Hearing the word gyro sparks my summer hungers, as well as memories of the years I spent working in a drab office building off 5th Avenue in lower Manhattan, where I’d stop for lunch at a sandwich joint run by a Greek family on the nearby corner. These two-fisted sandwiches are traditionally made with huge cuts of lamb or pork that are skewered on an outdoor rotisserie, fragrantly roasting until crackling crisp on the outside and juicy-tender within. The meat is served thinly shaved, rolled up in a warm pita, and loaded with sliced tomatoes and onions and slathered with tzatziki, the tangy herb-yogurt sauce.
The term comes from the Greek word gheereezo, which means to turn. These days you’ll find renditions of pork and chicken roasting on a spit or two offered in food trucks and diners in cities across the globe. The modern version of the sandwich became popular in Greece in the 1920s, and traveled to America with Greek immigrants after World War II.
For those of us without an outdoor rotisserie, this version relies on a hot oven or grill. Boneless, skinless chicken thighs are marinated in lemon juice, olive oil and copious garlic, cumin, paprika, a pinch of cinnamon, another of nutmeg, salt and black pepper. They’re roasted until the chicken turns crisp, golden and ragged, succulent and tender.
The test of a great gyro is the quality of the pita or lavash that wraps the meat. Look for local options from Baba’s and Artisan Naan Bakery in co-ops and grocery stores. Both are fresh and light yet sturdy enough to hold together the meat, vegetables and tzatziki — and to sop up all those juices before they drip down your elbows.