Donairs were originally not for the lucky-in-love, but the recourse of the degenerate. They were the butt of toilet humour, the scapegoat of indigestion. The mystery meat with the secret sauce was wrapped in urban legend. It was so commonplace that we took it for granted, no more significant than hamburgers or spaghetti.

We didn't realize that it was ours. It wasn't until we made westward pilgrimages to Ontario or Alberta for school or work that the donair became a symbol of "home." Book of Donair has everything you want to know about donairs—and were going to ask anyway.

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