7/12/2017 0 Comments A Table Amid the FarmsYou might have had yogurt for breakfast. Maybe even “Greek style” yogurt that is popular today. I did as well.
The yogurt in my bowl was from a dairy farm in Nea Kios, a seaside village about four miles from my kitchen here in Nauplion, Greece. Made from sheep’s milk, it was thick and tangy. You need two spoons to get it out of the container: one to scoop and the other to scrape it from the first spoon into the dish. I topped it with dark golden honey and walnuts. The honey was harvested from bee colonies that gathered nectar from the purple-white flowers of summer thyme growing in the mountainside village of Kranidi about twenty miles down the coast from here. I’m sure of the provenance, because I purchased the honey and yogurt directly from the second and third-generation owners of both businesses. They were selling at booths set up at a fair. The enthusiastic Katerina at the yogurt stand insisted that I taste the various styles of yogurt. She also had a glossy brochure showing photos of the dairy farm and the production process. To be sure, the family business had been around a long time without the need for any sales literature. The same was true at the honey stand. Several jars with disposable spoons were offered for tasting. Giorgios, the twenty-something young man in charge, explained that his family had been harvesting honey for several generations. He had an advanced degree from the Athens University of Economics and Business. But not finding a job, he returned to Kranidi and applied his business acumen to marketing his family’s products. If either the yogurt or honey were available in the U.S. they would be featured in an Eater Heatmap and a New York Times food section write-up. But here in Greece farm-to-table products have simply been a way of life for years. Even today produce is purchased primarily through local farmers markets or from small independent markets that specialize in fruits and vegetables. In my town of Nauplion the “laiki”, or farmers’ market, is held twice a week – Wednesday and Saturday mornings. Farmers load up their trucks and bring their oranges, nectarines, cherries, watermelons, leafy greens – whatever the fields are giving forth, and hawk them under portable tents along the designated street in town. The scene is lively with each stall owner cajoling passersby to purchase – the sweetest! freshest! best quality! -- that they have to offer. Yes, you can find a meager produce section at supermarkets. But it is not how Greeks are accustomed to shopping for their kitchens. What has changed in the past twenty years, and was accelerated by the debt crisis and subsequent widespread unemployment, is that the farm-to-table way of life has donned a mantle of modern business. As Giorgios and Katerina show, a new generation is turning long-standing local production into boutique industries. They are leapfrogging food trends in the U.S. In the early 2000s much was made of countries in sub-Saharan Africa going from having no telephone service at all directly to widespread mobile phone use. In much the way they leapfrogged landlines, Greece skipped an era of mainstream food (with some exceptions) and is simply updating the traditional ways of delivering locally made foodstuffs. It is really heartening to see that the Greek spirit and ability to make the most of any circumstance is alive and well in 2017. Kali Orexi!
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7/3/2017 2 Comments 112 Degrees in the Shade“Everyone complains about the weather, but no one ever does anything about it.” – Mark Twain The temperature had reached 105, according the thermometer on my apartment balcony, at half past three o’clock on Saturday when the power failed. A split second later a muffled bass boom reached my ears. The air conditioner clicked off and everything fell silent for a moment. A strange alarm began sounding nearby. Like something you’d hear on a submarine in the movies with a high metallic screech. I felt a slight dread and looked outside. Nothing but the bright, harsh sunlight of July in Greece. Not a single car driving by. I figured something would happen soon. Just a temporary power surge. After all it was a weekend afternoon and at this time of day lots of people would be at home sitting down for a family lunch. Nearly everyone would be running their AC for a bit. Surely in some electrical facility an engineer was following procedures to kick in the backup system and we’d all go about our business. I still thought that an hour later as the temperature kept rising. And then two hours later when I started thinking about the perishables in the refrigerator that I’d stocked just that morning. And then four hours later when I was planning out my evening to be somewhere cooler. Heading down the stairwell I ran into a neighbor who said he’d heard that the whole city had gone out and that it was serious. Might be much later before we had power. “Can you believe that? How can the authorities let this happen? We rely on tourism