Moving North – Do they even have kebabs up there?

Another fantastic guest review from Billy, our new North Gloucester Road correspondent. This is a kebabhouse which I have considered to be high on my wishlist of places to eat: The Charcoal Grill. The name is right, the reputation is there - but I have never set foot inside. Enjoy.



I crossed the border recently, stepped over that invisible line dividing north and south to settle in a new place at the top of Ashley Down. All those who are familiar with the G Road will know instantly where this division is drawn – at the crossroads by the Texaco garage, where Sommerville and Berkeley bisect Gloucester. Before this point the setting is very boho – shops predominantly sell pre-worn (or vintage) clothing; foodstuffs are sold by weight, not brand-name; and you can have an organic hair-cut. Stride on however and this scene is repainted step-by-step. Colours are gradually washed to grey as you enter the more functionalist district; and suddenly you realise that every other shop sells hardware supplies. Upon reaching this point you are on north Gloucester Road, and whatever it might lack in counter-culture it more-than makes up for in rough charm. I like this end of the street – sleazy Venus, a very acceptable 1:1 good/bad pub ratio, and a Somerfield on a scale that puts the south to shame. The question which I know is on everyone’s lips however, and that I am now in a position to explore, is: ‘great, but what about the doner?’

First the good news, there is indeed doner up here, and plenty of it. From the Charcoal Grill through Southern Fried Chicken to La Cuisine, choice is not an issue. The bad news, however, is that I have yet to find a serious rival to those heady experiences of the south, and my previous reviews. I must stress that I am a relative newbie in these parts, and so the law of averages dictates that I could have just been down on my luck once or twice. Heavens, we all know how the experience of doner is far from stable – certainty in a purchase is never full, and unconditional love of a favourite outlet is no sure guarantee of satisfaction. Therefore there is always the chance that a bad doner is merely a ‘dud’.

Nevertheless I can only report on taste and experience. The Charcoal Grill was my first foray into the wild. Situated about three paces from the Golden Lion pub you would’ve thought that the odds were in their favour – you have to go to a lot of trouble to disappoint a kebab customer that has spent their evening warming up for their meal in that place. They did it though, somehow they did it. It was all wrong from the start – small details didn’t feel right. To be fair the foot actually looked quite impressive, it was fresh and brand-new, and I assumed that it would be turned on upon my arrival – I have no problem putting some extra time into waiting if I’m to get the first carve of the foot – but this did not happen. I smiled and said ‘hello’, but received a sneer in reply. After taking a couple of seconds to scan the menu I ordered the large doner and sat to flip through a copy of a local trade magazine. After far too short-a time one of the guys grunted. I stood warily to see what he wanted, to be confronted with the meat of my meal. There were no strips, no ribbons, no loops, and no curls – just bits, quarter-inch thick bits. “You want sauce?” “Yes please… and salad” Yes, I had been made to ask for salad, I dread to think what would have happened if I hadn’t requested it. Another grunt, a splutter from the sauce bottle, and the tepid package was slapped on the counter. I slouched out uninspired, no bounce in my gait. I wasn’t looking forward to getting home and dragged my feet stroppily, aiming lazy kicks at stray pieces of litter and cats. I got hold of myself closer to my gate, and thought that things could be OK: it could be the tastiest doner ever – perhaps the lack of rapport and the questionable preparation were all part of an authentic northern experience. I’ve been wrong about doner before, and damn I hoped I was wrong this time.

Sometimes I hate to be right. Having sat down and unwrapped, I lifted my fork and set in. The downward spiral really gathered speed when I found the first hair, sitting atop an initial forkful. I don’t know what hair it was, I don’t really care. It wasn’t head hair, it had the wrong texture; and I am relatively certain it wasn’t an unmentionable, lacking the requisite curl – I settled for arm hair, for want of a better explanation and partly to calm my stomach. (By now of course you’ll have noticed that I said the first hair – normally the first hair you find in food is the only hair you find in food, for obvious reasons. In this case though I was very hungry, and writing a review that ends abruptly at the first sign of hair says little about a reviewer’s mettle – especially a reviewer of kebabs’.) Ploughing on I broke through the mantle of dry lamb and hit a vein of watery lettuce and mayonnaise. I don’t want to dress it down too badly, it wasn’t an exceptionally bad arrangement, although the flavours did not blend together as they seem to in a more accomplished offering. There was no spicing such as that of the Grecian, which was highlighted in Nick’s last review. It’s all about the blend in doner – taking great ingredients that aren’t necessarily destined to be together and weaving them into a whole is all in the art of the ‘kebbabier’. Take that skill away and you’re merely left with mayonnaise spread on a chunk of lamb. Nobody eats lamb with mayonnaise; not in any other context, and with good reason.

The second hair was in this layer, nestled comfortably in the spongy mayo, I feel lucky that it was on the surface when I went to shovel up the next load. By now my patience was wearing thin, I set the hair on the pile that was now forming, took a deep breath, and went deeper. I managed quite a few more forkfuls; however the salad was sparse and uniform. Lettuce. Tomato. Cucumber. The pitta fully contained the meal, and was probably the most appetising aspect of the doner, however I had no urge to gather it up together and get stuck into the final stage – the sprint finish with the hands that normally brings the meal to its close. There wasn’t a good balance of filling, and soon I found myself left with a dry pile of chunked doner meat. I considered adding my own mayo – it’s been done before with acceptable results – but I didn’t have any inclination to get up. As I cast my eyes around for a moist looking piece they came to rest on the final hair, by now mashed into the pita under the weight of the filling.

I didn’t bother to remove it this time. I laid my fork to one side and did the unthinkable – walking slowly to the bin I paused only momentarily to consider what I was about to do, and then threw away an un-finished kebab on the same night that I bought it, the shame biting deep. I don’t really remember what happened after; I think I just went to bed – the tears dampening my pillow as I drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.



Many thanks Bill, I shall heed your warning and not purchase a kebab from the Charcoal Grill unless I am really, really hungry. Also, I can only hope and pray that M&Ms on Whiteladies Road isn't a crock of shite also, this is another on my hitlist of mysterious kebab shops of excellent reputation but are slightly too far away to go to when drunk.