Freshly shaved kebab meat piled on open flatbread, glistening with rendered fat and flecks of sumac and chili
Open Now

Est. 1987 — Vertical Rotisserie

Shaved.
Wrapped.
Destroyed.

Lamb and chicken off the spit, every night until it runs out.

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Vertical rotisserie spit turning in warm tungsten light, fat rendering in gold ribbons down layered seasoned lamb

The Method

Turning since 6 p.m.

The lamb goes on the spit at six. By the time the pubs close it's been turning for five hours — outer layers crisped, inner layers still running with juice. The blade shaves thin. You eat thick.

The Build

Sauce last. Always.

Pita grilled flat. Shredded white cabbage, pickled chilli, sliced tomato. Meat. Then a fist of garlic sauce that runs through every layer and drips off your wrist on the walk home. This is the order. This has always been the order.

Hand squeezing white garlic sauce across shredded cabbage and shaved kebab meat on flatbread
Foil-wrapped kebab held mid-bite with garlic sauce dripping past the wrist under neon light

11 p.m. Somewhere Near You

Don't wait
for it to cool.

Order ahead. Walk up. It's waiting in foil, steaming under the light.