Kurdish
Kurdish Street Food — One of Govanhill’s great culinary finds.
At least once a week I look down at my coffee table to see a small purple lake has formed. Whilst the main tributary of this newly acquired domestic water feature is pickled red cabbage this befuddled brassica is not alone as the streams that leak from the bottom and down the side of my arm turn into torrents once the rest of the accompanying melange succumbs to those opening few bites.
pungent raw onion causes your nostrils to flare and the pickled chillies both whole and in jalapeño form cause a wave of heat that has you grasping for another bite to help cleanse your mouth. Thin shreds of cucumber bring freshness and contrasts with the rich oily ooze that a smattering of olives provide before rolling.
Of course these are just the support acts, the trees and bushes amongst the soaring mountainscapes in wrap form provided by “Kurdish Street Food” at the increasingly gentrified end of Allison Street in Glasgow’s Southside.
The bedrock is the bread, transformed before your eyes from mounds of dough to a bubbling charred delight, the final result both chewy and crisp with no cares given as a couple of stones from the tandoor are handpicked clear before wrap construction can commence. With foundations of salad and bread now in place the main choice to be made, as far as I’m concerned anyway, is whether you have falafel or chicken.
For a long time I was loyal to those little spicy balls, fresh fried and smashed into the bread by the tongs that had just retrieved them from their bubbling cauldron but recently I’ve been wooed by the chicken, so incredibly juicy and generous in it’s dispatch. Either choice is a sensation that will soon have the synapses clicking.
Your eyes will sparkle as they reflect on the colours within and bulge at what you’ve been handed over to get through. Your nostrils tingle as the aromas breath upwards as you angle your jaws in such a way to ensure maximum efficiency in your bite. Despite your best efforts there will be debris but you’ll gleefully place this shrapnel between your fingertips before depositing directly into your gob.
Most of the ingredients come in cash-and-carry sized jars and tins, clearly visible behind the glass counter, but don’t let this sight lead you to think replication is easy. Even if you manage to get your imitation close to right there is still one last hidden gully of flavour that the many hands behind Kurdish Street Food drop on you. The falafel sauce. A stain-inducing yellow liquid that only the few know its true artistic form. One day I will know the truth behind this coup-de-gras.
Kurdish Street Food’s proximity to my flat has been nothing but a joy since it first arrived. A cheaper (and probably somewhat healthier) alternative than actually going through the fanfare of making a dinner after a long working day or an afternoon in the pub and as I take my final bite for yet another time, the paper wrapper balled up and put to one side, I rock back onto my couch full and content and look at that little purple puddle and think I’m going to have to clean that up, but not now, because now I’m happy.