Pork Belly Gyros
For a stretch of four years, I was lucky enough to be a resident on the Greek island of Mykonos for a couple of months each year. I’d go to recharge my creative batteries, drink some ouzo, dive for sea urchin roe, and sleep. Standing on the edge of the cerulean blue Aegean Sea and overlooking the tan bodies of Grecian Gods in Speedos, I knew I was exactly where I needed to be. Of course, as nourishing as all that introspection was for my soul, this girl needed to eat. And that’s when I discovered a Mykonian gyro. I’d had gyros before. I bought one off a food cart in New York, ate a gut bomb from the county fair, and worse yet, ordered a gyro from some Midwestern chain where my server referred to it as a “gee-RO.” Anywhere you live, someone’s making some trashy gyro, but I’m here to tell you that there ain’t no gyro like a gyro in Greece.
