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Central Athens.  3:30 am.  Early September 2005.  Sitting alone at an outdoor patio listening to a live 2-man bouzouki band.  Beers in front of me.  Parthenon in sight.  The night is far from over.

I’m in the only city on earth that grips me; that captures my heart and wraps it in a big ball of emotions.  The sound of the bouzouki adds to the emotional carnage as Spiro is playing a song that pulls on the strings of my soul.  I’m helpless when I hear it.  It’s a Greek thing.  I can’t explain it.  I won’t try. 

Athens. 

To think how many famous people walked its streets and how many more fought to preserve it.  To think I was one of the billions to follow the same walking routes as Socrates, Plato, Pericles, to breathe the same air and after thousands of years be able to look upon that same stunning Acropolis as they did.  Just the thought of it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The first time I came here was in 1996.  I can remember being in the front seat of a cab and not knowing where I was, having no sense of direction.  All of a sudden my mom and aunt suddenly and simultaneously tell me to look to my left over the cabbie’s shoulder.   And there it was.  Parthenon.  Only got a glimpse. 

There had been so many times I had seen pictures of this monument.  So many more times from family and even at Greek school as a kid I was told about it.  But I had never seen it until that glimpse.  It was as if a fictional character was coming to life right before my eyes.  Awe-inspiring. 

More than a dozen years later and after seeing it several times, The Parthenon continues to be the only structure on earth that moves me to near tears every time I see it.  Sounds ridiculous I know.   But think about it. Is there  a place on earth that moves you to that point?  It could be anything, anywhere, with anyone, with nobody. 

Back to the night at hand.

Sitting outside, minding my business, listening to the music.

I notice an older Greek couple approach the table next to me, sit down and order a few drinks.  The man is in his late 70’s while the woman is in her mid-40’s.  I think nothing else of it.

I figure this guy still has “it”.  He’s perfected the art of ladies man and clearly isn’t shy about illustrating his skills.  I glance over at their table once in a while in hopes of getting a few pointers from the old man and learn how it’s done.  

Everything seems to be going well, each having a good time enjoying the music, drinks and company.  At 4 am something must have happened.  The woman gets up, unannounced and walks away.  Did she go to the bathroom?  The man thinks she did.  Again I think nothing of it and continue drinking. 

Five minutes pass, no sight of her.  15 minutes pass, still no sight.  45 minutes pass and now it’s getting ridiculous.  It’s nearly 5 am and she has disappeared.  At this point the gentleman makes his way over to my table, sits down across from me and asks me a question I never expected to be asked by someone his age:  “Can you give me some advice about women”?  

After contemplating what that question could possibly be, it turned out to be a compassionate and legitimate one.  After all it was coming from what appeared to be a very compassionate and somewhat broken man just looking for the answer to a question every man has asked. 

I was amazed and couldn’t believe it.  After exchanging hand shakes and introducing each other I went about trying to give women advice to a 70+ year old man, at 5 am, in Athens.  Incredible.

He told me that he didn’t know what to do anymore.  He told me that he was in fact going out with this woman but had no idea where she could have gone.  He asked me what to do.  He wanted me to tell him what his next move should be.  He wanted me to tell him how he should handle her walking out on him the way she did.  And here I was only an hour ago trying to learn from him.  Just goes to show you can’t assume anything, as tempting as it is. 

I told him what I thought but also reminded him that he was much older than I was and that he should be helping me with women, not the other way around.  He agreed but also took the time to remind me that age doesn’t matter when it comes to understanding life and its many twists and turns, ups and downs, especially when it comes to the thoughts and emotions of a woman.  Everyone teaches everyone.  Everyone learns lessons often from unexpected people, in unexpected ways. 

By the time we finished talking it was 6 am.  The live band had long packed up and the sun was about to shine on Athens for another day.  He told me that he could now go home as the subways were about to start-up again.  He never asked me for change to take an overnight bus or even a cab. 

A beautiful symposium between two people in a city that has hosted  millions of them.

Around 50 AD St. Paul was sailing around the Aegean sea, more specifically along the coast of Rhodes, one of the Dodecanese islands, when his boat was caught by a terrible storm. He then sailed towards land and reached one of the most wonderful protected bays you will ever see. Today known as St. Paul’s Bay, in the village of Lindos, it is a unforgetable view, specially seen from the Acropolis, at the top of Lindos hills.

