Nothing transcends borders and nationalities like mediocrity. Gustatorially speaking, it takes a lot less time, and most people don’t notice the difference. Until recently, I was starting to wonder if the Greek community was a culinary exception. Apollo’s, and especially Zeta’s European Emporium, are delicious and cheap Grecian alternatives located close to campus. Alas, with this review of the Gyro Shoppe, located at 2061 W. Henderson Rd., the Peloponnesian streak has ended.

Right from the start, you should always keep in mind that you can’t pronounce the word “gyro” ethnically enough. Roll that “r” sound, and rhyme along with Enrique Iglesias singing, “I can eat your gyro, baby.” Well, maybe just sing it to yourself.  

Two newly-minted co-masticators and self-professed “fans” accompanied me on this excursion without the bribery and begging to which I must occasionally resort.

Jim reviewed the jumbo gyro and writes, “This very large sandwich was excellent for deflating a hangover. The french fries were equally excellent in that capacity. The chicken lemon soup was a tad on the thick side, but tasty nonetheless.” Personally, I don’t think Jim’s been hung over a day in his damn life. Curing hangovers with gyros and fries is like battling AIDS with Big Macs and moon pies.       

He went on to say, “The gyro was as good as I’ve had anywhere with quality lamb, toppings and a tasty sauce.” The only problem: its messy nature. Yes, as is usually the case, I dribbled tzatziki sauce down my arm and onto my lap by merely lifting my souvlaki from the plate.

The souvlaki was worth the ridicule but not spectacular. I appreciated the chewy beef tenderloin and crispy lettuce, but nothing in particular made it stand out above the Greek restaurants I’m used to.

Dave tried the chicken shawarma and described it as “essentially a gyro with chicken instead of lamb-beef.” He went on to comment, “There’s plenty of tasty sauce in this soft, warm pita. The veggies are crisp and fresh, and there is plenty of chicken.”

Dave and Jim disagree with me with respect to the fries. While I’ll concede they have an unusual seasoning, they are almost translucent with grease. Any taste they may possess is completely overwhelmed by it, leaving me no choice but to give them a thumbs down. Unless you’re among the abysmally fat, measuring the quality of food by its sheer greasiness, you’ll probably find them a bit much.

The tiramisu, like Steve Bellisari, was a lot less interesting without a little rum. What was left was creamy and tasty, though it missed that little kick that makes the recipe famous. Buca di Beppo serves a variety that’ll put hair on your chest and a DUI on your record. Even we inebriates of the Colleges of Arts and Science should designate a driver before ordering one of those soggy, bacchanalian bastards.

Looking back, though it wasn’t the best Greek I’ve had in my life, there’s comfort to be found in mediocrity. Nothing brings out its charm like a year or two in the commons. Call me complacent, but if you can’t be with the food you love, honey love the food you’re with.

Hank Mylander is a senior in information systems. Your Masticator would kindly appreciate any strings his readers could pull over at the law school to get his application accepted and scholarships granted in a speedy fashion. Come on, help a brutha out. He can be reached via e-mail for comment and censure at [email protected].