I love a good burger or hot dog, but given our country is made up of immigrants from many other continents, I think America’s best offering is the diverse sampling of ethnic inspiration. Regardless how different and special we may feel, we have much more in common with our fellow human beings than we choose to acknowledge. And we all eat. Each person’s history has carved out a unique appreciation and execution of culinary influences and it is a great start to bridging the mind-created gaps by eating a variety of foods. The key to opening your heart is through the door of your stomach. Open wide.

Be open, in mind, heart, body and taste buds. Spend a little, get a lot. Enjoy.

Drown your sorrows in Tacos and Whiskey: Big Star

I’m just as guilty as the next schlep for utilizing YELP to find my next food fix. But truthfully, I much prefer the stumble upon method. Walk, talk, and happen upon what could be the next memorable thing in your life. That is how some of the greatest restaurants came in to my life, like Cozy’s, C.B.A., DMK, and other places with acronyms for names. This little gem, like the others, came into my life in that very same way. It was fate. Killing time in the bustling neighborhood that is Wicker Park, we saw hoards of people drinking beers, downing tacos, and smiling ear to ear from what was apparently a very pleasurable experience. Not knowing anything except there were tacos on the menu, we stepped up, grabbed two stools at the bar and began our journey to yet another hour of culinary bliss.  

The place was Big Star. We only found this out by following a series of clues stemming from our own investigation. Not that it matters, this place is difficult to miss, in particular in the summer. This was a Sunday, around 3, and given the lack of an early bird special, it was shocking how many 35 and under folks were waiting for a highly coveted seat, basting in the sun. We opted for the bar, in the shade, wafts of taco scented air occasionally making it’s way past our bodies from the slew of fans operating from each corner of the very high ceilings. The bar was rectangular, run by 6 attractive scenesters attending to their designated section. I’m a proponent for normalcy; genuine human interaction. I despise role-playing, I’m the customer, you’re my server, let’s act accordingly. I prefer to joke, make a connection with my fellow human being, get their advice, and enjoy the experience collectively. Our guy seemed to be on the same page. He was unassuming, offered a great beer selection, provided their small but enticing menu and then let us be.

I’ll pass along now this place values their whiskey and their tequila. I’m not equipped to provide examples as I’m a beer drinker; good beer, no Coors light if I can help it, but beyond knowing my uncle drinks the disgusting piss-tasting poison that is Wild Turkey, I know nothing. Sure, I’ll down some margaritas and mojitos, but do I know what goes into them? No. I do not. Nor do I care. So, check out their site if this tickles your fancy and then pass it along to your alcoholic friends who give a shit. This girl does not. Apologies for the vitriol. I’m back. It’s been too long.

Ok, the grub. As I mentioned, it’s a short menu. I fricken love this. Some of the best places do a few things but they do them so damn well the variety does not matter. It’s a taco shack, with some additional Mexican treats peppered in there. I’m happy to report to my strict veggie friends there are some options for you, albeit never as interesting as what us animal homicide enthusiasts get to enjoy, but you probably won’t know the difference. The homemade guac is great, and it has Serrano pepper, which is my #1 pepper at the moment. Congrats to Serrano, and to all others, campaign harder next time. You must earn my vote, I don’t give freebies.

I ordered 1 taco al pastor and 1 fish taco. I’m such a damn sucker for fish tacos, I see it on a menu and it’s as if the Old Spice guy walked into a crowded room; no one else exists. Their pastor tacos have pineapple, so yeah, they’re my new favorite al pastor tacos in the city. Juicy, salty, warm, soft tortillas with the right accompaniment of onion, cilantro, lime and pineapple. When I eat I make faces like I’m receiving the best massage or some other form of intense pleasure. I’m often made fun of for this. It’s instinctual. I like it, my eyes are rolling, guttural sounds are emerging from my throat, hypothalamus sufficiently stimulated. Thanks, Big Star.

My brother is a grade-A fatty like me. Probably worse. Something in that ectomorph tells his appetite to give his heart and digestive system the challenge of its life. He orders the  Sonoran Dog. It’s a bacon wrapped hot dog, slathered in pinto beans, onions, lime, hot sauce and probably some secret, dirty ingredient no one dares to find out. It looks like death on a plate, delivered with a side of baby aspirin and a phone to dial 911 when your heart says fuck you and gives up. He ate it like a champ, and some bites of my tacos, greedy little ass.

So there you have it. 7 apps, 7 “entrees”, 1 dessert, a ridiculous amount of whiskey, tequila and a modest selection of beer. Get drunk and full on a Sunday, you’ll be released from the hospital by Monday. It’ll be worth it. Suck it up and eat.

Thanks for the support. Thanks to the 2 or 3 of you who read these articles consistently and waited patiently for me to get out of my funk and back onto the internet. I’m so grateful for infinite reasons right now. All good things. When in doubt, think of Love.