here, what are all the visitors in hotels going to do? This doesn’t happen in America does it?” I mumbled something about how it does happen occasionally. Although I couldn’t honestly remember the power being out for more than an hour, even during a winter ice storm. I went down to the harbor front where, to my relief, the power was on. At the café the talk was that the electricity had been coming in and out intermittently all afternoon. I heard more commentary on the sad state of affairs of the country’s infrastructure. So, as I nursed my Souroti, a cold sparkling water, I thought of how Greeks beat the heat. This is a Mediterranean country with hot summers. People have been figuring out ways to live in this environment for a long time. Here is my list of top ten ways Greeks stay cool in the summer: Shade Pretty obvious, but the good thing about Greece is that the humidity is usually pretty low. About 15 percent or so during the day. If you are in the shade of the coffee shop or your balcony you are already much better off. This also goes for wearing long sleeves and pants. Seems counter intuitive, but you’ll be cooler without the sun hitting your skin directly. Hydration Lots of cool water. Ice cubes are not common. In the States we throw ice cubes in everything. Here you might get a couple in your iced coffee or served in a bowl with a spoon with your ouzo. But the cool water is actually better for you because your body doesn’t have to work as hard to regulate your temperature to bring ice cold drinks back up to your normal temperature. A submarine Not the military kind, but the traditional Greek summer spoon treat. This is usually made with masticha, a sticky white paste that is dunked into a glass of water. You slowly lick off the spoon the sweet masticha which is made from the sap of trees that grow only on the island of Chios. Another favorite is vyssinada. This is a sweet syrup made with sour cherries and stirred into a cold water. My grandmother made it every year. Freddo espresso Up until a few years ago, the king of summertime iced coffee drinks in Greece was the frappe. It was just Nescafe instant coffee chilled. Now the preference is for a real espresso shot shaken with ice. The caffeine jolt in the ice coffee helps you cool off. Fresh fruit Every meal here ends with a tray of sweet fresh fruit. Greece has an abundance of excellent summer fruits – cherries, peaches, oranges, apricots, nectarines and lots of melons. Later in the summer, grapes and figs abound. Gelato You’ll find plenty of this Italian treat everywhere. It has a lighter texture and more bold flavors than ice cream. Much better for the hot summertime. Siesta No reason to go out and about between 3 and 6 pm. Take a nap instead. Like many southern European countries, Greeks time shift their day to accommodate the weather. Ouzo/Tsipouro/Masticha These local Greek aperitifs are another good way to cool off in the evening. Especially when you add ice to the ouzo and it turns a nice milky white. Take a “voutia” Head to the beach for a swim. Greece has more coastline than any other country in the Mediterranian. You are never far from the ocean. Cold shower If you can’t get to the beach, a cold shower is a good substitute. In fact, there is a body of scientific evidence proving cold showers have a lot of health benefits from increasing immune system function to lowering depression. Seriously, Google it. The point is that Greeks face the heat, as with many things in life, by accepting and adapting. In the U.S. we tend to run from an air conditioned house, to an air conditioned car to an air conditioned office or store. We resist and fight nature. There is much less stress in going with the flow a little bit. I returned to my condo building at about 11:30 p.m. only to find that the power was still out. Everyone was out on their balconies to catch at least some evening breeze even though the temperature had only dropped to the mid-nineties. We all watched as a truck from the electric company rolled down the street. Someone jumped out with a headlamp on his forehead and consulted a map. A group of four or five men with reflective vests stood around talking to neighbors who had come down to the street. But nothing happened. I lay down on my bed and was as still as possible. Sometime around one in the morning the power came back on. I half expected the balconies to erupt in cheers and clapping. But everyone just went about their evening as if this was just another part of life. I slept with the air conditioning on the rest of the night and it was awesome. I’ll save the gelato for breakfast. 6/28/2017 1 Comment Build Bridges Not MoatsOn the first morning I’ve woken up in Greece, I’m standing in the middle of an aisle at Lidl. I don’t have a cart yet because I’m deciding whether this is the right place to shop for the essentials I need to restock the family apartment that has been unoccupied for eight months. Also, I didn’t have a Euro coin which is needed to click into a slot on the shopping cart to release it from the lock.
