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.
No comments:
Post a Comment