Lunchtime Liturgy: The case for Lebanese Bites over Bakery 164

Bakery 164 is iconic. I use that as a neutral term – a factual observation. I make this clear, as I do not endorse the views put forth by those who venerate it as though it were the second-coming of Christ, gracefully descending from heaven onto their taste buds. Perhaps this is dramatic. Though similarly, it could be said that the queues that form outside, almost guaranteed with weather above 10°C, are dramatic. Students at the University of Leeds are besotted by this place. After all, they not only have a vast selection of reasonably tasty sandwiches (in multiple bread forms) but are semi-reasonably priced too. Most significantly though is the cultural implication. A sandwich from Bakery 164 inevitably feeds into the aestheticized moment of self-realisation many have, sat on the Parkinson building steps, sandwich sheathed, either too hot or not hot enough, whilst they roll their tobacco, or puff on their small fluorescent sticks, colloquially known as ‘dispos.’ I mean not to cast any hate in the direction of such individuals. I too have partaken in such activity, and I cannot say that it was unpleasurable. However, now that I have seen the light, I see it as my moral duty to act as a prophet. Like the evangelising Christians luring the drunk with biscuits outside Fruity’s, I aim to show you the light. 

The light takes the form of the harshly lit, sticky floored Lebanese Bites. As you enter, the magical display reminds you that they are not a mere kebab shop but can provide you with anything from pizza (for gustatory perverts) to warak enab (stuffed vine leaves) to shawarma. This is not your average kebab. Since I had my first chicken shawarma all those months ago, I’ve gravitated back, like a moth to a flame in a ritual now infamously known as ‘kebab Tuesday.’ That which you see on the rotating spit is not the unhealthy amalgamation of macerated off cuts but a sophisticated stack of well-marinated meat. I resist extending my venerations to the rest of the menu, for the fight that I am to launch into is that over the lunch choice.

There are the bulwarks of 164 who’ll instantly object, likely on grounds of cost. However, this claim would be simply unsubstantiated. For a pound or two more than any of the palatable 164s you can become the proud consumer of a chicken taouk (cubed chicken, similar to souvlaki) or chicken shawarma. If you’re willing to push the boat out lamb may be added for an extra fifty pence, which inevitably provides you with the loving embrace that your hangover yearns for. 

Let us now turn our attention to the sandwich shop. Their sandwich flavours are good, though nothing remarkable. Chicken, bacon, halloumi and mayo; bacon and brie; chicken bacon Caesar (see image for reference); and chicken avocado. None of these are life changing. They are, on average, rather dry, meagrely filled with a high bread-content ratio. This contrasts strongly with the abundance of meat found in a shawarma, perfectly moist thanks to the lashings of toum (homemade garlic sauce) and always toasted free of charge. There is an option to ameliorate the 164 sandwich, namely by requesting it be toasted, though this incurs two irritating costs: a 30p stealth charge and an incomprehensible queue. I say incomprehensible for there is always a queue and, unlike that very fine purveyor of shawarma just down the road, one does not wait in excited anticipation, watching the masterful craftsman work on their lunch, ready in just 6 minutes. No, instead one joins an obstructive queue on the pavement, vexation bubbling until, after 17 minutes, the pocket of mediocrity is blessed upon them (yes, I did obtain these numbers through journalistic rigour, though admittedly the study was done shortly after the relocation of 164).

Thus far, I have established that 164 is inferior in both wait-time and cost. However, I’m sure there will be disgruntled rumblings from the ever-growing martyrs of ‘healthy-living,’ who’ll profess this lunch choice to be unhealthy. To this, I have two responses. First, I’d like to reiterate that the shawarma is far less fatty, using larger pieces of whole meat, when compared to the average ‘kebab’ (which commonly conjures the mental image of the elephant-leg döner); I’d urge people to restrain their kebab prejudice and note the varying forms they come in. Additionally, though admittedly not a food nutritionist, I contend that the shawarma is far more nutritious than a 164. If I were to tell you blindly that one lunch option were packed with lettuce, pickles, tomato and onions and the other contained a few sad leaves, I know which I’d presume to be the more balanced. There is, sadly, the chance that I am wrong to make these claims, in which case I’d confidently state that it is almost certainly more nourishing for the soul.

My proselytising ends here. In order to understand my motivations behind this piece, I urge you to go and try one for yourself. Take a second and sit on the steps. Unsheathe your disposable, or your cigarette. Admittedly the latter is better suited to stand up to the bold flavours of a shawarma. Look at the hand with which your lunch is held and know that you’ve made the right choice; a gleaming shawarma looks up at you, rather than a damp white bag, clung onto by dust-coated fingers. Bakery 164 is named after their address; Lebanese Bites asks the individual to envisage their first mouthful, the very thought of which wins over both my heart and my card. 

Words by Alex Wallace