St. Paul's Bay - Lindos/Rhodes/Greece

In the Greek hot summer, after reaching the top of the hills and enjoying such a marvelous view (I won’t even mention the Acropolis itself), if you are a normal human being, and not a saint as Paul, you should be thirsty as hell (even though I presume saints get thirsty too). One suggestion, don’t drink anything. Resist. Be strong. Walk all the way down and go to the Pallas beach. Walk, don’t ride the poor donkeys available for the lazy tourists.

Pallas Beach - Lindos/Rhodes/Greece

There you will find a couple of small bars/restaurants, and I guess any of them will do (I sat at the one with the blue roof right in the middle of the above picture). Then, order a bottle of ouzo (my favorite one is Plomarion, from Plomari, in the Island of Lesvos, the capital of ouzo), a tall glass filled with ice to the top and some mineral water, relax and enjoy, after all you’re in Greece.

Clearly, you won’t be able to drink ouzo for very long on an empty stomach, that’s when some seafood should be more than welcome. I ordered some squid, fried to perfection, with a very simple salad (tomatoes, onions and lettuce) with tzatziki (you can find dozens of different recipes on the web, this one here is very basic – use high quality yogurt).

Batter fried squid - Lindos/Rhodes/Greece

As you can see, the squid was covered with a nice looking batter, which I assume was prepared by mixing some seasoned flour with cold sparkling water, as it was filled with small gas bubbles, which usually form when a batter loaded with dissolved gases (what you achieve by keeping the temperature low), carbon dioxide in this case, gets in contact with hot oil and tries to leave the mixture. The final result is a very thin, crispy and flavorful coat, which does justice to a fresh squid such as this one. Nothing could go along better with your second, or third, or fourth….(how many???) glasses of ouzo.

Well, well, well. What’ve we got here?

Ouzo.

Bottles and bottles of it.

Well, it ain’t my drink of choice, but maybe the guy used to run this place was Greek. How would I know?

Gina?

No, she won’t mind. She don’t drink at all.

Tell you the truth, her daddy was kind of a drunk, is why her parents got killed in the first place.

Good thing the kid was with me ‘n Old Joe that day.

Go ahead, Wil, bust that sucker open and let’s have us a swallow of it.

Ain’t had me a drink in a long damn time.

Well, here’s to your health, buddy.

Thursday September 3rd, 2009

Nando’s action. 8:26pm.

Friday September 4th, 2009

Those crazy Christian pedophiles. Where’s the subtlety?? 2:03pm.

Elm St. 2:04pm.

A very long process…. 7:21pm.

…disrupted without an explanation. Pure horror. 7:40pm.

I finally had a burnt DVD of the above project at 1:29am.

Tuesday September 8th, 2009

Getting ready… 5:46pm.

Thursday September 10th, 2009

Tree concealed by pumpkin soup. 4:25pm.

Saturday September 12th, 2009

All Day I Dream About Subways. 9:58pm.

Scabby feet. 11:41pm.

Monday September 14th, 2009

5:03pm.

Found this near my bin. Vintage VHS. 6:02pm.

Sunday September 20th, 2009

Misplaced door. 7:20pm.

Friday September 25th, 2009

Best way to end the working week. 4:30pm.

Saturday September 26th, 2009

Rain in the tracks of Flinders St. station. Last Train Blues. 1:11am.

ΟΥΖΟ & OYZO & OUZO

http://www.youtube.com/user/WebMarketingTV

Ούζο το ελληνικό ποτό με τη παγκόσμια αναγνώριση.
Ούζο το διάσημο ελληνικό απόσταγμα, με εκατομύρια πιστούς θαυμαστές σε ολόκληρο
το κόσμο. Ούζο, μια ευχάριστη συντροφιά στο τραπέζι μας.

The classic Greek drink Ouzo. Ouzo is Greek alcoholic drink.
Ouzo, the best Traditional Greek Alcohol Drink.

Ouzo wird daher auch in Deutschland gern getrunken, als Aperitif,
um die Sinne schon einmal auf ein griechisches Essen einzustimmen,
oder als Digestif, um ein schönes Mahl abzurunden. In Restaurants wird er hierzulandemeist sketo, pur,
ohne Wasser angeboten.
 Ouzo, Griechischen Spirituosen.

ΟΥΖΟ. OYZO. OUZO.