Pallets of cans, jars and complexly folded waxpaper cartons are stacked on metal shelves separated by bins filled with jumbles of house slippers, underwear and children’s toys. It is essentially tiny K-Mart but everything is labeled in Greek, which must look like hieroglyphics to the surprising number of European tourists shopping here. (Incidentally, if a Greek can’t decipher something he doesn’t, of course, say “It’s Greek to me” but rather “Looks like Chinese.”) I poke around seeking bed sheets and realize that even though I can read Greek, I don’t read metrics. Are the 120 centimeter ones adequate? But before I can ask a European to stretch their hands apart to demonstrate the length, there is an intercom announcement: “Please place all your items on the conveyer belt. The store will close in a few minutes and will reopen at one o’clock.” Wait, what? It is 10:45 on a Friday morning. The store closes for two hours in the middle of the day? Welcome to a different set of rules. Abandoning Lidl, I decide a local store will be better. The woman at the counter is pleasant enough but openly chuckles at my first inquiry about the sheets. She corrects my Greek and comments that all Greek-speakers from America speak with the same odd accent. Now this is something that I’ve always known. Despite being fluent, I speak with a “prophora” – an accent. Even though my first words were in Greek and I was sent home from kindergarten with a note pinned to my shirt with instructions that more English should be spoken at home. The woman admitted she had never travelled abroad and did not speak any other language herself. So, maybe instead of being petty, she really just didn’t have much experience. She didn’t realize that, for example, most native English speakers can identify someone for whom English is a second language and even determine by their accent whether they were Italian, French, or just from Brooklyn for that matter. Thankfully most Greeks are much more open-minded. Later, that same day the young mechanic changing my car tires soberly explained the brand he would use. When I told him that instead I wanted a set of Pirelli supersofts, he laughed and joked “What are you Lewis Hamilton?” I’d found a connection with a reference to Formula One racing that would have been lost on almost any American, even an auto mechanic. I was also curious enough to attend my first Greek condo association meeting for our building after seeing the notice posted on the elevator door (photo above). The gathering was in the lobby, an area just bigger than a London phone booth. There are nearly thirty units in the building but only about five owners, all men, showed up and we moved to the outdoor vestibule to take advantage of the evening air. I was warmly greeted and asked if I needed any help during my stay this summer. There was a genuine interest in me as a person and what I liked to do and what my plans were. No one commented on my accent. The only order of business was to elect a new treasurer who is responsible for collecting the association fees and paying the vendors that maintain the building. Themios, the current treasurer was feed up with the task and constant complaints. Meetings like this in the U.S. can get contentious and even ugly. And while there were voluble speakers with outsized gesticulations, there was a decency in the interactions with each other. It was clear after a while that no one wanted to take on the role, so I offered my nomination. This was first met with blank stares until they realized that I was making a joke. Smiles and laughs all around. In the end, there wasn’t any decision other than to reschedule the meeting for the next day. The Greek government is run pretty much the same way. Themios and I made plans to get together for coffee. At some point each of us is either the odd-one-out or among those in-the-know. If you are unfamiliar with the rules or feel like everyone else is in on a joke that you don’t get, roll with it. Revel in it. Find the humor in the situation and laugh at yourself a bit. You just may learn something about yourself and grow. If you are one of the tribe and see an outsider, reach out to her. Just because she has an accent or doesn’t know how to properly order at Starbucks, doesn’t tell you anything about her intelligence or personality. Find some common ground. Build bridges instead of digging moats. And if you don’t want your feet sticking out in the air, go with the 160 cm sheets. 5/4/2017 1 Comment It's My NamedayAfter I shut off my ringing alarm clock on Wednesday morning, my wife leaned over in our bed to kiss my cheek and say “Xronia Polla,” a Greek phrase translated literally as “many years.” It is a traditional wish that the person to whom you direct it enjoy many more years of life. She was eager to be the first to celebrate the fact that the day was my nameday.
