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“Ipiros, Filopimenos 4, Athens (Near Monastiraki metro station). This one is very nice and special, it is inside the Central Meat Market called Varvakeios.” Going through the list of restaurants and cafes in the neighbourhood written by my Airbnb host, Marina, I stumbled upon this address on my final day in Athens. "Brunch places? Ticked. Modern Greek? Ticked. Souvlaki? Ticked. Multiple times! Let’s give the meat market a try," I deliberated over my itinerary for the day. Sporting a black and white floral shirt and a pair of Adidas 3-stripes track pants, adding a jade Buddha necklace, it still did not hit me that how outlandish it would be in a Greek meat market. Here I go, searching for “Varvakeios” in Google Maps while walking towards that direction. After 15 minutes or so under the scorching sun of Athens, I stood in front of a big old-fashioned market hall. The nostalgic architecture around me somehow resembled my home, Georgetown. At this exact moment, unaware of the adventure I’ll be walking into, I just couldn’t wait to enjoy a delicious Greek meal. As I stepped into the market, it immediately instilled a sense of nostalgia. It reminded me of the wet market where I would wait for my mom to do her groceries shopping as a child. Then, walking down the boisterous hallway surrounded by a group of exuberant butchers, I started wondering if I was in the right place. Despite noticing the butchers are made up of middle-aged Greek men and South Asian men, they share the same perplexed look. Each extra steps I took, the bewilderment and puzzlement on their faces increased by one extra bit. It was just a couple of minutes since I became the focal point of the market but it felt like I had spent an hour there. "Where’s the restaurant? Should I just leave and dine elsewhere?" I thought in consternation. However, as I took a deeper step into the market, the butchers started approaching me with ebullience. Never would I had thought, a Greek man who couldn’t speak any English would attempt to persuade a tourist to buy some meat. “I am a tourist. I’m not buying any meat,” I said. They finally left me alone after realising that I had no intention to purchase anything. And, after 20 minutes which lasted way longer in my mind, I found the restaurant, “Ipiros”. "This better be good." I whispered to myself after the “life-changing escapade” of walking through a myriad of meat as a foreigner in Athens. But, the doubt went out of the window as soon as I saw the eclectic mix of dishes and soups through the window because it reminded me of “mixed rice” from home. What characterises “mixed rice” is the broad range of flavours, which is emblematic of the marriage of cultures in Malaysia, served in massive old metal trays and pots. Reminiscing on “mixed rice”, I envisaged that these dishes were going to taste like the comfort food your grandma would make. I was assured that this thrilling meat market trip was going to be worth it. Why was I so certain? The rows of old metal trays and pots did the trick… “What would you like to have?” The host asked. Before picking the dishes, akin to how I would start with “mixed rice”, I was served with a surfeit of white rice first. The meal featured meatballs with a piquant tomato sauce, roasted potatoes and an extra succulent grilled fish. They were simple yet delicious. The dining experience was delightful. It had not been often to find amazing food prepared in such a rustic fashion since moving to the UK two years before. While I was having a drink in the hipsteresque Psyri afterwards, before departing to the airport, I realised these events epitomised my purpose in travelling. It’s not just about a meat market trip, the comfort food and it’s definitely not about the old trays and pots. Stepping into a local spot as a foreigner, meeting people who would remind you of your otherness and meeting people who would remind you of our similarities. And usually, the similarities are identified through food, through cultures.