Here's where they went, and what they ate. They were ethnically ambiguous, with kebabs, hummus and wraps masquerading as a region so rich in culture, history and most important to my belly, food. On a stretch of Brookhurst Street, my heart sang.
Here, I could tell which restaurant was Egyptian because they had terms like hawawshi and mahshi korom. I never knew the name of the place, you almost never do and it has since closed but they made the best shawarmas. And so I proposed a tasting tour to Gab because the world needs to know about my little food paradise.
This means specialty dishes make an appearance on the menus. So when Yusra suggested that we try different dishes from some of the nations represented in the neighborhood, I knew I was in for a real treat. The food truck had closed up and left but a friend was kind enough to share a single bite. The chicken was not charred, the spices not burnt.
Instead the flavor came through as did the hint of smokiness from the spit. And thus began my quest shout out to my friend Yasmine whose help I enlisted to find this shawarma. Yasmine took me to one restaurant, dropped a few names but that was not it. Then one late night while scrolling on Instagram I came across Nadoosh.
This was it. My second time trying it, I was not disappointed. The shawarma is slender and simple at this Palestinian-owned food truck, not overstuffed and busy.