OUZO

Ούζο - Ouzo - Oyzo

 

Ούζο και Τσίπουρο

===================

Iedereen kent het wel; Ouzo. Het bekendste drankje uit Griekenland. Als je wel eens uit eten gaat bij een Grieks restaurant heb je het zeker ook een keer geproefd. Meestal krijg je bij binnenkomst meteen een klein glaasje met Ouzo. Dit drink je dan snel op waarbij je denkt; oef dat is sterk. Er zit dan ook tussen de 40 en 45 procent alcohol in.

Ouzo is dan ook al jaren oud en wordt in Griekenland nog heel vaak gedronken. Vooral in de zogeheten ‘Ouzeri’s’. Hier wordt er Ouzo geserveerd samen met kleine hapjes zoals bijvoorbeeld feta, olijven en keftedakia<gehaktballetjes>. De sterke smaak van Ouzo komt door het anijs, mint, zoethout en natuurlijk de alcohol.

Ouzo is echt typisch Grieks en één van de eerste dingen waaraan je denkt als je aan Griekenland denkt.

Ouzo met mezes <kleine hapjes>

griechischer Abend

Es findet wieder ein griechischer Abend im Landhaus Waldfrieden

am 06.11.09 ab 19 Uhr

statt.

Wer sich noch nicht angemeldet hat, wird gebeten sich entweder im Lebensmittelmarkt Friedensstadt oder telefonisch unter 033731 – 171 12 anzumelden.

Wie Urlaub in Griechenland

griechische Abende im Restaurant Landhaus Waldfrieden

Das Team des Landhauses Waldfrieden freut sich auf Ihren Besuch und wünscht “Yia mas!”.

_______________________

LANDHAUS WALDFRIEDEN - PRIMA ESSEN MIT GENUSS

Landhaus Waldfrieden

Waldfrieden 52
14959 Trebbin / OT Blankensee

Dieses Mal hatten wir keinen Tisch reserviert, was im vollen Restaurant “Mylos” definitiv ein Fehler war. Doch wir hatten Glück und wurden nicht, wie Gäste später, weggeschickt, sondern es wurde schon nach recht kurzer Zeit ein Tisch, wenn auch im Raucherbereich, frei. Versüßt wurde uns die Wartezeit mit einem Ouzo. Dieser kam nicht, wie anderswo, im Pinnchen einer normalen Größe, sondern als “Doppler”.

Das Restaurant, erst einen Monat alt, war griechisch-modern eingerichtet. Sehr hell und sehr gemütlich. An dem Abend entschied ich mich für eine gebratenen Gemüseteller. Dies beinhaltete unter anderem eine gefüllte Aubergine sowie eine gefüllte Paprika. Sehr viel, sehr lecker. Anschließend gab es eine weitere Runde doppelten Ouzo sowie eine dritte Runde Ouzo für die Männer und Baileys für die Frauen.

Die Portion Halloween für den Abend gab es hier, wie schon von anderen erwähnt, nicht. Trotzdem ein sehr gelungener Abend! Das macht vier Ouzos von mir!

Mylos, Ziethenstraße 12, 22041 Hamburg-Wandsbek
Tel.: 040-69798441

Visiting Greece and its wonderful islands was something we wanted to do but its food was no lesser than its sights… Towering over the city of Athens is The Acropolis and hidden in a street corner, we had wonderfully grilled pork chops at a taverna called Telis, at the corner of Epikourou and Evripidou street. As with all Greek grill places, the pieces of meat were grilled to perfection over hot charcoal, remaining succulent and juicy with a nice hint of the coal accompanied with a load of fries. We also ordered a plate of greek salad, where for the 1st time, we were greeted with a generous slab of feta cheese served on top of the salad, drizzled with olive oil and a good sprinkling of herbs. Together we washed it all down with a carafe of house wine. Not to be missed if you are in Athens…

If you like coffee, give the Frappe a go, this is the favourite of the greeks apart from greek coffee. Here, the Nescafe is blended with water till foamy then ice added to make it a cold and refreshing drink. Be warned, the greeks have theirs with lots of sugar. This is a cheaper and good alternative to an espresso or cappuccino.

While making your way to Plaka, stop by Thanasis Restaurant for a hearty serving of Kebabs or Souvlaki. This establishment is a local icon located along Mitropoleos Street at the end closes to Monastiraki station. The chicken souvlaki is grilled to perfection, juicy and well seasoned served with an abundant of fries.

