Photo by Adriana GrantSome of the best gyros in town.This tiny, adobe-looking,

Photo by Adriana GrantSome of the best gyros in town.This tiny, adobe-looking, hole-in-the-wall at the triangular corner of Second Avenue and South Main Street will surprise you. Main Street Gryos doesn’t look like much. So much not like much that I’d never been. Go at lunch, at it’ll be packed with clean-jeaned Amazonites, each and every one of them spooning from a bowl of lentil soup. It must be good, you’ll think. It is.You’ll have to plot to grab a seat, though, as the crowd has the look of regulars, and not all of them are packing to eat at their desks. The menu ranges from falafel to lamb and chicken shawarma (with curried bits of your choice of meat) available as gyros or plated with salad, hummus, and pita. The gyro is plenty big, with meat or veggie chunks spilling from fluffy flatbread, accompanied by curls of crisp iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, and white onions. The sandwiches are messy, moistened by the meats’ respective curry-scented juices, and, though not giant, they’re substantially more filling than they look. And very, very tasty. The dolmas were green oily fingers redolent with fresh mint, served with a perfect garlicky tatziki, a nice complement to the herb-like grape leaves.The soup is on the house. The two men behind the counter will push it on you, as you wait, doling out bowl after bowl. It’s good, they’ll tell you. Listen. Have some. One complaint: there is no view from inside this Mediterranean microcosm. All the few windows, which you’ll want to be looking out of, are papered in self-advertisements. Photos of your gyro, bigger than life. Once you’re settled with your own sandwich, you want a view out, not the view of an advert. Spolier Alert: Don’t go near the baklava. The brittle triangles, to quote my dining companion, tasted as if they were several weeks old and dipped in plastic, but not before absorbing all the savory flavors emitted by the tiny kitchen. Avoid: you’ll be happier.I complimented the surprisingly complex lentil soup, trying to find out what was in it. “Coriander?” I asked. “Cardamom?” “Curry powder,” I was told, with a smile that would reveal no more. “It’s Arabic.” For my trouble, I was handed an extra portion of soup, presented to me in a brown bag: a gift. These guys cook well, wrapping up some of the best gyros in town. And they’re sweet. Go.