State Street Eats: Greek-n-Go 2.0
A culinary adventure
It is a lovely Tuesday morning and a break appears in my meeting schedule. I call my attorney and ask if he wants to meet for lunch; I have a place in mind.
“That sounds good. But you have to pick me up.”
“How’s 11:45?”
He hangs up.
Most would take this for rudeness, but I know that it is a good sign.
I drive north, up into the tangle of streets packed with mismatched manor houses that cling to the foothills of Mount Timpanogos.
He is waiting for me, sitting on the curb. His Porsche is parked next to him, shining resplendent in the September sun. He heaves himself up to standing and gets in my car.
“Is the 911 acting up?”
“What? No. I just know that you can’t afford my mileage fee. I’ve seen your finances.”
We coast back down the hill: to State Street.
In Lindon, near one of the myriad car washes to open up since Breaking Bad rose to cultural prominence, a blue and white food truck with vintage plates parks in the shade of a pawn shop sign. I had driven past it dozens of times, never stopping. But the closure of my go-to gyro shop—the Persian-owned Ultimate Chicken Broiler Express Grill—left me shaking with withdrawal from the beef/lamb blend that sumptuously pirouettes before a bank of blue-orange flames. So, in desperation, I pulled into the pawn-shop parking lot and put myself in the hands of the food truck man at Greek-n-Go 2.0. The food was pretty good. Since then, I have returned every month or so to get my fix. Today, my attorney, another gyro aficionado, joins me.
We walk up to the small sliding window on the side of the truck, and the young owner leans his head out. He greets us with the practiced look of familiarity mastered by all restaurateurs. We exchange pleasantries; all agreeing that it is in fact a lovely day.
Thinking of the edification of my readers, I ask him his name.
“Reynolds,” he says, bobbing his head. “It’s usually a last name, but it’s my first name.”
“How long have you been in the gyro business?”
“My family has been doing this for twenty years, but I revamped and took over five years ago. I love it.”
I order my usual: a classic gyro with a side of lemon rice. My attorney asks Reynolds for his recommendation.
“I’d definitely go with the classic and the fries.”
He consents, and I secretly seethe about the option of fries. They have not been available in recent months and are not yet back on the menu. I remind myself that the rice is great and the perfect complement to the gyro drippings. But in an ideal world I would get half rice half potatoes.
We wait for our food at the solitary weather-beaten picnic table. My attorney tells me about some of the irons he has in the fire: a multi-level marketing scheme, a dog breeding enterprise, and some work that the department of corrections has farmed out to him. None of it sounds legal to me, but he assures me that it is and scolds me for my ignorance.
The food arrives.
“Are these your smokes?” asks my attorney.
“Yeah, thanks,” says the gyro man, slipping the open pack into his pocket.
I unwrap my gyro and take an eager bite. Delicious as always. Then I pause to take a photo for my beloved readers. My attorney speaks:
“Do you want to try a fry?”
“That would be great,” I say. The fry is perfectly cooked and lightly sprinkled with Greek seasoning.
“I’ll take it out of my retainer.”
We eat the rest our our meal in satisfied silence. The drippings from my gyro fall into the yellow rice, which I consume with relish.
“What did you think?” I ask.
“It was pretty good. I like my gyro meat a little crispier around the edges, but the sauce was good.”
“Do you want a ride home?”
“What’s the catch?”
“You can comp me that fry.”
My attorney contemplates, then answers.
“I’ll walk.”
I get in the car and pull out of the uneven gravel lot, back onto State Street. The sun is shining. It really is a lovely day.
You can find Greek-n-Go 2.0 in Lindon, UT on the east side of State Street somewhere between 400 North and 800 North. Enjoy.