“What was the highlight of today for you?” my mom asked me after touring the Ancient Agora, in Athens, Greece, hiking up a hill for a panoramic view complete with an under-construction Parthenon, and spooking around the outside of the Acropolis museum.
I thought for a bit, considering everything I’d seen, learned and experienced that day. But then my stomach and the intensity of how much I love a good meal won out.
“I think it was the grilled sardines at lunch.” We’d stopped at a little spot recommended in my mom’s guidebook right next to the Ancient Agora for lunch, and that 8-euro plate of grilled, mini fish was so satisfying . If I weren’t a food writer, I would have been more embarrassed. As it was, I blushed a bit. It wasn’t that the home of democracy didn’t give me shivers, but the texture of those olive oil-drenched, tender beauties all lined up in a row for my feasting pleasure was a stronger feeling.
A few weeks after my return from Greece – my first overseas travel in two years – I’m realizing that most of my strong emotions associated with the trip are food-related: the figs at the pop-up Monday market near by apartment in Glyfada, the mini market that was the only thing opened Sunday where the cashier called her English-speaking boss to walk me through the attributes of some gnarly-skinned melons and three kinds of peaches (the donut or Saturn ones were exceptional, but so were the others).
I should say that the most emotional moment of the trip was my brother and sister-in-law’s wedding. There were plenty of tears. But there was also great grilled octopus, foie gras, scallops, shrimp (which I of course spilled on my dress at the cocktail hour, because how exactly are you supposed to hold a bag, a drink, a fork and a bowl of saucy shrimp? First world problems, yes.
Know what wasn’t a first-world problem? Ostracism. That was an Ancient Greek problem (for those who were ostracized). Whenever politicians wanted to get rid of a rival, they’d try to get others on board to ostracism him (they were all “him”s back then). There’d be a vote and if there was a majority, that person would be kicked out of the city for 10 years, said a plaque at the museum of the Ancient Agora.
But back to the food, which generally came with a view, whether from Ithaki restaurant in Voula (photo at the top), with its octopus in ago blanco, melon, green beans, pickled cucumber and almonds, or from the wraparound terrace of my airbnb where I opened cans of gigantes beans in tomato sauce, marinated anchovies and, once, braised a whole sea bream in my toaster oven with its three burners on top – plenty of space to wilt the kilo of wild greens I got at the market in a little of the high-alcohol Greek xinomavro organic red wine from stellar local wine shop Cava Anthidis (the staff were incredibly knowledgeable and helpful). I didn’t make it to a single wine bar one of the people there recommended in Athens and Voula, but I imagine it would have been fun.
Instead, I have a single bottle of red left to open (update: opened; made with an indigenous grape similar to xinomavro, but not xinomavro; very big and fruity and heavy, but no tannins). And while I no longer have a view of the beach, a desert-like hill to climb in the morning, or a hammock to lie in while the Mediterranean breeze rushes above me, I imagine I’m better off drinking back those memories via the wine. After all, for me, food and drink are my strongest memories.
Besides weddings, of course.
Here are the rest of the photos:
Leave a Reply