If you like kebabs, try the beef kebabs, its done like an indian shish kebab, minced beef around a skewer and grilled over charcoal.

Order the full portion if you are a big eater, 4 kebabs together with fries and pita, its sure to fill you up… Order some Tzatziki or spicy cheese dip to go with your meal.

While enjoying the sights and shopping around Plaka, make a beeline for a taverna called Peristeri, on Patroou street.

For a first timer like me in Greece, the friendly owner made me feel at ease and the food was good too. As with most taverna, you can choose the dishes from a display inside the shop. We had pork in red wine sauce and potatoes, grilled whole bream, roasted eggplants and a basket of bread that was welcome, we used it to soak up the gravy from the pork dish.

A bottle of super cold coke each rounded up the meal. Good local home-style cooked food.

Another good place to eat is Thespidos, to locate this place, walk along Kydathenaon street past Adrianou and climb the steps, its on your right side, at a quiet location that you forget you are actually in the city. Sit outside next to the ruins of ancient Athens, close to the Acropolis. The fried cod fish was suggested by the owner and it was wonderful. Fried to golden with the just the right amount of seasoning. The sausages were good too, slightly spicy with herb seasoning. The owner was surprisingly friendly and stood by the table to chat while we were there.
If snacking or having a pie is something for you, head on to this pie place called Ariston, close to Voulis street.

The range of pies available here is astounding and you will see the locals queuing to get their share. The filling was substantial and moisture just right that will not make the skin soggy. The pastry is wonderfully light and not oily too.

As tourist, you’ll be spending most of your time in and around Plaka, Monastiraki and along Athinas street to Omonia Square. Tavernas are scattered all over and in the area of Psiri, where it’s up and coming, you’ll find Platia Iroon. A cosy place that serves nice grilled octopus, the tentacle is very tender and comes served with a salad.

Try the moussaka, where layer of lamb though too much for me is layered high just like the italian lasagna. The lamb pot is good and is well complemented with the boiled vegetables where its cooked till soft and a little soggy.

Try the Rakimilo, which is hot raki with honey. Nice drink for a cold autumn night.
To me, a must visit if you like lamb chops is a place called Taverna Tou Psiri, it’s packed nearly every night with people going for the lamb chops and like any taverna, check out the dishes on display inside. The eggplants and salad are really good too. The lamb chops were so good, we had 2 servings and all washed down with a carafe of red wine. We were even offered fruits after our meal… Bonus.

When my in-laws came to town, they wanted to go out for Greek food. I went into a panic going to Taverna Agora (6101 Glenwood Ave, Raleigh, NC 27612-2613) for the first time; a new restaurant, new food, in front of two people that I really wanted to impress. Luckily for me, I loved every bite there and couldn’t wait to go back. The timing was perfect too, since last Saturday was Greek night!
Even though Greek night was scheduled to start at 10:00, it was at full force when we came in at 9:30.  Live music was playing and a belly dancer was working the crowd (although I’m not sure how authentic a belly dancer at a Greek place is. Oh well, it was fun). A lot of pointing and gesturing was needed to communicate with our waiter over the music, but it was great being in a lively restaurant. Towards the end of the night, people were jumping up from their tables to dance.

There was plenty of spectacle at our table too. We started the night with a dish of Saganaki, a flambéed cheese dish with a little bit of citrus added. I love cheese, I love fire, so watching the waiter sit this alight was a pleasure. My only regret is that I wish he left it flaming a tad longer, the ends of the cheese lacked the meltiness of the middle. But I’d rather my waiter keep his eyebrows than have melty cheese, so I understand.

Our Kokinisto Arni was up next. I love lamb, but there’s nothing like braised lamb shank.

*Pic courtesy of Tony’s phone*

The meat wasn’t gamy and was melt-in-your-mouth tender. The sweetness of the meat was nicely matched by the wine-tomato sauce, it added a depth to the flavor. The plate came with a side of potatoes stewed in the same sauce and some sautéd spinach and peppers. The veggies were a hit with us, since they provided a lightness compared to the heaviness of the braised lamb. With that said, the potatoes were unfortunately most untouched. Not that they tasted bad, quite the opposite, but after a heavy meat, the last thing I wanted was a heavy starch.