To all my Greek friends, this is a well-known tradition. But it always occurs to me that for many of my acquaintances it is unfamiliar. Which is too bad considering it is a beautiful custom that carries deep meaning and has some pretty useful practicality to boot. We are Greek Orthodox and our church celebrates many saints and martyrs in the Christian faith. Catholics have also adopted this tradition. For just about every day on the calendar there is a saint whose memory is commemorated. Usually there are even multiple saints that celebrate on the same day. The saint is typically celebrated on the day he or she died. Which at first blush might seem strange, but the idea is that is the day that they passed over into the bright side of life and are in communion with God. That is a day worth celebrating. Thus, on whatever date on the calendar that saint is celebrated, the person carrying that name celebrates a nameday. In Greek this is an ονομαστική γιορτή – a name feast. While we wish people well on their nameday, we are at the same time celebrating the memory of a saint -- people whom the church has recognized as having achieved a state of exceptional holiness. Their lives have been deemed to be worthy of emulation. By connecting the celebration with the saint whose memory is honored we turn our thoughts on that day to something more meaningful. It goes beyond celebrating a person’s birthday, which is all about the individual rather than a communal and a higher purpose. It is beyond the celebration of self. And it has a practical aspect. If you know someone’ given name, you automatically know what day to wish them happy nameday and don’t have to remember some random calendar date associated with their birth. Everyone knows that you would wish George “Xronia Polla” on April 23 or Andrew on November 30, Chris or Christina on December 25 (Christmas!), Eleni (like my wife) on May 21, and so on. Of course there are some exceptions. My name is Petros. For the majority of Greeks that nameday would be celebrated on June 29 when we honor the Apostles Peter and Paul. And I often get well wishes on that day. However, I am named after a different “Peter” - Agios (Saint) Petros of Argos. He was a bishop of the church in my father’s hometown of Argos, Greece. He was known as a champion of the poor, especially helping orphans and widows. I’m blessed to have people close to me continue to celebrate these traditions and I celebrated a wonderful day. Thanks to all who wished me a happy nameday this week. 4/26/2017 1 Comment I-85 Bridge Collapse"Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go... or waiting around for a Yes or No... Everyone is just waiting." Dr. Seuss, from "Oh the Places You'll Go!" My wife called out “There is something going on out there,” as she entered the house coming from her Pilates class, a route that took her down Cheshire Bridge onto Piedmont Road. “I think Tattletales is on fire.” Well that was enough for me to turn on the television. Sure enough it was a local TV news bonanza. Bizarrely it was even more sensational that if Helen had been right about what was on fire. Turns out it was not the entertainment establishment, but a critical section of one of the most traveled interstate section in the South: I-85. Blazing fire! Traffic! Danger! Whodunit? We, of course, were transfixed. Our house is exactly 0.6 miles from where a homeless man caught fire to a chair irresponsible state officials stored flammable materials causing the collapse of our already strained traffic grid. You know the rest of the story and we have all been living with the consequences for weeks now. Some of us more than others. Every morning and late afternoon helicopters hover just near our formerly serene cul-de-sac so that broadcasters can provide Atlanta with important daily live shots of people sitting in their cars. And workers in yellow vests and hard hats thoughtfully looking into large holes. I’ll admit I have, on occasion, acted superior to my OTP friends who opted for large homes with low taxes and good school systems in the suburbs while I stayed intown where restaurant options don’t include P.F. Chang’s. But on the traffic gridlock misery index, we are now pegging the scale at an 11 plus. The only place I can get to without traveling in bumper-to-bumper traffic is the end of my street. If I put in a destination on Waze, instead of directions the app gives me a list of popular Netflix shows I might want to stay at home to watch. The OTPers have won, for now. In response we have tried to patronize local establishments. Roxx Tavern on Cheshire Bridge is one of our go-to restaurants for a good, casual weeknight meal. We ran into owner Dean Chronopoulos at church earlier in the week who waved me off when I asked how business was and said, “Don’t ask. Just come by.” Our server said she’d made barely a third of what she normally makes since the collapse turned Cheshire Bridge into a parking lot. But she was upbeat anyway and said she’d had good conversations with patrons and got to know some people better. What a great attitude. It made me think about my own attitude to “waiting.” We’ve all likely done a lot of waiting in traffic. This whole mess has given me a new outlook on waiting. It is actually a gift. It is slowing down our frantic to-and-fro and creating different options. Can you smell the roses yet? What are we “waiting” for anyway? Frustration at waiting implies that we want some future state rather than the present. And sure looking at taillights isn’t what we bargained for, but what does it say about our states of mind? Instead of being content on where we are right now, both from a geographic standpoint, and where we are in our lives, we want to be in some projected future. The present is all we have and it is pretty fabulous. Every moment of it. Enjoy it. 4/11/2017 1 Comment Lessons from GiantsThe lime-green leaves of the trees outside the funeral home glistened wet through the windowpanes reflecting a bright sun that suddenly appeared following a downpour of spring rain. The Orthodox Trisagion service on the eve of Jimmy Fotos’ funeral was concluding and the gathered friends settled in the pews behind his widow Irene, his children and other family at the front of the chapel. Father Paul and the accompanying chanter had just led the congregation in the singing of the somber “Memory Eternal” hymn. Its plaintive tones brought to mind in each of us thoughts of finality and loss. Some reminded of the funeral of a parent, others of their own mortality.
