These great dreams are based on a sandwich that was all but unknown in Germany as recently as 20 years ago. But during the worldwide recession of the mid-1970's, German factories started laying off Turkish laborers who had come as "guest workers." Desperate for employment, some started selling doner kebabs from street-corner stands.

In the late 1970's, stands opened in Berlin, Frankfurt, Munich and other big cities. In the 80's, the web spread to university towns like Tubingen and Freiburg. The greatest boom came in the early 90's, when vendors pushed eastward and introduced the delicacy to millions who had suffered from doner deprivation during decades of Communist dictatorship.

Today the frontiers are in villages and hamlets that have thus far managed to resist the surging trend. In the Hessian town of Bad Soden, for example, where not a single Turk is known to live, a longtime resident said recently that she had never heard of doner kebab. Almost as she spoke, however, a doner stand was opening in the town center.

Although doners are available in some Turkish restaurants, most are sold from small stands that cater to takeout customers. Many stands are jammed at lunchtime and then do more modest business until closing, which is usually late in the evening.

"Doner kebab" translates literally from Turkish as "turned meat." The meat is slowly roasted on a vertical spit, then sliced off and stuffed into a triangular piece of toasted pita bread with lettuce, tomatoes, onions, garlic sauce and whatever else the vendor chooses to include. It makes a hearty meal and sells for about $3.

Versions of the doner are known outside Germany, but Turks scoff at them. They say that the meat used in gyros, for example, which are sold in some American cities, is not only sliced too thick but often made from pork, which disqualifies it as a legitimate expression of Turkish culture.

In Turkey itself, there is such a wide variety of cuisine that the doner has not been finely developed. While it is available in Turkish cities, it has never become the obsession there that it is here.

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Germany is not known as a fad-oriented country, and the speed with which the doner kebab has spread throughout the land has fueled much reflection. The playwright Gaby Sikorski has written a highly successful satire called "The Last Doner," which begins with Parliament banning the food in 1999 on the ground that too many Germans are becoming addicted to it. The decision leads to "doner riots" and the emergence of a criminal underground to supply a desperate population.

"My first doner was an experience I will never forget," Ms. Sikorski recalled. "It was on a hot summer day, although of course it may also have been a chilly autumn evening. Anyway, a tomato slice fell onto my new blouse. I was able to throw away the blouse, but my love for doner has remained constant to this day, even though the tomatoes still fall out."

Some doner enthusiasts express their affection in almost erotic terms. "I love you, I honor you, I devour you," the actress Iris Wegner rhapsodized. "What remains is a trace of your scent on my clothing."

One of Berlin's most respected social scientists, Eberhard Seidel-Pielen, recently published a study called "How Doner Came to the Germans." Sitting under paintings of the Bosporus at Hasir, a Turkish restaurant where he considers the doner to be especially good, Mr. Seidel-Pielen explained the social implications of the recent boom.

"For many Germans, the doner was their first contact with foreign culture," he said. "Turks who sell doners gave them their first chance to see foreigners in a role other than refugees or asylum-seekers.

"This is especially true in the former East Germany. Take a town like Hoyerswerda, where there were terrible racist riots a few years ago. Now there are 15 doner stands there, and you don't hear anything about attacks on foreigners. There is a connection. The doner has definitely helped calm Germany down. It has changed the face of the nation."