We ended the night with a glass of Ouzo. Before that, I had a glass of the house Cambas Red Wine. This Greek wine was surprisingly smooth and had a wonderful berry note to it. However, the Ouzo kicked the ass of any alcohol that came before it. It was the first time I ever had it and I am in love. My favorite candy are Necco wafers and Ouzo tastes like an alcoholic licorice Necco wafer. It’s smooth, but with a kick once it reached my throat. It made me want to smash my glass and start dancing. Plus, the new Cook’s Illustrated this month talks about cooking with Ouzo, so it’s nice to have a culinary reason to pick up a bottle, rather than my initial decadent reasons.

We left Taverna Agora with a skip in our steps. Great food, great music, and great drinks, what else could you ask for?

~Julia

hela melanie, het krioelt van de internetkabels in de kelder! het zijn slangen met tattoeages als je niet goed kijkt, dronken en bang bent. er zijn redenen om bang te worden in de kelder. als ik straks kan, laat ik zien waarom.

They are nice, the people of Plomari. A small town on the southern tip of Lesvos, with 5000 inhabitants and few tourists. There is no local newspaper on the island. Every morning a man’s voice is heard from loudspeakers installed all over the city. He reads the news, he informs the people about a lost set of keys, and that if someone finds it, they should kindly return it to the police. And he asks whoever has parked illegally outside the supermarket to move their car.

Greek to me!

I drop by Vasilis’ tavern. He is sitting outside with some friends, enjoying the seafood of the day while sipping ouzo. I am asked to join them, and I eat all sorts of fish. Salted, smoked, fried, raw. Alive mussels and sea urchins too. The only dish I do not taste is the Norwegian smoked salmon. Vasilis claims that I have to drink ouzo in order to kill the seafood I have crawling around in my stomach, but an ouzo incident I had the day before, and which I could have been spared, makes me decline. For later I will remember that one glass of ouzo is fine. Two may be dire.

Meze

The Greeks drink watered out ouzo and eat meze – a sort of Greek tapas – for hours if they do not have to go to work. They argue about what soccer team is the best: Panatinaikos or Olympiakos? It is a heated debate. One night I joined the guys in Vasilis’ apartment and watched a game. By God were they crazy about sports, be that soccer or basketball. They got so worked up, they had to switch to Love Radio and Celine Dion during the commercials in order to calm down. I have noticed that the old men sitting around in cafés and bars are always playing with a string of beads. Apparently this is supposed to make them relax. But I cannot help but wonder what it is that they have to relax from. It is a quiet life here in Plomari. I think it says a lot about me that I struggle with relaxing in the beginning, in this town the travel agency describes as «sleepy». Except from sports, the Greeks do not seem to need much entertainment. They just sit around and do not talk that much either. Their work changes with the season, though. During fall and winter Jorgos is an electrician. During spring he is a fisherman. And during summer he is a bartender and rents out sun beds.

Melinda

I rent a bike and go west along the coast. After 45 minutes I arrive in Melinda, a tiny fisher village with two taverns and five inhabitants. One of them is sitting on the beach cleaning a fish. A small hour later I eat that fish. I pick beautiful rocks and listen to the waves. It is not entirely summer on Lesvos yet, and a swim is not very tempting. But May is a good month to come here. In just a few weeks the island will be burnt brown by the sun. Now it is covered in shimmering silver olive trees, the source of the world’s best olive oil. Red poppies nod in the tall grass, and the air is heavy with floral scents.

I <3 Poppies

Katarina comes every other day to clean my apartment. The day before yesterday she took a plate from my cabinet, walked down to the man in the neighbouring garden and handed over the plate to him. The man then disappeared into his house. A while later the plate was returned, covered with fresh, home-made goat cheese and grape leaves filled with meat and rice. It was for me! There is a thoughtfulness and decency in everything these people do. «Pretentious» is the last word I would use to describe them. In a restaurant menu I read: Wine of the month: Red. Vasilis’ brother had told me about this big rock out in the sea in Melinda that I had to see. «You can climb on top of it!» As soon as I arrived in Melinda I spotted the rock. I could not understand what was so special about it, but I climbed on top of it anyway, took a few photos, sat and listened to the sea for a few minutes. I think this is how it is. When the Greeks recommend stuff I should do while I am here, it is never about things that happen. No events. Just places I have to visit, specific things like a rock or the woods or a dried up river. I think it says something about how down to earth these people are.

