It was bound to happen.


I was driving around the L.A. burbs and I spotted a sign for The Döner House. What could I do? I headed around the block and doubled back to park in the lot. I hurried inside and ordered myself a plate.


You see, I follow a blog written by an ex-pat living in the UK. The dude writes about a lot of stuff, and one of his regular topics is döner. If you think you don’t know what it is, I’m betting you do. You’ve probably seen it: vertical meat, rotating on a spit, sliced as ordered. It’s sometimes called shawarma or gyro, but it’s all basically the same thing (with a little variation in the meat itself). Anyhoo, this dude is on a mission to eat a “Kebab Per Week” and he blogs about it. Sometimes he raves about that week’s find. Other times, not so much. He always includes a photo and does a pretty good job of describing the food’s character.


I suppose I’ve built döner up so much in my mind that when I stopped at The Döner House, I was expecting divinity on a plate. And you know what? That’s not what happened. It was okay, but no trumpets blew. It was a lot of food, but no angels flew.


I’m guessing that was my first and only visit to The Döner House. And that’s fine. I’ll keep reading the dude’s blog, however, and I’ll keep craving those kebabs each week. Mm, mm, mm.

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