Cafe Yaya

Lincoln Park, Chicago

It can be said that Cafe Yaya is in fact the pastry that broke the camel’s back. Here at Cafe Yaya is where I sat alone with a single tear in my eye, sending pictures to friends and high fiving the wait staff over the single greatest morsel of breakfast treat I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying. (at least in my extreme recency biased gold fish brain memory) It is also where my friends said, “please quit sending us these tear soaked memoirs of a restaurant that is 320 miles away from our house”, and inspired me to start this blog.

As I walked into the Middle Eastern inspired cafe in the heart of Lincoln Park, I was immediately greeted by the standard clear display case that might have traditionally held an assortment of Casio watches in at your childhood Walmart. At first glance, the Pavlov response kicked in and I was left salivating over an assortment of pastries that looked to be something from the cover of Bake from Scratch magazine. (a real publication mind you. no free ads)

All of the big hitters were accounted for, but they had all taken on the spice, flair, ingredients, and flavor combos many of my fellow caucasians will have never heard of. They had Cardamom Kouign Amanns, Shakshukah morning buns, Pastrami / Rueben filled Challah, and a cheeky Cubano Croissant that had nothing to do with the theme other that looking insanely delicious (and happened to be the wait staff’s favorite).

Mind you, all of this and more was just sat up front in the display case. I didn’t even look at the breakfast menu of sandwiches and daily Quiches, let alone the full Sunday Brunch menu.

But the delectable gift that drove me to finally put pen to paper was the Baklavah Bun. Some absolute Einstein level culinary Davinci made the equivalent of a cinnamon roll, but subbed in Challah bread stuffed to the brim with the traditional chopped nuts and honey that one knows and loves from traditional Baklavah. Then to add some flare they shaved a little orange zest on top, and I may be totally off but it tasted like there might have been a touch of orange blossom syrup to bring the whole thing home. I ate this thing at room temperature, and I am telling you, I might never eat at another breakfast place again when I’m in Chicago. Had it been fresh out of the oven, I think my head might have actually exploded.

Thanks for tuning in for Chapter One. Go eat something good.