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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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.
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.