Listen to me. A Michelin star. Kosher. In a strip mall on 123rd Street. I didn't believe it either, so I went myself and brought my appetite.
Chef Raz Shabtai named this place after his Jerusalem grandmother, and you can taste her in every plate. He's right there behind the counter, cooking, schmoozing, asking how you like it. Finally, a chef with manners.
What we ate
To start: Taste Buds, Chicken Liver Pâté, and Empanadas Damascus. The empanada came crispy with a spicy dip and pickled cucumbers. The Chicken Liver Dreaming to Become Foie Gras comes with sourdough, little pickles and crispy onions. I've made chicken liver for sixty years. His is better. That's all I'll say.
Malfuf: his grandmother's stuffed cabbage, under tomato, tahini and a whole garden of herbs. I cried a little. Don't tell anyone.
Perfect Falafel: not a ball, a big crusted disk dusted in za'atar. You crack it open and it's sitting on a pool of tahini. It lives up to the name.
Double or Nothing: hanger steak with mushroom ravioli in a corn velouté with broccolini. Double, please. Never nothing.
The steak on the Yemeni pancake with tahini and amba: Bubbie is still thinking about it.
Dessert: Sesame Street 2.0 and In Your Face. Plated like jewelry. Even the plates are fancy; one has a bee on it.
The service was perfect from start to finish.
The damage
Pricey. Very pricey. Worth every penny. Just don't show your grandfather the check.
Bubbie's verdict: two thumbs up 👍👍
Book the chef's counter.