George's Kabab Grill is a sleeper. In a forum dominated by heavy-hitters like Salam, Semiramis and Al-Khayameih, it hasn't gotten much mention. On the streets, more specifically, just west of Kedzie on the north side of Lawrence, tucked between Kid Koko fashions and an asthma clinic, a pair of satellite dishes pointing regally upwards, George's is king. Open 24 hours, hopping at 3am on a Saturday, and still doing great business despite the two other Iraqi/Assyrian places book-ending it to the east (Al-Amira) and west (Ur), it's one of my favorite Middle Eastern places in Chicago, and certainly my favorite Assyrian (sorry Big Buns).
Nominally, its an Assyrian place. But look a little closer and witness the myriad guests of king George - Palestinians and South Asians, cops and thick-necked eastern-Europeans, some pulling up to the stately bar in front of the open kitchen, others reclining in the spacious dining room, soaking in old Iraqi music videos, most likely Nazem El Ghazali singing his love for the passing neighbor girl, imploring "حلوة رويني عتشان مي اسقيني " or "oh beauty, won't you nourish me, I am thirsty, water me."
Now, I'm no Nazem El Ghazali, and the proprietor Abu Shedrack (George) is no pretty neighbor girl. Far from it. But nourish he does.
Not everything on the menu is great. Avoid anything Levantine - specifically hummus, baba and falafel. Hey, it's an Iraqi joint. Would you expect a Mexican place to cook up a mean lomo saltado?
Start with turmeric torshi (pickled cabbage). Order kibbe mosul (baked, meat-stuffed bulgur) for an appetizer. Ask for giardiniera. They have a tub of it up front.
Have a royal meal of their excellent kufta, shawerma sandwiches in Iraqi samoon bread, or best of all, grilled, impeccably fresh-tasting catfish (masgouf), with or without a simple curried tomato sauce. Served with fluffy-as-clouds basmati rice (how you like them apples Salam???) and a humble stew of the day (choose white beans). On weekends, take unsuspecting friends and watch their horror as the eastern European waitress delicately places a stewed lamb head (pacha) in front of you.
Let me go back to the catfish for a moment, because it's unlike any I've had. A perfect filet, charred but flaky, and devoid of the swamp funk I normally associate with catfish. A squeeze of lemon and some hot sauce. Heaven. Firdaus.

Skip dessert, go down the block to Nazareth.
George's Kabab Grill3216 W Lawrence Ave
Chicago, IL (773) 588-1800
"By the fig, the olive..." Surat Al-Teen, Mecca 95:1"