From Naxos, With Love

by Espen Indrisano (United States of America)

Making a local connection Greece

Can you smell that? I believe that is shredded lamb, pork souvlaki and a medley of vegetables grilling over charcoals. I am sitting at an outdoor table at Taverna H Mina, a family owned restaurant in the quaint, peaceful streets of Glynado, one of many villages on the Greek island of Naxos. There are no tourists dining here, only locals. This already puts my mind at ease. The more I travel, the more I begin to understand that these are the types of joints I gravitate towards when I am in a new, exotic place for the first time, and for good reason. To put it simply, Greek food - and all of Mediterranean cuisine, for that matter - is a delicacy. I could spend an eternity describing in great detail for you the near orgasmic pleasures Greek street food can evoke in me, but I digress. I will admit, I do tend to hopelessly romanticize my journeys abroad, so I apologize in advance. Let's return to the real heart and soul of this tale. Life on Naxos is enchanting. The Meltemi winds, which I quickly fell in love with, are an ever-present delight. You're familiar with that sensation, right? The cool wind in your face; that relaxing howl. Not a worry in the world. You can pretend for a moment that all is well. As the largest and only self-sufficient island in the Cyclades, Naxos is unique. For starters, it boasts a storied and proud history, one which inevitably goes back to the days of Greek mythology. And to top it all off, the gastronomic wonderlands on the island will take a firm grasp of your soul and never let go. Unless you consider the ability to say "please" and "thank you" in Greek as having a decent command over the language, nobody in my family can speak a word of the beautiful language, much to our disappointment. But that was never going to intimidate. The mission was simple: find a group of locals and dine with them. We had recently disembarked the ferry which took us from Piraeus to Chora, or Naxos Town. Let's just say we were hungry and in need of some nourishment. After the 20 minute drive up the hills from the town's port to our village house, we strolled into town, guided by the mouthwatering scents and the voices of the restaurant's patrons drawing nearer. Our waitress for the evening, unsurprisingly, was Mina, the workhorse grandmother who not only owned the restaurant, but prepared almost all of the food, alongside what seemed to be her son at the grill. She barely spoke a word of English, but I could see in her eyes she was excited to be entertaining guests from America. Let's just say we ordered something. What we knew for sure is that we would all be served Mythos, the Greek beer that is best enjoyed ice cold after a long day of aimless wandering. Much to our delight, Mina served us a bit of everything. We savagely wolfed down orders of saganaki, souvlaki and moussaka. Mina later brought us her homemade baklava, which I gather was free of charge because our bill, which could not have been more that $20, certainly did not include dessert. After the meal, my brother I headed inside the kitchen to thank Mina with a tip. At first, she was distinctly taken aback. I assume she thought I intended to pay for something else, but one of her family members, I hope, helped her understand that it was a token of appreciation for the hospitality. Suddenly, her face lit up. She gave my brother and I a powerful hug, laughing along with us. She asked us to wait a moment and returned with ice cream from her freezer. "For you," she told us, with a beaming smile across her face. As a self-proclaimed ice cream addict, I will admit, it put the cherry on top on what was my favorite night in Greece. But it was Mina's warmth and genuine kindness which brought my brother and I back for dinner each night, as we began to feel more and more at home on that island far, far away.