Another Weekend, Another Kebab.

Before I embark upon this week's review, an apology for my absence last week - I was out of the country. I was taking a sojourn in the wonderful town of Barcelona , so a weekend of fresh seafood, tapas and paella was ahead - not a skewer of lamb in sight. A break, a fresh start.

I braced myself for this, but what did I see upon my weary arrival? On a side street off La Rambla, several doors down from our Hotel? A charming little place called A La Turca - you can guess what they served (you will have to guess, as sheer unparallelled levels of surliness put me off even attempting a picture). They housed a gargantuan, oozing elephant leg and a ropey looking chicken thing with crispy edges! The incredible thing is, during the rest of the stay I don't believe we saw another place like it - it is almost as if they knew. I didn't go as far as trying one however as the risk of food poisoning was very high, especially as it looked suspiciously like the same skewer was in place over the whole duration of our stay. This was further exacerbated by the strange red ooze dripping from the kebab and that I didn't know the Catalan for lettuce, cucumber or garlic sauce. Fate is a wonderful thing, it draws kebabs close but it also cruelly takes them away.

More recently, after a pub session, it was decided to try the Grecian again. I must admit I was trembling with excitement - as you may recall I was particularly enamoured with their small doner a while back, and there was simply no other alternative in my mind. The reality came crashing down around me as I walked in. Contemplating the menu, I was hoping for a slice of the expensive delicatessen treatment I had been witness to before; instead the server rapped his knuckles on the counter: "next please, next please". I had in mind to discuss the lamb shish, but hurried by this I ordered a small doner as before - what could go wrong? It was so good before. Again the salad selection was wonderful, no problems with the sauce, nice open soft pitta and rusticly hand sliced lamb. I couldn't help but be slightly dissapointed by the meat - it was so thick in places that it resembled the texture of spam. To top it off, I allowed my girlfriend to have a bite post-sandwich*, the result was almost broken in half due to the cherry picking of the juiciest looking part.

For the first time in about a month I craved the crispy, chewy slices of the Arches and the Young Pretender's delightful charms and ruthless efficiency. I longed to admire perfectstubble's impeccable stubble (although he hasn't been around recently - do get in touch if you see him). I missed the hubbub and intrigue of the pizza station with their myriad bickering staff - all missing from the Grecian in selfish search of the elusive "perfect" Kebab. Maybe next week.

Tip - let noone touch your kebab post-sandwich*; it often results in it being slighly more difficult to eat.

*post-sandwich is the second stage of kebab eating - once you have finished ineptly forking up the long ribbons of meat and you can form the pitta and contents into a sandwich.

The Weekend of Pseudo-kebabs

I have often pondered the fundamental question, the meaning of life: what is a kebab? This weekend challenged the very concept; the very nature of a kebab.


First up is Magic Roll. This is a quirky Bristol staple: it makes reasonably cheap, tasty wraps stuffed full of fillings - meat or veg with salad. I had the wrap which contained grilled lamb (obviously) along with olives, chorizo and probably some other stuff too. There was no option to request lettuce, cucumber and a weak garlicy sauce, but I trusted their combination to satisfy. It did, although I would stress that this is a pseudo-kebab: so I put up with non-standard ingredients and to be honest fairly bland meat patties, and the whole unit was a juicy, flavourful feast all round. My other half had a wrap containing chicken - this went down OK but there was too much cabbage and not enough flavour. Which is why you should always trust lamb.


Friday and Saturday night passed without any elephant leg action whatsoever, but a traditional Sunday roast dinner was on the cards at the Jolly Sailor in Saltford. We had been before so knew what to expect - a charming riverside location with ample outdoor seating. We ordered lamb roasts and waited. Waited for about an hour, with looming dark clouds coming and going: taunting us. It arrived and it was wonderful - soft meat, not too fatty, crispy roast potatoes, a yorkshire (extra 50p we later discovered. Not too happy as this was a freeby with the beef but they had run out), and separate cauli cheese and veg. While eating, I snuck a slice of lamb into the soggy yorkshire, added a couple of green beans and some cheese sauce. What had I just created? A kebab. A kebab without crippling morning stomach cramps, acid reflux and a feeling of inner sadness. Wonderful.

So I finally have an answer to the eternal question: what is a kebab? Cornish Pasty? Kebab: suspect meat, potato and turnip salad in a pastry pitta. Sunday Roast? Kebab. Full English Breakfast? Slap it between two slices of toast and you have a pork kebab with an egg-yolk and ketchup sauce. To sum up, a kebab is whatever you want it to be. A kebab is your hopes and dreams, loves and losses, some form of meat (or vegetable) wrapped in some form of carbohydrate. In fact, the carbohydrate is not strictly neccesary.

Tip of the day - always choose lamb as chicken is sometimes slightly dissapointing.