On Sunday, Ian and I embarked upon a search for a kebab. Not just any old, meat-on-a-skewer, cooked-on-a-grill kebab, but a full blown doner-in-a-pita-bread. It may come as a shock to you that the US (at least Texas and New Mexico) is massively lacking in late night kebab shops, which are so beautifully common in England. No cheesy chips, definitely no chips in gravy, and NO DONER KEBABS. (I know we all wake up after a night out and instantly regret that we even looked at a doner, let alone consumed one without any help and enjoyed it, but they are a late-night necessity and one that Dallas is lacking.)
America seems like the type of place where the calorie-filled, greasy doner meat would feel right at home; this is after all the home of the Big Mac, KFC, and also the location where, two years ago, I tried deep-fried butter (it was surprisingly good – don’t judge me). A large doner contains almost your entire daily recommended allowance of calories in just one meal, but sometimes, it’s the only thing that will do the trick.
Ian has lived in the US for nearly ten years now, and has been very sad about the lack of kebabs. Every time he came to visit us in St Albans, we’d always take him for a kebab - sometimes because we were nice and we knew he liked them, other times perhaps we were trying to use them as persuasive tools to make him move back to the UK. But anyway, when I moved to Dallas, it became our quest to find somewhere that provided at least a decent substitute. And find one, we did.
However, the place was about 14 miles from home, so we had a bit of a drive ahead of us. (Yes, we drove 14 miles for a kebab. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again – don’t judge me). On our way, we went to the British Emporium, a shop in North-West Dallas which sells British things like Twining’s tea, Cadbury’s chocolate, and real gravy (ahh, Bisto). Obviously I was like a kid in a candy shop; they had dairy milk! And wine gums! And things I didn’t even realise I missed, like Monster Munch and Branston pickle! I was very excitable, and skipped around the shop for a while, picking up jars and packets, exclaiming things like, ‘ooh, Marmite’, or ‘look! Chocolate digestives!’ and ‘oh my god, Shreddies!!’ I think I provided a lot of entertainment to the other customers.
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| Who knew a packet of polos would bring me such joy? |
We left with a car full of goodies, from baked beans to Heinz cream of tomato soup, and headed off for kebabs. I’m not sure quite what I was expecting but the place was actually a Greek restaurant – I suppose I’d been imagining a dirty chip shop type place. But there it was on the menu, ‘gyros – meat sliced off our vertical broiler.’ (Broil means grill in America. Incidentally, grill often means fry. Grilled cheese is made in a frying pan, grilled burgers are made in a frying pan. America likes calories.) The kebab came as more of an actual meal, on a plate, with sides. Both of us were a bit bemused about using cutlery to eat it. Ian gave up in the end, said it didn’t feel right using a knife and fork on food that was invented to be eaten with fingers. But it was tasty! (The picture may not do it justice, but it was, I promise.) We even gave baby Jack some pita bread so he didn’t feel left out. We left feeling satisfied with our discovery, but the quest will continue, as 14 miles really is too far to travel for a kebab, even if it’s tasty. We’re going to try again soon at another place that’s a bit closer to home, but that didn’t open on Sunday.
Today, to continue my back-to-Britain experiences of the weekend, I started my day with a cup of tea and a hot cross bun :)
Oh, and on an irrelevant but amusing note, look at the name of this bridge! (In America, esp the south, Gaylord is an old family name, and has loads of things named in the family’s honour. But to me, an immature 22 year old, it’s just funny!)
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