MLK Deli, Surry Hills Reviews

When you arrive at MLK Deli, you might be greeted by a cheerful man who doesn’t work there. This three-month-old sandwich and pastry cafe in Surry Hills specializes in Uzbek, Afghan and Turkish cuisine.

When I visited on a cold, wet Saturday afternoon, he stood by the door, next to a handwritten menu on brown paper with eight sandwiches on the wall.

We both looked at the menu, which featured a brioche breakfast with bacon, eggs, hash browns, and a generous portion of the house-smoked and six-hour cooked brisket.

Our eyes turned to seven lunch options, including Afghan lamb meatballs on ciabatta or Italian bread, Uzbek-style chicken thighs, pastrami and sauerkraut, olive botetella sausage with pesto and ricotta, eggplant, grilled halloumi, tahini and artichokes drizzled with hot honey, and smoked tofu, sun-dried tomatoes, coleslaw and plant-based jalapenos, all of which are vegan.

“They’re all great,” the man said, warming his hands in the pockets of his down jacket. “What do you want to eat?”

As well-dressed customers filed in and lined up across the counter, which displayed cookies, pastries and flowers, MLK Delicatessen owner Myra Karakelle took orders. Few café owners and chefs were as excited as Karakelle.

Further in, the half-dozen tables and counter seats are filled with locals, friends and families, who sample halal sandwiches and sip hot tea and coffee. Shelves are stocked with Italian sardines, Lebanese pickled radishes, Pakistani rose water, Turkish rose jam and chilies.

I asked the man who looked like he was part of the cafe but was mainly standing at the door what “Naomi’s Agrodolce” (a Deli Sando sandwich topping) was. “I’ll get you a sample,” he said.

He passed the request to two workers making sandwiches at another counter, which was laden with bread, sauerkraut, pecorino, pesto, olives, tahini, salami, etc. One of the workers was slicing pink, fragrant brisket on a gleaming slicer by the front window.

“The pineapple sauce is delicious,” he said, handing his guests a small plate of the tasty, sweet-and-sour sauce, made by Caracle’s friend, Naomi Lowry, the chef at Tucano’s, a nearby bar.

“Did you see that?” the man said. “It’s incredible.”

He’s right. I quickly devour the Risky Brisket, which Karakelle and her husband spent nine months crafting. It’s tender, smoky, spicy, and best served on rye ciabatta with sauerkraut and Swiss cheese, pickles, and salt-and-vinegar fries.

The same can be said for MJ’s chicken sandwich, which features juicy Uzbek-style chicken scented with cumin, coriander and garlic, served with a “magic sauce” and lettuce. Karakelle attributes the magic to her mom’s cooking.

“For me, it’s nostalgia and the chicken I ate as a kid,” she said. “Now that I’m older and have a better palate, I understand why I love it.”

Also delicious are chocolate chip cookies sprinkled with salt, plate-sized Anzac biscuits and, cooling on a rack at the counter, “Puff delis,” toasted pastry folded napkins sprinkled with sesame seeds and filled with pastrami, Pecorino and Swiss cheese.

MLK Deli, also known as Myra’s Little Kitchen, was born out of Karakelle’s deep love for food and a midlife epiphany. “It was like a baby that I had been nurturing in my womb for so long,” she says.

Karakle, whose mother and father are from Uzbekistan and Afghanistan respectively, studied law and worked in teaching and marketing, and wowed friends and family on social media with her cooking skills during lockdown. She sent them food parcels, expanded her dishes, many of which were influenced by her mother’s recipes, and set up a daily event.

After lockdown, cooking, experimenting with different foods and entertaining remained her favourite pastime. She quit her job, found a shop, gutted it, fixed it up, renovated it and opened it in March.

“It has taken over my life. It has caused me so much stress, and I feel more responsible now than ever before to any employer,” she said.

“But I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

Much later, Karakle explained, the man at the door was a good friend of mine. He was so proud of Karakle’s first hospitality career that he would sometimes stay in the café all day, chatting and helping.

“It was humbling to see how much he loved this art,” she said.

But Karakor won out over his passion. “I sometimes stop and think, ‘This is my job. My real job.'”

“That’s all I wanted to do.”