The kebab spit at Chez Mehmet (Paris, 18th arrondissement) is reminiscent of a dervish's whirling dance. There's something hypnotic about watching it turn on itself in the open kitchen where it is served: it pivots and cooks slowly, vertically, under the heat of the grill, without stopping, until it's exhausted. When the time comes, the kebab master, a fine sleuth, delicately undresses it with a long knife.
Under the edge of his sword-like blade, the strips of roast chicken gradually fall away from the block of grilled meat and land, in clusters, in the hollow of a stainless steel tray. They look so juicy, so perfectly caramelized, marinated and seasoned, that you could simply gobble them up as they are, in two or three strokes of the fork. But that would be to miss out on the house specialty, the reason we came: the dürüm döner kebab.
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