Family" can cut different ways. It can mean cozy, inclusive fun, like Inappropriate Story Hour with a sherried-up Auntie Beatrice (…"and that was what you did at a Radcliffe Panty Party in 1930!"), or a round of fireside board games with the grandparents ("Grandma, you can't play 'meshuggeneh' in American Scrabble.") But sometimes family can be scary, like when it's the mafia and your uncle Tony makes you "wax" people. I recently ate at two family-owned and operated restaurants in Chicago: Hemas Kitchen in Devon Street's Little India and Yassa African Restaurant on the South Side. The two places have similar profiles: small, BYOB, a few great local reviews, reputations that put them a good cut above their neighbors, and near-famous family atmospheres.
At Hema's, I felt like I was back in the eighth grade, had just come home from soccer practice, and Hema Potla was my tiny Indian mom. You can see her miniature frame in the kitchen surveying the dining room, keeping an eye on the sprawling crew of children doing homework or playing video games at spare tables. The domestic background buzz makes you feel like part of the litter more than it annoys or distracts, although I have heard tell of a small child riding a bicycle around the room. The flotilla of silver platters arrived so fast—heaped high with fresh Hyderabad specialties like dal dahkni (roasted yellow lentils) and stacks of buttery paratha (pan-fried flatbread)—that we didn't have time to register anything but satisfaction. When I visited Yassa, the staff and miscellaneous company, complete with children, were gathered around a television on the opposite side of a long room from my table, celebrating something. It soon dawned on us that they were watching home videos of themselves having a party in the restaurant when there were no customers. This seemed like a subtle way of saying, "In a few minutes, this is how we will celebrate your departure." As the staff enjoyed themselves—ginger beers were cracked open, laughter erupted—my group watched from the far end of the room, feeling rather like we'd just broken into a stranger's home on a holiday. That said, sometimes breaking into someone's home can be very rewarding, especially if it's a holiday, or if it involves Senegalese dishes like pungent beef-filled nems (fried spring rolls) and dibi lamb chops with spicy onions. Everything was delicious and absurdly cheap (not an entree over $11). Forcing your company on people that are contractually obliged to hang out with you, all for the sake of a great meal? Sounds like family to me.
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