Pat-a-Pita

We decide to go with the Chicken Caesar and Falafel Petitas and line up like obedient children. After picking the former between white and whole wheat pita breads, we watch as it’s torn slightly open and slathered with the base spread (hummus, babaganoush or tsaziki) before being inundated with enough vegetables to respectfully represent a farm. From romaine and iceberg lettuce to hot peppers to mint leaves to mushrooms to sprouts, and the entire salad spectrum in between, the diced veggies are tossed into the pita with careless generosity, after which the main ingredients are added: smoked chicken and bacon for the Chicken Caesar; and falafel for the well, Falafel; the penultimate stage is the sauces (pick between salsa, BBQ, mayos and mustards, sweet chilli vinaigrette, among others), the final step is the choosing of the cheese, with a choice of feta, parmesan and cheddar, all ground for the grater good; after a last dusting of oregano and chilli flakes, the pita is ready to be toasted and dispensed.

Since you’re basically in charge of putting your entire pita together, and unless you have a very disturbing relationship with your palate, it’s kind of hard to fault the rolls . For the rest, the veggie wedges are fresh, the spreads and sauces well-made and the portion sizes generous, the pita is stuffed like a turkey on a Thanksgiving Day-table.

The one crumpled leaf in the rose-bush is the pita bread itself — light as a ballerina’s ankles and just as fragile, it tends to disintegrate mid-meal thanks to the muchness in fillings. Not that we mind licking our fingers clean, but the lady next-table looked at us askance. We’d recommend a slightly firmer bread for our new pita place.