I love a gyro. Love as in I'd like to marry one. Back in college, my friends and I were convinced that a gyro consumed from a grease truck (aka roach coach) at 2 am, walking home from a bar would stave off a hangover in the morning. In reality, it didn't work, but it was delicious trying. Here's another story about me and this bit of meat, vegetable and yogurt heaven wrapped in flat bread: seven years ago, my husband and I went to a diner for dinner. I ordered a gyro and moaned and licked my fingers all the way through it. I woke up the next morning knowing I had to have another. I stopped off at the mall, bought one at the food court, and consumed it standing up. On day three, I insisted we go back to the diner for another gyro dinner. I wanted one again the next day, but decided I might not be setting the best example for my two young children. Several days later, I found out, much to my surprise, that I was seven weeks pregnant. Let's just say, if you are what you eat, my third child is extremely lucky he didn't emerge from my body looking like a Greek diner specialty.
Today's NYTimes has a great piece entitled "The Gyro's History Unfolds." It is really well written and full of fascinating gyro facts and history. It attempts to answer "who is the Henry Ford of the gyro?" and suggests that in an economic downturn, the gyro business is a good one to be in. Plus, it has a video. "The Making of a Gyro Cone." I have to admit, I never knew such a thing as this big BandAid colored round of mass produced gyro meat existed, but I never thought deeply about it. I just craved them.