Last night was the first night in ages that I've been out for a good piss up with the boys and, at some indeterminate time, I found myself meandering home from the pub, kebab in hand.What is it about the combination of male psyche and beer that turns something that looks like it was found on the floor into the most wonderful, most tasty, most desirable ambrosia known to man?
The humble kebab, like many originally ethnic foods, is completely bastardised by us Brits. Ask for a kebeb in Turkey, it's spiritual home, and the product you will be handed will bear little or no resemblance to the accident-in-polystyrene that you get here in Olde Falkirk Towne.
The kebab isn't alone in morphing to suit its target audience. Stroll into an Indian restaurant in downtown Mumbai and ask for a Vindaloo and you'll be met with blank stares, and god forbid you order a deep-pan pizza in Rome!
It never ceases to amaze me just how much better these foods are in their native lands, served as they are supposed to be and not in the "reasonably English" style.
3 comments:
Inchy, there is nothing "reasonable" at all about that kebab. It looks like something that fell out of a dissected elephant's colon! Thus proving, I guess, that alcohol gives one an iron constitution.
Inchy! that is a Kebab of extraordinary magnitude; and now I know what they look like in the 'cold light of day'
Steve's assessment of looking like the residue from an elephant's colon is most apt!
...And Han Solo carved open the dead but still warm Tauntaun and placed Luke inside....
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