"gyro" news and stories

Reinvention. Some are good at it: Madonna. George W. Bush. Sarah Jessica Parker. Others, not so much. At least that was the lesson this week on Top Chef D.C., as our hardy, remaining band of seven chefs mostly struggled to take classic dishes and turn them upside-down, inside-out and into haute cuisine.

They weren't the only ones trying to craft a new facade. With the sudden departure of front-runner "alpha dog" Kenny last week, we can feel this season of Top Chef trying to recraft itself in a new image -- or at least trying to mask the fact that this season is still really all about Angelo.

The once-arrogant, love-to-hate-him, self-proclaimed master of Asian flavors from New York City was, in the beginning, the one to beat, and his rivalry with Kenny gave the show its strongest storyline. But now, thanks to some heavy-handed editing and a few uninspired dishes, Angelo's in the doghouse.

A little over two years ago, my daughter was born. At the time, I was in moderately decent shape; although I smoked, I ate fairly well, walked all over the place, and generally kept my weight in an area that my doctor and I considered acceptable. However, my daughter's birth, my decision to quit the demon cancer sticks, and the fact that I spent an insane amount of time on the couch with her quickly bore fruit. Within six months of her arrival, I had packed on about 20 pounds.

After I had to buy new, larger pants, I decided that enough was enough. I started going to the gym, watching what I eat, exercising more, and generally trying to regain my svelte, pre-fatherhood body. I spent a lot of time looking in the mirror, looking at my measurements, and looking at my diet. When I moved to New York, however, my weight loss began to slow, sputter, and even reverse a little bit.

It wasn't too hard to figure out why I wasn't losing weight like I used to. While I was busy looking at the scale, I wasn't looking at my neighborhood. On the bright side, the Vietnamese restaurant near my apartment has several relatively healthy offerings and the taco truck a couple of blocks away is great if I don't order cheese, sour cream, and fried meat. However, the Dominican bakery, with its seductive tres leches cake, the Puerto Rican Cuchifritos stands, and the various pizzerias, Chinese food joints, and Gyro restaurants all taunt me with their wares. While I'm pretty good at avoiding the siren song of KFC, Burger King, and all the other fast food places, I am a sucker for homemade, high-fat goodies.

It's hard to say whether we can call a gyro a sandwich because it's made of bread wrapped around the fillings, but who's making the rules here anyway? This is a gyro we shared as part of a late afternoon lunch at Le Petit Greek on Larchmont in Los Angeles. Now technically, "gyro" refers to the vertical, slow-spinning spit on which meat like chicken, lamb or pork, is placed. "Gyro" is Greek for "turn," thus the name. However, when we say "gyro" in the food world, we're talking about the sandwich made with slices carved off the meat on the turning rotisserie, fresh tomatoes, sliced red onions, French fries, and tzatziki. I have no idea how French fries play into this Greek equation, but I'm certainly not complaining.

This one from Le Petit Greek