Father Paul cleared his throat and spoke in his gentle voice that was subdued both from the occasion and that we were in the final days of Lent. He spoke kindly of Jimmy Fotos who lay in an open casket just behind him, an icon of his patron saint Demetrios next to his resting face. His frail body laid out on white satin folds belied the strength and tall stature he commanded for almost all of his eighty-eight years. The priest had only known Jimmy as a man in his declining years, but exposure to Jimmy’s gale force energy at any point in his life left an impact. So he recounted the stories of Jimmy’s life that he had learned over the years. Stories that were familiar to those of us who had known Jimmy and his family for years. Father Paul recounted Jimmy’s escape from the ethnically Greek city of Politsani in Albania, considered part of Epirus the mountainous region that straddled the border with Greece. As a boy of thirteen he fled before the rising tide of communism in the country. Greek villages were being burned to the ground, churches and schools destroyed, thousands of teachers, doctors and other prominent Greeks were killed, thrown into prison or taken to concentration camps in an effort to suppress religion and Greek nationalism. Jimmy and an uncle made it over the mountains to safety in Greece and then on to America. He didn’t see his parents again for more than forty years. And he spoke of Jimmy’s success in the U.S., entering the restaurant business and eventually seeing the potential in the rise of McDonald’s. Jimmy opened a franchise and applied his energy into growing that into a chain of McDonald’s restaurants. Founder Ray Kroc later would often praise Jimmy for his success and penchant for publicity stunts to promote his stores. At the back of the funeral home we had all passed a table with framed pictures of Jimmy’s life that included a memorable black and white photo of him perched on a tightrope suspended across the parking lot of one of his restaurants, his hands resting on the shoulders of Karl Wallenda walking the rope in front of him. “We have recently lost so many of a generation of men this year,” Father Paul reminded us. “In fact we are only in April and we have buried fourteen members of this congregation. Who will replace these people in our church?” These words hit home. I had stood in this same chapel for the third time in the past five weeks attending wakes for Nick Katapodis and, a week later , for my godfather Louie Zakas. Both were men with similar stories of hard work and success from humble beginnings, of devotion to family and faith. Men who seemed to tower over their surrounding and become role models to everyone they touched. As someone in the midst of middle life, I wonder how our generation will possibly achieve the same positive impact these men had made on the lives of so many. We have been blessed with lives of plenty as a direct result of the accomplishments of men like Jimmy, Nick and Louie. We grew up in comfortable homes, attended good schools and graduated from prestigious universities. We always had every comfort of life. What have we done with that gift? Have we given back to our communities? Have we honored the legacy of these men and many others that have gone before us? Or are we distracted by the trappings of life in 2017, complaining that our Starbucks app wouldn’t load properly so we could get a flat white without digging into our wallet for cash or eyeing ads for a shiny new BMW? Are the days of building something from nothing gone? Are we jaded and soft? Will the priest be able to speak of the good works we have done at our Trisagion service and the next generation have a model on which to build their lives? I looked around the chapel filled with families and Jimmy’s elderly friends, including my father. I thought of how I could live my life in a way that built on the lessons that these men taught me through how they lived. We should bring people together. The Fotos home on Dunwoody Club Drive was always filled with people sharing stories and enjoying Jimmy and Irene’s hospitality. They opened their home and brought people together in joy. That is a simple act that can change lives. I became friends with Jimmy’s children and his oldest son Andrew became koumbaro in my marriage to Helen. As a transplant to Atlanta she was welcomed by the Fotos clan and embraced like a member of the family. My godfather Louie would host dozens of people at an open celebration of Easter at the Hellenic Center on Cheshire Bridge Road that people still remember fondly. Making connections and celebrating family and friendships was second nature to these men. We should help others. These men were generous with their talents. Nick Katapodis was devoted to his church, serving on the board of directors, mentored young people, coached basketball and volunteered in organizations that served the homeless. We should be humble. Even with the great success that these men had in life, they never saw themselves as being better than anyone else. Louie would spend time with anyone regardless of their “stature” or “importance” and give them his counsel and advice. These are attributes we can all incorporate into our lives. We can have the impact that these people had on so many because of how they lived there lives. Not because of thier "success" in how we traditionally define it. We can be selfless, caring and open our hearts to everyone. We can start today. May their memory be eternal. |
Petro KacurI have a variety of interests and enjoy sharing my reflections on them here. Archives
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