Just before the 960 Jewish inhabitants of the lofty fortress of Masada committed mass suicide in the year 73, they torched everything within the walls except their food stores, so that the invading Roman legion would know the defenders died willingly and not by starvation.
There are all the expected mezes, salads, and kebabs, the latter also available stuffed into wraps for a more hands-on experience. These dishes vary wildly in value and presentation. A small dish entitled “tomato skillet”—which I expected to be more like the tomato-and-vegetable-based stir-fry known as kalaya—is simply a flat plate of mildly spicy tomato sauce and nothing else. It’s a puzzling thing to see on the table—good for sopping up with pita, but you’ll feel silly paying $7 for it. Three double-jointed chicken wings, unbreaded and glistening with olive oil and lemon, go for a relatively extravagant $8, while for the same price a huge portion of gnarly, gray chicken gizzards drenched in olive oil and sprinkled with fried onions is almost insurmountable. Chunky but unspectacular baba ghanoush takes a backseat to the more visually and texturally interesting fetit betinjan, bites of sauteed eggplant plated with crunchy pita chips, all slathered in tahini dressing. The best value among these plates is the “falafel and its entourage,” a snack plate of hot, fat, moist chickpeas fritters, sauteed eggplant, fried cauliflower florets, and zucchini and potato planks served with a garlic-jalapeño-lemon sauce.
2206 N. California 773-697-8397masadachicago.com