Tomorrow I am going home. Now that I am finally starting to find the rhythm with this city. I wish Dimitri was wrong when describing Oslo. (Dimitri married a Norwegian girl and lives six out of twelve months in Oslo.) «In Oslo you have to make appointments in order to see your friends,» he says. Both he and I wish my home town were more like Plomari. If you friends are not at Vasilis’ tavern, they are at Oseanis. And if they are not at Oseanis, then they are at Sun Bar. And if they are not at Sun Bar, then you will find them at Nautilus. For sure. Everyone is welcome. Yamas!

De er snille, menneskene som bor i Plomari. En liten by på sydspissen av Lesvos med 5000 innbyggere og få turister. Det finnes ikke lokalavis på øya. Hver morgen høres en mannsstemme over et callinganlegg som er installert over hele byen. Han leser opp nyheter, han forteller at noen har mistet et nøkkelknippe og at den som finner nøklene må returnere dem på politistasjonen. Og han ber den som har parkert forkjært utenfor supermarkedet om å flytte bilen sin.

Greek to me!

Jeg går innom Vasilis taverna, han sitter ute og spiser dagens sjømat og drikker ouzo med noen venner. Jeg blir bedt om å slå meg ned, og jeg spiser fisk i alle mulige varianter. Saltet, røkt, fritert, rå. Levende muslinger og kråkeboller også. Det eneste jeg ikke smaker på er den norske røkelaksen. Vasili påstår at jeg må drikke ouzo for å ta livet av sjømaten jeg har kravlende rundt i magen, men en ouzo-episode dagen i forveien jeg kunne vært spart for gjør at jeg takker nei. Til en annen gang skal jeg huske at ett glass ouzo går fint. To kan få fatale konsekvenser.

Meze

Grekerne drikker utvannet ouzo og spiser meze – greske tapasretter – i timevis om ikke de må på jobb. De diskuterer hvem som er best: Panatinaikos eller Olympiakos? Det går hett for seg. En kveld blir jeg med Vasili og noen venner hjem og ser fotballkamp på TV. For et levende idrettsengasjement, om det så gjelder basket eller fotball! De jobbet seg så opp underveis at de i hver reklamepause måtte svitsje til Love Radio og Celine Dion for å roe nervene. De eldre mennene holder alltid perlekjeder lekende mellom fingrene. Det skal angivelig virke avslappende. Jeg tar meg i å lure på hva de skal slappe av fra, bortsett fra sportsengasjementet. Det er et stille liv her i Plomari. Jeg synes det sier mye om meg at jeg i begynnelsen strever med å slappe av i denne byen reisebyrået beskriver som «døsig». Bortsett fra sport, ser det visst ikke ut til at grekerne har særlig behov for underholdning. De bare sitter sammen og trenger ikke snakke så mye heller. Arbeidet deres varierer dog med sesongen. Om høsten og vinteren er Jorgos elektriker. Om våren er han fisker. Om sommeren er han bartender og leier ut solsenger.

Melinda

Jeg leier sykkel, sykler vestover langs kysten, og kommer til Melinda, en bitteliten fiskerlandsby med to tavernaer og fem innbyggere. En av dem sitter på huk på stranden og renser fisk. En snau time senere spiser jeg nettopp den fisken. På stranden plukker jeg fine steiner og hører på bølgebrus. Det er ikke sommer på Lesvos ennå, og en dukkert frister ikke. Men det er en fin årstid å reise hit på. Om noen ganske få uker ligger øya brunsvidd og skvulper i Egeerhavet. Nå er den dekket av sølvskimrende oliventrær som avgir verdens beste olivenolje. Valmuene nikker i det høye gresset, og blomsterduften henger tung i luften.

