Shahi Naan Kebab
(noun)
The Southall sacrament, performed only inside the most iconic of the Shahi Naan Kebabs - the one perched on the bridge by Southall Station.
It starts innocent: A group of Punjabi dudes loaded on Jameson enter the kebab shop. Jaspal orders a large lamb shish. But while the naan’s heating, Gurdeep’s already bent over the counter where they usually carve the meat. The chef, still rocking his greasy apron, doesn’t give a fuck - he just keeps shaving doner slices while using the same tongs to spread chilli sauce straight into Balraj’s crack. Meanwhile, the server is behind the till with his gloves still on, wanking Manpreet off like it’s part of the meal deal, slapping garlic mayo across his shaft in perfect zig-zags.
Tony gets body-slammed onto the salad counter - shredded lettuce and diced onions sticking to his sweaty back like confetti - while Harry’s cock disappears between the naan stackers by the grill. The “naan” part? That’s when the chef slaps a fresh butter naan straight onto Gurdeep’s arse like a hot compress. The “kebab”? A spitroast so deep the sneeze guard rattles, with the server chanting “extra sauce, bossman!” mid-thrust.
By the end, the Coke fridge is splattered, the floor’s a minefield of cum, chilli, and naan crumbs, and the chef casually wipes the counter down before handing the next customer their order — like nothing ever happened.
(noun)
The Southall sacrament, performed only inside the most iconic of the Shahi Naan Kebabs - the one perched on the bridge by Southall Station.
It starts innocent: A group of Punjabi dudes loaded on Jameson enter the kebab shop. Jaspal orders a large lamb shish. But while the naan’s heating, Gurdeep’s already bent over the counter where they usually carve the meat. The chef, still rocking his greasy apron, doesn’t give a fuck - he just keeps shaving doner slices while using the same tongs to spread chilli sauce straight into Balraj’s crack. Meanwhile, the server is behind the till with his gloves still on, wanking Manpreet off like it’s part of the meal deal, slapping garlic mayo across his shaft in perfect zig-zags.
Tony gets body-slammed onto the salad counter - shredded lettuce and diced onions sticking to his sweaty back like confetti - while Harry’s cock disappears between the naan stackers by the grill. The “naan” part? That’s when the chef slaps a fresh butter naan straight onto Gurdeep’s arse like a hot compress. The “kebab”? A spitroast so deep the sneeze guard rattles, with the server chanting “extra sauce, bossman!” mid-thrust.
By the end, the Coke fridge is splattered, the floor’s a minefield of cum, chilli, and naan crumbs, and the chef casually wipes the counter down before handing the next customer their order — like nothing ever happened.
Example in a sentence:
“Fam, I popped into Shahi Naan Kebab by Southall Station and swear the chef had one hand on the doner knife and the other inside Balraj — proper Shahi Naan Kebab special.”
“Fam, I popped into Shahi Naan Kebab by Southall Station and swear the chef had one hand on the doner knife and the other inside Balraj — proper Shahi Naan Kebab special.”
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