Durban shawarma - the quick hack

This hack recreates the unique joys of a Durban shawarma, arguably one of the most overlooked contributions of Diasporan cuisine to South Africa's east coast power port. In this case, it's chicken, though you can easily make it with lamb, beef or, indeed, go full-blown vegan.

What's in a name?

This was a bit of an experiment, an attempt to recreate a flavour of youth long-discussed with my oldest friend in this world, Chrys. Short of installing a full commercial gridle in a domestic kitchen, I reckon this is as about as close as you can get to the late-night joys of a Durban shawarma. We've spent years reminiscing about those balmy nights, grabbing a shawarma after a late show at the cinema and still needing to knock about for an hour or so if we were going to turn up at the club at an appropriately cool hour....

All I can say is that I am very, very pleased with the recent results.

Shawarmageddon

I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but at some point between the late 70s and early 80s, the area in that strange transition zone in Durban—where the CBD of West Street and Smith Street began to melt into the beachfront tourist area—the fading Wimpy franchises and Chinese takeaways started being replaced by numerous new places offering shawarmas. Döner kebab, gyros, shawarmas, shoarmas, souvlaki... give it a name. Suddenly this dish of Middle Eastern origin was "a thing".

Many were run by Lebanese Christians, others by Sabras, both immigrant communities fleeing overt war in the Middle East, preferring to take their chances in an Apartheid-era South Africa where the regime did a scarily effective job of keeping conflict hidden from the elite minority. There were even established Greek families that got in on the action: signs promising souvlaki or kebabs were replaced by those promising shawarmas....

Shawarmarama

It's not difficult to figure our why this curious elbow of the city on a natural harbour became "Shawarma Central". Set a couple of blocks back from the optimistically named Golden Mile, the beachfront stretch offering a long stretch of soft, sandy beaches and the warm Indian Ocean... It was the locale of budget hotels and holiday apartments where those who couldn't afford the ocean views of the glitzier seafront establishments took up residence during the annual holiday seasons, much to the chagrin of locals.

One of those tropes familiar the world round, it was a neon-infused tourist trap littered with tacky souvenir shops and amusement arcades that always had a film of fine sand traipsed in from the beaches by tourists who didn't know where the outdoor showers were... Pft! And, of course, with the hungry holidaymakers, it was prime real estate for anyone who planned to shift units of affordable, crowd-pleasing food.

It was also home to a number of cineplexes, the only ones that ran late-night screenings in a small city where many people disappeared to the suburbs on a Friday evening not to reappear until Monday morning. In other words, it was catnip to a bunch of reprobate teenagers with time to kill before slipping between the cracks and into the underground bars and clubs that stood as counterculture during this fraught political era.

We'd head to the latest screening on a Saturday—the local two-screen arthouse cinema didn't do late shows—and see whatever was the least horrible of the options on offer. Sci-fi or Brat Pack nonsense, it didn't really matter. It was a time-killing exercise before joining the other "alternative" people to dance away the night. If we enjoyed the film, that was a bonus.

Part of the ritual was to find delicious fuel for the stamina that the dancefloor demanded. Sure, we mixed it up a bit, trying practically every shawarma joint on offer. Some were gross, some were good.

When not with my usual posse, I'd hang out with my friends Sydne and Alex. They were good Catholic girls, but their German mother had packed them off to a kibbutz... "to atone!" As a result, Sydne had developed the best falafel radar on the planet and we'd often head over to a place run by an Israeli guy inevitably called Ari. To this day, I never attempt to make falafel because nothing could compare with what this guy could do. When I told Sydne that he had ruined me for falafels forever, she leaned in and hissed, "Former Mossad!"

I'll never know whether that was the counterargument or the acceptance of my point.

Going back to Beirut...

Ultimately my motley crew gravitated to a place called Levant Shawarma. For one thing, the layout meant that those like us who wanted to eat in were mercifully shielded from the loud voices of crass tourists ordering takeout with their inevitable questions about ketchup and fries (pronounced "chups" FYI).

Towering above all was Levant Shawarma's signature chicken shawarma, a thing of unmitigated joy. These, unlike in almost all of the other local establishments, were not prepared using the usual vertical rotisserie grill. Instead, the marinated strips of chicken were cooked directly on a huge sizzling gridle that the chefs constantly basted with olive oil infused with garlic.

I was curious about this approach that stood out in the shawarma field. I had already clocked that this place was Lebanese-owned. Apart from the name, the vintage French tourist posters extolling the virtues of "Paris of the Middle East" were a bit of a spoiler alert.

So, I got chatty with the owner Dennis, no mean feat for a teenaged boy in a floor-length druidic tunic, backcombed hair and a flower pushed behind his ear in a nod to Caravaggio's Boy Bitten by a Lizard. Dennis wasn't phased. Between Beirut and Durban, he had seen it all, he said. He told me that he and his wife had arrived from Beirut a few years earlier and the shawarmeria was doing well for them.

When I asked him why they cooked the chicken on a gridle, he smiled. "And the spices," I said. "They taste different from what the other places use." Again Dennis smiled. Then he just tapped his nose and walked away. I thought I had insulted him somehow.

