I want a kebab

Oh, the kebak that symphony of aromas, that poetry wrapped in warm bread, that little miracle born when hunger becomes art and meat dances with fire. It’s not just food, no; it’s a promise. It’s the hope that grows in the stomach and blossoms in the soul, the ancestral call of spices whispering stories of distant lands where the sun caresses the markets and the air is filled with cumin, coriander, and dreams. To crave a kebab is not a simple gastronomic impulse: it’s a spiritual experience. It’s closing your eyes and letting your mind travel through the smoke of the grill, where the juices sizzle like notes of a burning melody. It’s imagining the moment when the knife, a sacred blade, slices golden strips of meat that fall slowly, like flakes of glory, onto soft, warm bread. And then, the sauces… oh, the sauces. That divine alchemy between garlic and yogurt, between the freshness of cucumber and the intensity of spice. Every drop is a caress that awakens the senses, a painting that colors the perfect canvas of the kebab. The lettuce crunches like tiny applause, the tomato offers its red sweetness like a sunset, and the entire creation becomes a universe held between your hands, the desire to eat kebab is not measured by hunger, but by passion. It’s that inner fire that burns even when you’re full, because what you crave isn’t just the tastes, it’s the ritual. The waiting at the shop, the hum of the rotisserie turning slowly, the smile of the cook who knows he’s about to change your day. It’s that first bite, when the whole world seems to stop. The meat, tender and juicy, mixes with the crispness of the bread and the freshness of the vegetables in a harmony so perfect that, for a moment, you forget everything else. In that instant, there is no noise, no fatigue, no time. Only the kebab. Only you and that gift wrapped in shining paper, steaming as if it held the very soul of fire. Eating it is an act of devotion; desiring it, a form of love. Because a kebab is not eaten,it is lived. It is breathed, savored, remembered. It is the answer to every night when your body seeks comfort and your heart longs for flavor. It is the warm embrace of streets lit by neon lights, the companion of midnight conversations, the silent reward after a long day. And so, the desire for kebab becomes an eternal flame: a blend of hunger, nostalgia, and happiness. A prayer rising to the heavens wrapped in the scent of spices, asking for only one thing a single bite more of that perfect moment when everything makes sense, and the world, at last, tastes like kebab. 

Oh yes and I also want a ice cream too.