Restaurant review: And who do you think you are? To gyro or not to gyro -- that is the answer Though I try, and try hard, to be tolerant and complacent, there eventually comes a time when my little pouch of quirked eyebrows is just forced open. Why, of course we understand the pressures of life and the unreasonable demands placed by society before it deems a venture successful, yet the fact remains that some basic efforts must be invested if applause is to be justified. And in the event of having failed to make any such investments, what choice does one have, in the end, but to give free reign to sharpness of tongue? Let us start at the beginning -- you be the judge. The little one and I had just come out of face painting at City Stars. He was Spiderman (surprised?) and I was just good old me with make-up on. We were famished, we were joyful and we had many options to choose from. As kids will always surprise you with seemingly innate wisdom, he declined my offer to try something new and just stuck to his tried and tested chicken nuggets. I, on the other hand, had a column to write, and so parked the little one in the eating arena with his goodies and set forth to briefly hunt for my own chow from among the myriad choices surrounding us. The blue neon sign caught my eye, and the word "steak" flashed seductively. I walked forth with determination, trying to sift through the deluge of scents filling the air in hope of identifying the one belonging to my selected eatery. I approached the counter. Attitude -- attitude, attitude, and more attitude was the reception that welcomed me. In a suit behind the cashier stood a man with unflinching facial expressions. I smiled and greeted him politely -- no response. Never mind, I thought, the poor chap may be going through a day from hell. Be magnanimous, I instructed myself. I asked for a steak, requesting his recommendation to fine-tune my choice. "No steak," was his cold reply. I swallowed my budding aggravation and proceeded. "No problem, what do you recommend?" He threw the menu over the counter without a word and turned his head the way people do when you are typing your password on the computer. At this point, I guessed he might have a slight disposition for the exchange of words, after all, and decided not to deprive him of the pleasure: I hissed a couple of sarcastic comments which redressed him immediately. Apparently all I could have were fajita-style shreds of meat wrapped in their famous tortilla-like bread, but no steak had been served over this counter for a number of weeks now, he obliged to explain. Not his fault, I concluded, and settled for a chicken and mushroom wrap with visible resignation. The money was paid, the order delivered, and off I walked to join the little one with the nuggets. I took a bite and my nose must have wrinkled noticeably as my son began chuckling before asking: "Not nice?" I took another bite before answering, determined to give this experience my best shot before passing the verdict. Unfortunately I was raised not to take out food from my mouth once it has entered it, and so refrained from coughing it back onto a napkin. I had not tasted such a disaster in months, nor could I have ever imagined that an outlet located in such a relatively upscale venue would take similar risks with its reputation -- but that wrap was simply undoable, inedible; I thought I may find a chicken feather in the mix judging from the rawness of the flavour mixed with gyro sauce. Have they never heard of a marinade? Vinegar? Salt perhaps? Well, no wonder the man was beside himself over at the counter; he probably had a tray tossed in his face a few times this week alone. Perhaps the fries would fare better? Nope. Greasy, pale and thick were those potato fingers, sitting in a soggy state before me (no pun intended). My eyes wandered to his fries, and a sheepish smile curled the corners of my mouth. "May I?" I ventured. "Only if you stop going for strange food in the future. Why are you always choosing the weird things?" Demands of the job, dear, demands of the job. Gyro and Steak, City Stars, Nasr City By Injy El-Kashef
