One of the constants in my life is that if I’m hungry and happen to be walking down Houston Street, I know I’ll be fine since I’m near the scalene triangle of Katz’s, Ross & Daughters, and Punjabi. I could do meat, fish, or vegetarian. If I want to sit and have a meal then I could hop over to 1st Ave. and end up at Lucien or Lil' Frankie's. That area has been dependable for so long that I don’t give much thought to finding new places, but yesterday I did. The line at Katz’s was too long with tourists who likely “discovered” the place on TikTok, and I wasn’t in the mood for whitefish or lentils. I stood on the sidewalk wondering if I should hike another block or two for a slice, but then I noticed Ankara, the Turkish restaurant that occupies a space where an American Apparel once was. I have this theory that any space that once housed an outlet for Dov Charney’s schmatta empire is now haunted by the ghosts of circa-2005 coked-up Happy Ending DJs roaming around going “I dooooonnnn’t get what these people mean by ‘indieeeeee sleeeeeeeeaze,’” so I tend to avoid them. But I got a look at the meat cone and Ankara and…I can’t turn down a big chunk of lamb spinning around. I went in thinking to myself that whatever I was going to order was going to be “Fine.” I find that’s the best you can hope for these days when ordering things like gyro or shwarma. It’s usually just passable but can be doctored with enough white and hot sauce to make it work. I’ve been living that way for years, and I realize now that I was lying to myself. Gyros weren’t always so “meh.” And I know there are pockets of Queens, Chicago, Detroit, and Boston where I’ve had some truly great gyros. But for the most part, the gyro situation has felt pretty dire. I miss unwrapping that paper and feeling like a Kronos or Olympia Gyros model.
The lamb gyro I ordered at Ankara, going with the Turkish bread instead of the pita or flatbread option, was inspiring. It was exactly how freshly-sliced meat shavings should taste; hot and with all kinds of fat dripping from it. But most of all, it was (forgive me for using this terrible word) moist. It was juicy meat, delicious and succulent. It went down great with a cold bottle of Turkish Sarikiz mineral water which I’m also now obsessed with. After years of being fine with the same rotation of eating options along that stretch of Houston, I had finally found a new place to add to the small list.
This all came as a shock to me. Enough that I’m sitting here writing about it. Part of it was the American Apparel ghosts deal, but that wasn’t the only thing about the location that gave me pause. That area of Houston might have a few old-school icons but it also has a lot of crap aimed at tourists who are desperate to try a slice—any slice, it doesn’t matter—of “real New York Style pizza,” or will forgo just buying churros from a nice lady on the train platform to spend a few dollars more at the weird Instagram trap churro spot in that cursed space on East Houston and Allen that sits below a billboard that (surprise) American Apparel once utilized, most (in)famously for their Woody Allen “Holy Rebbe” advertisement in the late-aughts. (Cue Lou Reed singing “Those were different tiiiimes” here).
But even bigger a surprise was that I ate a quality gyro from a place that—for lack of a better term—looked normal. Ankara isn’t some fancy concept place. It’s part of a small chain and the one I went to is actually called Ankara #3, with the other two (Ankara #1 and Ankara #2, respectively) in Brooklyn. There’s a giant TV in the back showing images from Turkey, and the menu is basic fare from the country and the region it’s in. You can get grape leaves and hummus to start, chicken in cubes through a skewer, lamb mixed with beef and balled up into kofte kebab, or yaprak doner, the Uzbek take on shawarma that I only usually tend to find in Queens. The bread is fresh and I’ve got to say—as New York City’s self-proclaimed biggest fan of the sweet treat—that their baklava is quite nice.
This shouldn’t be too big of a surprise, yet it is. I know that a common theme for me when it comes to writing about food is trying to find the spot between “You don’t need to reinvent the wheel” and “I wish finding good food was a consistent thing.” I worry that sometimes it comes off as a schtick, but the truth is that in a sea of bland, Ankara stood out to me because it was truly right in the middle of those two ideas. They aren’t doing anything fancy or attention-grabbing like trying to morph a gyro with a croissant1 in hopes of finding viral fame like the Cronut or the “crookie,” but more importantly, it’s difficult to find quality gyros these days. I’ve concluded that the reason most gyro meat has the consistency of leather is because the meat sits for so long, slowly spinning around, drying out almost to a point where I’m surprised there isn’t a bagged gyro jerky being sold on the counters at most Turkish and Mediterranean places. Gyro isn’t exactly popular. It’s available almost everywhere I’ve ever been in the country, but like with nearly anything else people can’t figure out how to pronounce (I stood in line once and heard three different people in front of me say “Gye-ro,” “Hero,” “Yeeer-oh” when it was their turns to order), it isn’t always the big seller. It’s an extra thing the local pizza place tries to sell to make more business or something you’ll eat at a street fair, but I can’t recall the last time somebody casually said “Let’s do gyros for lunch.”
So the gyro meat sits, it ends up tasting terrible, and I’m always the schmuck who ends up ordering it, hypnotized by the spinning meat, hopeful it’ll be good. I’d say seven times out of ten it’s passable, two times out of that it’s downright bad (and I still likely eat it), and once in a blue moon I’m shocked at how good it is. Maybe it’s because of the location—American Apparel ghosts and all—that Ankara #3 works. The heavy foot traffic probably plays a part in terms of how much more they’re able to sell as opposed to a place that’s off the beaten path and tucked away. While I have never been above ordering gyros for delivery, it’s generally more of a food you order on the spot. You go to get gyros. You end up maybe going in with the intention of a burger or hot dog, but you see the cone and think, “Man, those gyros look good,” and you switch it up. If those gyros are good, you think about it all day. If they’re not, it’s almost certain you will go another year or longer without ordering them. I can’t even begin to tell you the amount of times I’ve heard people say “I haven’t had gyros in forever,” and I attribute that largely to the last one they had being low-quality.
It’s hard to put much thought into gyros as a meal because of the lack of quality gyros out there. We’ve been conditioned to believe that subpar gyros are the norm, but I don’t believe it has to be that way. Or, if it does, then I want everybody, all the gyros lovers out there, to find their own Ankara #3. I’ve seen what’s on the other side of the lamb meat wall, and there’s something better if you’re willing to go look with me.
To be honest, I wouldn’t be at all mad at a Gyroissant. I just don’t like the whole “Let’s make this to get popular on TikTok” thing.
Another fun fact about ankara #3: it’s open 24 hours
I've also been struggling to articulate just what it is that I want from restaurants these days, and at a certain level I just don't want them to be self-aware. Like, don't try to consciously be "Philly-inspired corner hoagie store" with an Instagram page and a vibey graphic design logo (that you sell on $4 stickers), just be... a corner hoagie store that's good.