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Yashim orders kebab

Little skewers sizzled and popped

“The kebab shop was open to the street, where sliced hearts of lettuces were set out on a marble slab, besides sheep heads and feet, bowls of yoghurt and clotted cream, some toorshan, or pickles, and a small array of simple meze. A waiter was flicking away the flies with a clean cloth; he nodded at Yashim. Inside, china pots, plates and glasses sparkled on the shelves; a small fountain played in a corner. There was a glazed screen where a man with long moustaches ruled over a small empire of vases containing syrups and preserved fruits; on the other side the grills smoked against the wall, a half-tunnel of brick and clay lined with small coals. Various cuts of meat were on a spit; little skewers sizzled and popped above the flames; now and then the bare-armed cook slapped another pide on the hot bricks, and peeled it away as it began to crisp at the edges.