Look for the matching boisterous rainbow umbrellas obscuring the windows painted with “gyros,” “falafel,” and “shawarma.” Austin Greek Deli shares a parking lot and building with a cute neighborhood gas station (insofar as a gas station can be cute) and convenience mart. It’s a mere closet of a space, sectioned by a free-standing counter and plastered haphazardly with Greek tourism posters of azure seas and bleach-white buildings; there are even a few of those ubiquitous posters produced by some 1980s campaign to get more Americans eating what amounts to a Greek hot dog. “Gyro,” it says, under the confident, coy smile of a vaguely Mediterranean-looking young woman. There are two tables out front, and a few rickety stools inside.

The guy who owns the place is priceless. Ask if he has lamb shawarma and he’ll ask, in response, if you’re from New York. “The only people who ask about lamb shawarma are from New York,” he might say in a bombastic and jovial Santorini accent. Come after the lunch rush, and he’ll spout off gem after gem, imparting wisdom (“Wi-Fi? Who needs Wi-Fi? All you need is a dog, a nice meal, and a place to sleep.”) and enforcing gender equality (“This girl comes in all the time with her boyfriend and always, she pays. Finally, the third time, I say, ‘No way, sweetheart; it’s your turn, pal.’”) Sometimes when we’re feeling low, we’ll stop by—even if we’re not hungry.

That shawarma turns out to be a mixture of lamb and beef, ground with herbs and spices and reformed into a vertical spit for broiling. It’s a correct version, very satisfying. Tzatziki is as good as ordinary pre-made tzatziki can be, zippy and refreshing, and iceberg lettuce provides apt crunch. The pitas are soft and lightly grilled—some might say doughy, as if that were a bad thing.

Even better is a well-spiced and moist falafel, with just the right amount of crispiness; it’s one of the best in Austin. Souvlaki (here, it’s beef) tastes oddly a little like teriyaki, but is tender with nice charred bits. Baklava is on the dry and flaky side of the honey-phyllo ratio. You don’t really care. You’re just here for the company. “Weatherpeople have the only job where they can screw it up half the time and not get fired!” You laugh and nod. “You’re good people,” he says, “you can come back.” You’re good people, too, bub. And we will.

Post your comment

Name: or Login
Comment:

Type the letters you see in the image below. Letters are not case-sensitive.