years ago, about 10 now, Symon and worked in Spain for 6 months.

down in the South, right across from Morocco.

it was at a pub where a lot of people had their holidays,

and we didn’t shut until the last person either threw-up, was beaten-in or stumbled out.

it was messy, but fun.

every morning, around 5am, when we would walk back to the taxi stand,

[the same taxi stand Symon would save my life at when I decided to man-up to a guy who ended up having a gun]

but before that, we’d hit the kebab stand.

this guy was magic,

and I’m pretty sure he was putting on top of the meat what we were selling under the table.

we lived for it.

chemical smiles, celebrity tips and kebabs.

that was our 1/2 year in Spain.

but I’ve recently found another.

I don’t want to say ‘replacement’ because too many memories come with the original,

but this guy here, in the little town of Hama, Syria, will forever have a place in my heart.

his kebabs are good, of course, or I wouldn’t be writing this.

the past 3 days I’ve eaten there 5 times.

it’s just about his, well, the way he goes about it.

the first time I went there, he jumped up from the back where he was counting money to help me.

the second he wasn’t there, I guess the counting went well.

the third time, he came out from his shack to talk to me,

and talk all about New York City.

see, this was a trick I learned in Turkey, as everyone has at least one family member in New York City.

can’t say the same about Oklahoma.

so we talked New York City.

oh, he wanted to go and ‘drive big car with big women’, but would tilt his head to one side and put a hand up as if to acknowledge that he would never have the pleasure of either.

the fourth he took the kebab out of the hand of one of his workers and did something magical – he made it, stuffing it full of chicken-goodness and the special yoghurt sauce and then [get this], he rolled the kebab around in the grease below the fire, threw a few squeezes of lemon on it and then stuck it into the flame, creating a caramelization of wonder and delight.

that was yesterday evening.

and then, tonight. I thought he was going to hug me across the cash-register when I told him that tomorrow I was heading to Damascus.

but I had to see him.

one last fling.

he took his time with this one.

same as last night, so much chicken he broke the first pita.

again with the grease and lemon.

he turned around to show it to me, I approved with a vertical thumb,

but he wasn’t done.

with his spare hand, he pointed to his eye and to me,

threw extra sauce on top.

and then piled it high with more chicken.

…

I’ve seen a lot of kebabs in my life, been eating an average of one-per-day for the past 3 weeks.

and I ain’t never seen anything like that.

so, if you ever find yourself in the middle of Syria.

visit the enchanting town of Hama.

next to the giant water wheels is a cobblestone bridge.

he’s in the shack right next to it.

just don’t expect the same kebab.

[and if you do get it, please don't tell me.]