El Kebabo Diablo (The Kebab Devil) …..
In recalling my childhood, some of my most vivid memories are those of my father entertaining me with stories of gins (i.e. Arabic lexicon for ‘demons’). His tales horrified and captivated me at the same time. So attuned was he to detail that I sometimes wondered whether these mystical beings did in fact exist. After having visited a certain kebab shop on George Street, I no longer doubt their existence.
Only last weekend, I encountered a kebab demon. In its earthly form, this being masqueraded as a purveyor of shredded animal flesh grilled to perfection. At the time of our meeting, it had assumed a human form – specifically a male Middle Eastern immigrant with a broad moustache, ample frame and considerable body odour. Despite its obvious talents in shape-shifting, I soon recognised the thing for what it was and proceeded cautiously to exit the shopfront.
In recounting my story, I recognise that I was saved from a terrible fate, but only because others sacrificed themselves unknowingly. Specifically, a long queue had formed by the time I entered this innocuous little kebab shop. Being a naturally perceptive and inquisitive person, I carefully watched ‘El Kebabo Diablo’ as it prepared various kebabs for human consumption. What I noticed, albeit in the finest of details, sicked me beyond belief.
El Kebabo Diablo wore no apron, and its white shirt was stained with discoloured crimson streaks - a sight that could only be interpreted as dried blood. Even in its human form, this creature’s skin was replete with coarse black hairs which glistened menacingly under the harsh fluorescent lighting. If one were bold enough to closely examine its face, it would be impossible to discern where nose-hair ended and moustache began. The teeth behind those thin and cruel lips appeared broken and jagged, probably from having spent millennia gnawing on bone and gristle.
Fine droplets of perspiration, clearly visible on the creature’s forearms, routinely dropped into the meat tray as it sliced and shaved huge strips of flesh from three rotating skewers (chicken, beef and lamb). Every once in awhile, the creature would rub its bulbous nose vigorously into the sleeve of its shirt, leaving lengthy streaks of what can only be described as sweat, mucous and grit. It appreciated not the norms of civil society, especially as they related to the art of food preparation. The creature did not wear plastic gloves, and touched foodstuffs regularly with its bare hands. More disturbingly, it appeared to be unaccustomed to clothing, routinely inserting the thumb and forefinger of its left hand into the nether-regions of its backside in an effort to dislodge the monstrous ‘wedgie’ that became its earthly burden.
Looking around me, I found other patrons to be oblivious of the peril in their surroundings. None appeared to regard El Kebabo Diablo with fear, failing to recognise the true nature of the beast in their midst. They dug hungrily into their kebabs, feeding on singed fleshed, tabouli, homous, lettuce, tomato, onion and the putrid sweat of an unearthly friend.
I cautiously exited the shop whilst El Kebabo Diablo had its back turned, slicing and shaving away at slabs of meat. No-one saw me leave, as all were staring hypnotically at the two pillars of grilling flesh that they were soon to feast upon. The primitive and beastly nature of El Kebabo Diablo had infected them ...
It is now that I understand the wisdom behind a centuries old Lebanese proverb, a saying that is whispered to little children in hushed tones by their parents:
In recalling my childhood, some of my most vivid memories are those of my father entertaining me with stories of gins (i.e. Arabic lexicon for ‘demons’). His tales horrified and captivated me at the same time. So attuned was he to detail that I sometimes wondered whether these mystical beings did in fact exist. After having visited a certain kebab shop on George Street, I no longer doubt their existence.
Only last weekend, I encountered a kebab demon. In its earthly form, this being masqueraded as a purveyor of shredded animal flesh grilled to perfection. At the time of our meeting, it had assumed a human form – specifically a male Middle Eastern immigrant with a broad moustache, ample frame and considerable body odour. Despite its obvious talents in shape-shifting, I soon recognised the thing for what it was and proceeded cautiously to exit the shopfront.
In recounting my story, I recognise that I was saved from a terrible fate, but only because others sacrificed themselves unknowingly. Specifically, a long queue had formed by the time I entered this innocuous little kebab shop. Being a naturally perceptive and inquisitive person, I carefully watched ‘El Kebabo Diablo’ as it prepared various kebabs for human consumption. What I noticed, albeit in the finest of details, sicked me beyond belief.
El Kebabo Diablo wore no apron, and its white shirt was stained with discoloured crimson streaks - a sight that could only be interpreted as dried blood. Even in its human form, this creature’s skin was replete with coarse black hairs which glistened menacingly under the harsh fluorescent lighting. If one were bold enough to closely examine its face, it would be impossible to discern where nose-hair ended and moustache began. The teeth behind those thin and cruel lips appeared broken and jagged, probably from having spent millennia gnawing on bone and gristle.
Fine droplets of perspiration, clearly visible on the creature’s forearms, routinely dropped into the meat tray as it sliced and shaved huge strips of flesh from three rotating skewers (chicken, beef and lamb). Every once in awhile, the creature would rub its bulbous nose vigorously into the sleeve of its shirt, leaving lengthy streaks of what can only be described as sweat, mucous and grit. It appreciated not the norms of civil society, especially as they related to the art of food preparation. The creature did not wear plastic gloves, and touched foodstuffs regularly with its bare hands. More disturbingly, it appeared to be unaccustomed to clothing, routinely inserting the thumb and forefinger of its left hand into the nether-regions of its backside in an effort to dislodge the monstrous ‘wedgie’ that became its earthly burden.
Looking around me, I found other patrons to be oblivious of the peril in their surroundings. None appeared to regard El Kebabo Diablo with fear, failing to recognise the true nature of the beast in their midst. They dug hungrily into their kebabs, feeding on singed fleshed, tabouli, homous, lettuce, tomato, onion and the putrid sweat of an unearthly friend.
I cautiously exited the shop whilst El Kebabo Diablo had its back turned, slicing and shaving away at slabs of meat. No-one saw me leave, as all were staring hypnotically at the two pillars of grilling flesh that they were soon to feast upon. The primitive and beastly nature of El Kebabo Diablo had infected them ...
It is now that I understand the wisdom behind a centuries old Lebanese proverb, a saying that is whispered to little children in hushed tones by their parents:
‘Temptation of the kebab is a deadly thing.Remembers readers, not ‘who’ … but ‘what’.
The more kebabs you eat, the more you look like what made you the kebab.’
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