Yogurt Marinade Spices.
Ten Global Flavors.

Inspired by late-night souvlaki in Athens — charred meat carved off the spit, wrapped in warm pita, eaten standing on a side street with tzatziki dripping down your wrist.

Inspired by the Sunday markets of Provence — where dried lavender hangs beside bundles of thyme and rosemary, and every roast chicken smells like the herb garden it was seasoned from.

Inspired by the shish taouk stands of Beirut's Hamra Street — yogurt-marinated chicken charred over open flame, served with garlic sauce so good you'd cross a city for it.

Inspired by late-night gogigui in Seoul — sizzling tabletop grills, meat glazed with gochugaru and sesame, wrapped in lettuce with pickled radish and a smear of ssamjang.

Inspired by roadside jerk pits in Portland Parish — oil drum smokers glowing with pimento wood, scotch bonnet heat softened by allspice and thyme, the whole coast smelling like Sunday dinner.

Inspired by the tikka stalls of Old Delhi's Chandni Chowk — where spice smoke fills narrow lanes and every vendor's marinade is a family secret passed down for generations.

Inspired by the night markets of Bangkok's Yaowarat Road — woks flaring in the dark, lemongrass and galangal in the air, and satay vendors fanning charcoal smoke across the crowd.

Inspired by the tangia pots of Marrakech — slow-cooked in the embers of a neighborhood hammam, seasoned with preserved lemon, cumin, and saffron until the meat falls apart at a whisper.

Inspired by the döner stands of Istanbul's Karaköy district — meat spinning slowly on a vertical spit, shaved thin, seasoned with cumin and sumac, tucked into warm bread with a smear of yogurt.

Inspired by anticucho carts along the streets of Cusco — skewered beef heart marinated in aji amarillo and cumin, charred over coals, served with a squeeze of lime and a cold Cusqueña.