On a recent trip to Germany with with the sassy pants to the right (the girl, not the sanwiches) , I rediscovered one of my favorite street foods -- the kebab. I first met the Middle Eastern sandwich in Paris, a stone’s throw from the St. Michel fountain.
A generous helping of chicken or lamb, lettuce, onions, tomatoes, cabbage, and a white sauce that only the gods could produce are all folded into a grilled pita or roll. And at 3-4 euros a piece, how could I go wrong? We ate them religiously.
Little did we know how dangerous this veneration was. While the kebab filled my stomach, sometimes twice a day, it was also filling my arteries, according to the UK's Guardian. I guess I’m not so sad that New York kebabs are anything like the European cousins. The fewer I eat, the fewer transfats that I have to put me in an early grave.
Moderation, of course, is key. But after a night on the town, a house salad or a fruit cup is hardly what anyone is craving!
More to come on the kebab affair…