Stop. Mira. Listen.

A first look at Chicago's hot new Mexican Indian fusion restaurant

Sometimes I’ll eat somewhere so singular in another part of the world that despite the depth and breadth of Chicago’s culinary offerings, something like it just doesn’t exist here. Many of these places are so idiosyncratic or representative of their location or culture, it’s rare that an analog ever shows up in Chitown.

For example, it’s been 52 years since Ella and Roosevelt Scott opened their whole hog BBQ joint Scott’s BBQ in the middle of a grove (they fell their own wood for their pit smokers) in Hemingway, South Carolina.

I visited a few months ago. My wife sat in the passenger seat of our rental car as I opened the Styrofoam clamshell filled with glistening juicy red pepper flecked pork, poured a little vinegar BBQ sauce tang over the luscious meat mountain and took a bite.

I couldn’t see my own face, but it apparently changed into a Cheshire Cat-on-opioids-level of bliss that made my wife rush out of the car to try what had just fundamentally changed me as a human. As she did, a local who was standing around observing all of this said, “Leave him alone, he’s enjoying himself!”

There is still nothing like Scott BBQ in Chicago, or frankly anywhere else in America (their James Beard award-winning son Rodney makes great ‘cue, but when you consider the whole of the original experience, it’s not quite the same). 

On this trip I also hit Chai Pani in Asheville, North Carolina. Asheville is a lot like Wicker Park in the mid to late 2000s, but an entire city where it feels like every citizen has their own performance art project and at least half of them also run a craft brewing concern.

You can walk around Asheville, step into a random bar, have somebody blindfold and spin you around three times in front of a beer cooler and then have you walk toward it with your arm outstretched. Whatever you end up grabbing has a like an 87% chance of being one of the best beers you’ve consumed in your life.

Chai Pani is a James Beard-award winning “Indian street food” restaurant.  Do they have butter chicken?  Yeah, sure. But, unlike so many Indian restaurants which cater to spice-averse palates, Pani went bold, serving up fiery chaats, including one of the best green chili and sour sweet tamarind-infused bhel puri I’ve ever had.

The dining room lit up with marigolds and cherry blossoms, warm woods, and cases brimming with trophies and the headshots of famous cricketers was immersive and soul-inspiring and, like I said, I wished we had one in Chicago.

You might argue we did in the form of the two-decade old Vermilion, although owner Rohini Dey’s style has generally been less street and more fine-dining. Props to Dey nonetheless for paving the way for the current generation of innovative culinarians of Indian-heritage.

One of those next-gen Indian chefs is Zubair Mohajir (Coach House, Lilac Tiger, Wazwan). Mohajir who started in a food hall slinging THC (tandoori honey fried chicken sandwiches) is part of the modern Indian food 2.0 movement in Chicago, a group that also includes Thattu and Rooh, and the Michelin-starred Indienne.

Mohajir has a new South Asian Mexican fusion project called Mirra launched with former Bar Sotano executive chef Rishi Kumar and bartender David Mor. 

The Mirra dining room is intimate filled with golds and rich blues, the kind of deeply hued color palate you see in movies optimized by top cinematographers for our 4k resolution world. The tables are fine, but sitting at the bar affords a great perspective of the open bar and kitchen action.

Mor who has a lot of projects including sister restaurants Lilac Tiger and Coach House is one of the better folks working in Chicago drinks today. He’s innovative and not doing the same old equal parts cocktails that seem to fill so many bar menus these days.

You can see this on paper at Mirra where his highball a mix of ginger, mezcal, fino sherry, and the Mexican corn truffle huitlacoche reads as absolutely fascinating. Mor was not making drinks the night I visited and the execution suffered. There was no ginger or any Mezcal smokiness. The whole thing tasted like a flat sweet Pellegrino which had been sitting next to a birthday candle that had just been blown out. It needed a touch more acidity.