Born in Greece, the Gyros’ Spinning American Soul Belongs to Chicago

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Long before gastropubs and gourmet donuts, Division Street near Rush Street was Chicago’s unofficial party row, a blur of flashing lights, disco beats, and thin gold chains. In the 1970s, when nightlife didn’t slow down until near sunrise, you needed something fast, filling, and just a little trashy to soak up the booze and keep the groove alive all the way home.

That something was often gyros.

Back then, the unofficial after-hours temple for late-night eats on the Gold Coast was Five Faces Ice Cream Shop. A tiny fluorescent-lit joint with five anonymous mugs painted above the entrance, Five Faces Ice Cream Shop, despite its name, wasn’t known for dessert. Asking for ice cream there was like requesting a salad at a steakhouse. No, this was where you came for the hot, greasy salvation of a foil-wrapped pita sandwich bursting at the seams with spit-roasted meat: the gyros.

Birth of a Chicago Icon

Outside Five Faces, a sign displaying an image of a twirling meat tornado read “Kronos.” That sounded more like a Marvel villain than a food brand – but for generations of partiers, it meant one thing: a rite of passage, a meal as much about the moment as the flavor.

If you’ve never had a gyros (and if not, you really should rectify that immediately), here’s the breakdown. The word “gyros” comes from the Greek for “turn,” and it refers to seasoned lamb and beef (sometimes pork or chicken), shaped into a vertical cone, roasted slowly on a spit, and shaved into ribbons of sizzling, savory glory. It’s typically stuffed into warm pita bread, topped with tomato, onion, and a cooling dollop of tzatziki, a cucumber-yogurt sauce that tastes like ranch dressing’s Mediterranean cousin.

Today, gyros are practically everywhere, including small storefronts and white tablecloth restaurants. What many don’t realize is that Chicago is the city that gave gyros their American glow-up.

Before we go any further, let’s settle the pronunciation. Greeks say “yee-ros.” But in Chicago, good luck getting served unless you go with “guy-rohs.” You’ll commonly hear the “s” dropped for a simple “guy-roh.”

From Greece (and Turkey) with Love

Although gyros are considered quintessentially Greek, their story is more complex, a true culinary remix. Their closest ancestor is the Turkish döner kebab, a similar vertical-spit style of meat preparation developed by the Ottomans. Döner found its way to Greece sometime in the 19th or early 20th century, where it evolved into the pork-heavy Greek gyros. And from there, it crossed the Atlantic. (The ever-adaptable döner also eventually became extraordinarily popular in Germany thanks to Turkish guest workers and begat both shawarma in the Middle East and tacos al pastor in Mexico.) 

In Chicago, pork wasn’t always ideal, as it was unacceptable to some religious dietary laws. So, the city did what it always does: we beefed it up. (The presence of abundant beef from The Union Stockyards also helped.) Lamb-and-beef blends became the standard, made to please a wide range of palates, faiths, and late-night cravings.

The Industrialization of Meat Cones

The gyro’s American debut likely traces back to George Apostolou, a Greek immigrant who served them at Lawndale’s Parkview Restaurant as early as 1965.

But it was the creation of the pre-formed meat cone that changed the game. Before that, chefs hand-packed slabs of meat onto rotating spits, a time-consuming process that yielded an inconsistent product. Enter Peter Parthenis, a Chicago engineer and a regular at local Greek restaurants. At that time, the imported vertical rotisseries kept breaking down and made-in-Greece replacement parts were not easy to procure. Parthenis was asked by some restaurant owners to build a sturdier model using local components that could be procured and installed locally.

Parthenis came up with just such a rotisserie, but he quickly realized the real money wasn’t in selling the hardware – it was in the meat.

Parthenis began mass-producing gyros cones that could be frozen, shipped, warmed, and then sliced with speed and consistency straight from the rotisserie. His company, Grecian Delight, would later merge with Kronos, cementing Chicago as ground zero for gyros manufacturing in America.

Of course, success has many fathers...and mothers. Andre Papantoniou of gyros supplier Olympia Foods credits a man named John Garlic (yes, really) as the inventor of the machine-made meat cone. Garlic’s wife, not to be outdone, claimed the idea was hers. And so it goes.

Gyros Spin into the Mainstream

Back in 1969, gyros were still exotic enough for Chicago Tribune columnist Kay Loring to describe them as “a great round meat cake resembling meatloaf being broiled on a large spit.” Not exactly a Michelin-friendly description, but Loring declared it “delicious,” and gyros were off and running, er, spinning.

What started as an immigrant specialty became a cornerstone of Chicago’s street food scene, thanks to a blend of ingenuity, hustle, and a city that embraces bold flavors and big portions.

Today, gyros are no longer a novelty. But the real ones, the ones carved fresh off a spinning spit, are still a street-corner indulgence.

The Legacy Lives On

Five Faces is gone now, a victim of rising rents and changing tastes. But I still make pilgrimages to Central Gyros (3127 N. Central Ave.) to watch the meat turn, breathe in that unmistakable aroma of sizzling fat and spices, and eat a well-made gyros sandwich.

Some places now serve pre-sliced and packaged gyros meat crisped up on a flat-top grill. It’s fine. But the real magic? That happens when a street vendor or hole-in-the-wall cook hands you a steaming pita piled high with crusty, caramelized meat, fresh onions, and a cool dollop of tzatziki.

Gyros may have traveled from Istanbul to Athens, but its American soul belongs to Chicago. It’s more than just a sandwich. It’s a symbol of immigrant ingenuity, culinary evolution, and the universal human need to eat something greasy, glorious, and comforting after the music stops.

And in this city? We like it spinning.