But he soon reappeared leading a tiny woman with almond eyes and a regal posture by the hand. She looked terrified. "This is my wife, Lilit," said Dennis. "She will explain." And she did.

The Colour of Pomegranates

Lilit's initial shyness gave way to pleased eagerness when Dennis explained to her in French that I had noticed that their cooking was different from the other shawarma eateries and she realised that I could understand French. She underwent complete metamorphosis; from hesitant wallflower to positively chatty in under 60 seconds.

Lilit had met Dennis (who naturally reverted to her actual Denis when she spoke of him) when they had been studying in Lucerne. She was Armenian. They married and moved to Lebanon. When they had to leave Beirut—"ça se discute pas"—she had decided, being educated in business administration, that they were going to build a business through efficiency while all that people would see (and taste) was quality. "The vertical rotisserie —"ce truc turc"—totally inefficient! Chicken on a pole. Really? What then if you only use half of it in one night? You can't just leave it out in this sweating heat!"

Lilit explained to me that their game plan had been to cook shawarma as they do in Armenia; on the gridle. This way, the unused marinaded chicken could be safely stored in the fridge for longer, reducing waste and increasing efficiency.

So pleased was Lilit that she reeled off the secret recipe as I did my wide-eyed innocent schtick. I made a point of jotting down notes on a napkin back at the table, chomping down on the best Durban shawarma ever with my dark companions. I still feel guilty for lifting it because Denis and Lilit only had proper linen napkins in their downhome eatery tables. I effectively stole one to not lose this recipe.

Some time later, I gave the napkin to my father and we cooked the dish together on an outdoor fire— a braai with a gridle placed over the grille. He found it excellent.

After that, it seemed to evaporate, gone in the whirl of life's unfolding events, and I never tried cooking it again. But, when I received my father's cooking journals some time after he passed away, I was shocked to find he had actually transcribed it on a double-page—"du fils qui aime cuisiner"—together with a line drawing of the Cathedral of Saint Elias and Saint Gregory the Illuminator in Beirut. I think the last time I must have cooked it was probably in about 1997 or 1998 when I set about working my way through his journals in a very personal rite the would have made Elisabeth Kübler-Ross proud.

But, now that Chrys and I are old nostalgic farts and have been talking about these shawarma joints a lot recently, I've blown the dust off that double-page entry in Denton's cooking journals and retried it. It remains magnificent and the perfect spring/summer dish.

Even back then I remember Lilit telling me that the world of the shawarma was never finite and that, for example, they didn't serve the tahini and garlic sauce reasonably expected on their house chicken shawarma because the other side dishes were better. No biggie. I'm sticking as closely as I can to that fondly remembered iteration.

Denis and Lilit are only part of why this shawarma is perfection. Another part is that it is a shawarma that conjures up enduring friendships and the sad loss of those no longer with us. Suck it up. This is shawarma heaven.

Here the recipe is for 2 to 3 diners, but you can easily dial it up for larger groups.

3 top tips to get this recipe right:

To get the marinaded chicken in this recipe just right, you need to cook it in a hot frying pan or on a gridle and ensure you move it about regularly so that it is fully cooked, but with nice little bits of blackening that are not the same as being burned

It's always about the bread. Bread is essential to this recipe and something that is difficult to describe in the abstract. I've opted for what is getting marketed as a "Greek flat bread" in UK supermarkets at the moment, though a Greek friend raises her eyebrows every time I mention this. But, this is the closest to what I remember. It's a matter of personal choice. For example, at our favoured joint, if you dined in it came with slightly thicker bread (which I am trying to emulate) but if you ordered takeout, it was neatly parcelled in a very thin flatbread, rolled and toasted shut, something more akin to what now gets called a "wrap".

In the original version, the chicken was cut into very thin strips. I prefer them a bit "meatier", but it's down to what you prefer. However, if doing the lamb or beef version, they really need to be sliver-slim in order to work optimally

Shopping list

for the shawarma marinade

2 tspns garlic paste (or equivalent minced fresh garlic)
1tspn whole cloves
2 small onions, finely minced
1tspn smoked paprika
1tspn ground turmeric
1tspn roasted cumin seeds
1tspn roasted coriander seeds
1tspn allspice powder
4 green cardamom pods
2tbspns, white wine vinegar
3tbspns concentrated tomato purée
3tbspns virgin olive oil
1tbspn pomegranate molasses
juice and pith of 1 fresh lemon

for the Durban shawarma

Approx. 400g boneless chicken breast cut into vertical strips
2 red bell peppers (or pointed sweet peppers) cut into vertical slices
Eastern Mediterranean bread - whether pittas, lavash, laffa... a flatbread you prefer

for the sunflower seed hummus

1 (400g) can cooked chickpeas (or freshly prepared equivalent)
the juice of 1 large fresh lemon
A clutch of fresh coriander
3tbspns sunflower seeds
1tbspn pomegranate seeds
Approx. 60ml tahini
1 clove garlic, minced
Approx. 40ml extra virgin olive oil
½ tspn ground cumin
½ tspn ground sumac
salt and pepper to taste

for the yoghurt sauce

Approx. 250ml Greek-style yoghurt
A generous clutch of fresh mint
A generous clutch of flat leaf parsley
Freshly ground black pepper
Salt to taste

for other sides and condiments

Salad with iceberg lettuce— A basic salad with sliced onions, tomatoes and lettuce. And, of course, that lettuce can only be iceberg lettuce; sliced or torn. NB: do not dress the salad. That's what the rest of this dish will be doing
Pickled pink cabbage (aka pink slaw)— I have a recipe. It's easy to make. But I also live near extremely good Turkish grocers, so I just buy it readymade

