Let's face it, there's nothing quite like a kebab.
When you're looking for a quick bite or, even more likely, when you've have had a few too many on a night out, you simply can't beat it. Some shorn strips of meat, chips, a scattering of salad and a dousing of sauces and what you have there, my weary friend, is a dish of savoury salvation. A true institution.
Personally speaking, it's hard to imagine a truly bad kebab. Obviously I've had some better than others, but usually I couldn't care less where it came from. More than anything, I'm just thankful for the sustenance as I sit bleary-eyed in the sea of discarded polystyrene on Caroline Street in the early hours of a Saturday morning.
