Food Interlude I: Shawarma

As a married man, I was not much for housework, but I was--and still am--a damned good cook, if I do say so myself (as in fact I just did). I've heard tell of suddenly reluctant bachelors such as I reverting to a diet of Ramen noodles, frozen pizzas, and breakfast cereal. I am determined not to let this happen to me. I enjoy good food too much, for one thing. For another, as I lose more hair and accumulate more wrinkles, I'm going to have to rely increasingly on such assets as my cooking to ensnare the next Mrs. RB. Whenever the fancy strikes, then, I will interrupt this narrative of lifestyle transition to describe something I've recently cooked. It'll go something…. like this.

I had the good fortune to live in New York City for about 20 years. I lived on a writer's wages during that entire time, meaning that I had to find good food for cheap or forego good food altogether. I don't imagine there's a better place in the world to pursue this aim than New York; the world's cuisines await you on street corners, in filthy holes in the wall that you wisely hesitate to enter but eventually enter anyway, and in equally forbidding groceries whose contents must be deciphered through cookbooks and other culinary references, which fortunately are also abundantly available. All you need is the time to explore and the willingness to endure occasional food poisoning.

One favorite stop back then was the kiosk of the self-proclaimed Shawarma King in Greenwich Village. Cognoscenti poo poo the Village, especially the West Village (which is where the Shawarma King reigned), and with good reason: during high-traffic periods it is overrun by the loathed bridge-and-tunnel crowd. The merchants who serve them are typically more contemptuous than solicitous of these customers, and their wares bear the mark of their disdain, not just during peak hours but 24/7. The Shawarma King was different. He understood that with great title comes great responsibility, and he continued to crank out delicious shawarmas even though his clientele mostly couldn't tell the difference. The quality of his product probably put him out of business. May his kiosk rest in peace.

A shawarma is a lamb pita sandwich, by the way. The meat is typically shaved; I prefer to prepare it with larger, kebob-size hunks of meat. Here's how to make one that the Shawarma King might well proclaim delicious.

Get a nice piece of butterflied lamb shoulder or leg of lamb, which will probably weigh about four pounds. Cut it in half, and wrap and freeze half; four pounds of lamb is, or should be, too much meat for one man to eat before it starts to go bad. Trim the fat off the remaining half, then cut the meat into strips roughly the size of a nice New York strip steak. Why cut it up? You're going to grill this meat. The more surface area, the more of that good charred-outside flavor. Also, smaller pieces cook faster, getting you to the dinner table quicker. Could you cut the pieces even smaller? Sure, why not? Knock yourself out.

Season the lamb with salt and pepper. Steep some crushed garlic in olive oil for 10 minutes or so, then brush the oil on the lamb. Refrigerate if you're not going to cook soon, but remember to take the lamb out of the fridge at least an hour before you plan to cook it. Cold meat is more likely to stick to the grill.

Also, there must be tzatziki, which is quite easy to make. Line a colander with three thicknesses of paper towels. Dump two cups of plain yogurt on top of the towels. Place the colander over a bowl or pot, cover, and refrigerate for a few hours. The liquid will leach out of the yogurt. Dump the thickened yogurt into a bowl. Peel two cucumbers (or one English cucumber), grate, and squeeze to drain of liquid. Add the grated cucumber to the yogurt. Season with salt and pepper. Press or mince fine one or two cloves of garlic, to taste, and add that as well. Add some fresh dill and a squeeze of lemon juice. Stir. You're done!

We're in the home stretch now. Fire up the grill until it is burn-the-hair-off-your-knuckles hot, then throw on the lamb and get it a-sizzling. Cook beyond medium rare at your own peril. Let the cooked lamb rest for a few minutes; while you're doing that, heat some pitas in a skillet and assemble a simple salad (I love Earth Fare Spring Mix with some diced tomato and Bermuda onion for this purpose). Cut the lamb into kebob-size (stew-size for you heartlanders) chunks, drop some on a hot pita, top with a handful of salad and a generous helping of tzatziki (and a splash of hot sauce if you like), roll it up like a food doober, and eat. This is the kind of sandwich that can disintegrate in your hands, so eating quickly is advised. No problem here; I have been told I eat as though I am afraid someone is about to take my food away any second.

So there you go.