Cooking Method

the shawarma marinade

Roughly grind all of the dry spices in a spice grinder or using a pestle and mortar. Add to an appropriate mixing bowl and stir in all the pre-ground spices
Add all of the other ingredients, stirring thoroughly to create a relatively thick marinade. If it remains too thick, add additional dabs of vinegar and oil in equal parts until you have a thick, but fluid texture
Pour over the chicken strips and fold in with clean fingers so that all surfaces are covered in the marinade. Store sealed in the fridge for a minimum of four hours (but make it really special by marinading it for 12 hours or more).
You can make your marinade days before you use it on the chicken and store sealed in the fridge. But, allow it to return to room temperature before marinading

the sunflower seed hummus

Toast the sunflower seeds in a dry pan. When almost toasted, add the sumac, stir in and remove from the heat. Chop in a mini chopper and place to one side
Add the tahini and the lemon juice to the mini chopper/food processor. Whir together for about 2mins. This will transform into a paste with a different consistency; a bit like egg whites changing as you whisk them. You'll know it when you see it
Add the chickpeas, adding dabs of cold water (or, better still, the water from the chickpea can) as needed. Chop it for longer if you want the final outcome to be smooth (apparently "posh" hummus) but I prefer it a little chunky so I chop it for less time
Add all of the other ingredients except the olive oil and chop together
Add the olive oil in little dabs until you achieve the consistency you prefer
Decant and store in the fridge allowing to return to room temperature before serving. You can actually make the hummus up to a week before (though 24 hours is optimal)

the yoghurt sauce

Finely chop the flat leaf parsley and fresh mint; in a mini chopper or by hand
Fold into the yoghurt , adding the seasoning
You can do this up to 48 hours before and store sealed in the fridge, returning to room temperature before serving. But, it is optimally done about 1 hour before serving and only briefly chilled in the fridge to encourage the yoghurt to become a little more solid

the Durban shawarma

Before you cook the chicken, ensure your bread is near fully heated/browned and that your plating is good to go: this dish cooks in barely a few minutes
Heat a thick cast iron pan, gridle pan or non-stick "flat pan" on a high heat, basting with a little olive oil as it heats. When the pan is notably hot, first throw on the bell pepper and cook for a minute or so before placing the chicken strips onto the hot surface. Turn frequently using tongs or a spatula so that the cooking remains even
As soon as the chicken and peppers are cooked—you'll need to balance a bit of healthy blackening against not overcooking—plate and take to table with the warm bread and all of the side dishes

Alternatives

For carnivores who don't want chicken, you can create the same dish with thinly sliced lamb or beef. In both cases, you want to marinade them for a minimum of 6 hours before cooking. But, otherwise, the same principles apply.

For pescatarians, this dish is fantastic with slices of fresh tuna or swordfish marinaded in exactly the same way. But, because fish cooks so quickly, I usually give the peppers a bit of a head start, basting on a little of the marinade as they cook before adding the fish.

I'm sure one could create great versions with plant-based chicken substitutes. I've never tried them. To date, my favourite vegan version is Portobello mushrooms cut into thick slices and marinaded and treated in a similar way to the tuna or swordfish i.e. cooking the bell peppers first to get a little "squish" in them before adding the mushrooms to the gridle.

Or of course, if you are braver than I have been, you could go head-to-head with Ari and make those perfect falafels...

Pairings

I feel a bit sulky trying to pair this dish with an appropriate wine. The best wine I ever had with a very similar dish from the Levantine table was a red from the Beqaa Valley at an effusive occasion in Antwerp. One of those great sociable dinners following an opening where most of the people at the table were artists or somehow involved in the art word, it also meant that I did not dutifully note down the wine.

Sulking aside, this is a dish I think works well with red wine, even when chicken. Knowing bugger-all about Lebanese wines (apart from that one should always heed the wine recommendation of the maître d at Libanezza in Antwerp) I know enough about wine in general to say that the warming notes in many reds work with the heavier spices in this dish, just so long as they don't overwhelm. Hence, in my first run a revisiting this dish I thought worth sharing, it worked well with a workaday Côtes du Rhône.

In my second run at it, I thought I would focus more on the citrus flavours and opt for a white. And, I can report, being a little indulgent, I got my hands on a bottle of St. Urbans-Hof

Nik Weis Selection Urban Riesling 2018, which was absolute perfection with this dish.