Max’s Gyros
First let me describe the gyros
- as you walk
in (to the sound of an
electronic doorbell)
the first thing that
hits you is the smell
Cumin, garlic, lamb,
beef, a faint scent
of cinnamon or allspice
It’s a warm smell
like a stew simmering
all day in a crock pot
Or steaming hot soup
when you have a cold
and your bones ache
from a long work day
It’s a welcoming smell
A comforting smell
Like Family
Like Home
There are only 3 foods
I crave and that
immediately make
me feel better
no matter what
Vietnamese Pho at Pho Cali
Fried Chicken from Yoder’s
and Max’s Gyros
When I began to
heal from my spinal
surgery and could
swallow again the
first thing I asked
for was Max’s Gyros
Max was a slight
man - physically - but
a giant in spirit
- to move his family
from Iran and start
a business in Sarasota, FL
speaks volumes to me
about what it means to
be a man
He spoke English with
a Persian accent
To me he was a magician
A true character
I had been talking
about gyros at
work when the
Frito Lay vendor
spoke up and said,
“If you want a
good gyro try
Max’s."
I asked around
“Oh, yes, Max,.”
he owns that service
station on Stickney
Point
I went to the
BP station on
Bee Ridge with
my wife
It was the wrong one
The clerk said, “Max,”.
yeah, he’s up a
couple more
“That’s odd,” I replied. “2 BP.”
stations that
close together
“No”, she corrected.
“Max got mad at
BP and tore down
the sign. He’s an
independent now."
I admired him
before I ever met
him.
Max sold independent
gas at reasonable
prices and everyone
knew it… For, Dear
Reader, every interaction
I describe here with Max
took place between
infinitesimal spaces
from one fuel customer
to the next. Almost all
seemed to know him
and greeted him by
name.
Cars moved in and out
from his fuel pumps
in a cacophony of
controlled chaos.
But that was Max
- uncompromising
quality and value
and a human touch
- That is something
the big box corporate
places will never
understand - for
without that crucial
third ingredient
(The Human Touch)
- They can never tap
into the formula
that Max had.
-Anyway, back to
the Gyros
You saw the hunk
of gyro meat
(A mixture of
lamb and beef)
Roasting slowly
on the vertical spit
rotating steadily
hypnotically
as the brown juices
popped out of tiny
geysers and fell, like
golden tears of joy,
to the base of the
spit where they
sizzled and smoked
I’ve had gyro meat
at a lot of places,
mostly it was over-salted,
full of gristle,
but not Max’s.
He used just enough
spice to season his
meat - and just enough
fat to impart flavor
It’s the perfect balance
Max had a long bread
knife - the kind
with teeth on the
bottom and a blunt
rounded tip
When you ordered
a gyro
Max would grab his
knife - survey the
spinning meat for the
best parts - and
begin slicing
He would cut the
meat into vertical
strips with the
slightly crunchy
exterior and the
warm, succulent
interior
After the meat was
sliced Max would
begin constructing
the gyro itself
Now, this wasn’t a
fast process.
Max was aware that
a steady stream
of customers was
crowding and shuffling
into the cramped
confines of his
store.
(The customers fidgeted
but never seemed to
lose patience - they
were willing to
wait for quality.)
However, he was not
running around like
a madman either
Max moved like a man
who loved what he did
and was unwilling to
compromise his standards
in the interest of
speed…
But, I digress
- the Gyros -
Max constructed
the gyros
on warm, thick pita
bread that he
and his wife
made
On a bed of fresh,
crisp lettuce
with plump, juicy
tomatoes
(All of which he bought
locally)
With a slathering
of the tangy
yogurt sauce
called tzatziki
and that’s it
Simple, Fresh,
Delicious
Max also had a
cooler filled with
salads - the star
of which was the feta his wife
made that was
out of this world
They also had
buttery, flaky
spanakopita
And luscious sweets, too
Like Baklava, dripping
with sensual, golden
honey
And my personal favorite
Kataifi - with filo
dough cut into strips
so thin it was
like shredded wheat
with honey and
pistachios filling
the center
We talked with Max
while we waited. He
was ebullient with
eyes that sparkled
and danced
This was at the height
of the Axis of Evil
Iranian Nuclear
scare - and here
we were talking
to Max about
Iran and food
and Chicago and
his children with
whom he was
smitten. Their
drawings papered
the door to his
office - and he
was so proud of them
and his wife and of
her yogurt and feta
that she made by
hand.
He was proud of his
family and his heritage
and loved to share
them.
All these things
His Love
His Pride
went into his gyros
and that’s what made…
what makes them
so good.
They are more than
the sum of their parts.
They’re a story…
Max was a storyteller
and food was how
he told his story.
It’s the story of an
Iranian family who came
to America -
built a business
-became part of
the community
- and created a
home.
That’s what Max’s Gyros
taste like
They taste like
home
An Iranian family
in Sarasota
making great
Greek food.
“Great” is not a big
enough word
Max’s Gyros are
transcendental
A legacy
His story reflects
the larger American
story
The melting pot
The American Dream
The other day, my wife
Gina stopped at Max’s
when she got off work
to pick up some gyros
When she got home
her eyes were red
as if she’d been crying
And she told me that
Max had passed away
His wife was there
minding the store
She said that Max
had suffered heart
trouble
I was stunned
We sat in silence,
looking at the
gyros for a time
- and then I took
a bite
And I began to feel better
And I thought about Max
and the role food plays
in our lives
It can bridge cultural
divides
It can bring families
together
And like Max’s Gyros,
it can even tell stories
I think Max would
be happy to know
his story lives on
- Carried by his wife
and children, by
the people whose
lives he touched,
And it lives on
with his Gyros which
are still being made
with love - by the people
he loved - and shared
with the community
that loved him
I ask you
Is there any
greater legacy
than that?
January 14, 2010