I <3 poppies

Katarina kommer og vasker leiligheten min annenhver dag. I forgårs tok hun med seg en tallerken fra kjøkkenet mitt, gikk ned til mannen i nabohagen og rakte ham den. Han forsvant så inn i huset sitt. Etter en liten stund ble tallerkenen returnert, full av helt fersk, hjemmelaget geitost og grapeblader fylt med ris og kjøtt. Den var til meg! Det er en omtenksomhet og real holdning i alt disse menneskene gjør. Det siste ordet jeg ville brukt til å beskrive dem er “jålete”. På en restaurantmeny leser jeg: Wine of the month: Red. Vasilis bror hadde fortalt meg om en stor stein som ligger ute i vannet i Melinda. “Den kan du klatre opp på!” Da jeg kom til Melinda, så jeg straks steinen han siktet til. Jeg skjønte ikke helt hva som var så spesielt med denne steinen, men jeg klatret nå opp, tok noen bilder, satt og hørte på havet i noen minutter. Jeg tror det er sånn det er. Når grekerne forteller meg om det jeg bør få med meg her på øya, er det ikke ting som skjer. Ingen begivenheter. Det er bare steder jeg må være på, konkrete ting som en stein eller en skog eller et tørrlagt elvefar. Jeg synes det sier noe om hvor jordnære disse menneskene er.

I morgen reiser jeg hjem. Nå som jeg endelig begynner å finne takten med denne byen. Jeg skulle ønske det ikke var sånn som Dimitri sier. (Dimitri bor halve året i Norge, etter å ha giftet seg med en norsk jente.) “I Oslo må man ringe hverandre og gjøre en avtale.” I likhet med Dimitri skulle jeg ønske Oslo var litt mer som Plomari. Hvis ikke folk er hos Vasilis, så er de på Oseanis. Og er de ikke på Oseanis, så er de på Sun Bar. Og er de ikke der, så er de på Nautilus. Helt sikkert. Alle er velkommen. Jamas!

WINES FROM GREECE and GREEK DRINKS

If you are interested in tasting the large variety of wines in Greece. A selection of the best Greek wines.
Ελληνικά κρασιά και ποτά.

GRIECHENLAND WEINE. GRÈCE VINS. VINOS DE GRECIA.
GRECIA VINI. GREEK WINES. GREEK SPIRITS.

WINES FROM GREECE

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GREEK WINES – DELICIOUS GREEK WINES

The delicious wines of Greece. Red & white wine. A selection of the best Greek wines.
Greece is one of the oldest wine-producing regions in the world.

GRIECHENLAND WEINE. GRÈCE VINS. VINOS DE GRECIA. GRECIA VINI. GREEK WINES. GREEK DRINKS.
ギリシャワイン. ГРЕЦИЯ ВИНА.

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Greek Wines

http://webimtv.ning.com/

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Ouzo – Greek spirits – Ούζο

Ούζο. Ouzo. Greece’s Most Popular Drink.

Ούζο - Ouzo - Oyzo

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There’s a story I fondly recount, about the time my grandpa got me drunk on ouzo (sorry, Papou!). For those unfamiliar, ouzo is a clear, licorice-scented spirit that Greeks love to sip – straight or topped up with a little water to turn the liquid milky white, as if by magic.

One winter night we were engaged in a particularly animated gave of tavli, or Greek-style backgammon. I was maybe all of eight years at the time, and loved anything anise-flavoured: black jellybeans, licorice, Indian mukhwas (candy-coated fennel seeds)… suffice to say, I was keen to get my little hands on a thimbleful of ouzo. All the old men around the coffee table had a tumbler – some filled white and opaque, others with no-nonsense clear liquid – and the scent wafting from those glasses was cruel, cruel company to a licorice lover.

The details are blurred, but I eventually sweet talked a shot out of my Papou an drank it down like an especially potent juice… and then another from some unsuspecting old man too focused on tavli to realize I was tipsy. Before anyone could clink their glasses stin yia sas, a second-grader was vomiting her anise-scented dinner down the toilet.

For about 10 years Post-Ouzo, I couldn’t handle anything licorice. Those beloved jelly beans and my other grandpa’s coveted stash of bridge mix lost all previous appeal. My stomach turned and I was queasy at the very thought of anything with that horrid sickly-sweet medicinal scent.

My distaste wasn’t meant to last. Along the way, a delicious Krinos ouzo candy (the pungent little ones we serve at my folks’ restaurant) was popped in my mouth, and I was back. It’s been said that you’re born to either love or hate licorice, and I couldn’t deny my true self forever.

Teenage me would be aghast to learn my very favourite snack these days: cold, crisp fennel slices piled high on a plate, filling the whole room with a bright aroma. Fennel’s one of those neglected and overgrown supermarket specimens – braised beyond recognition or shaved into salads by Italian nonas. But it really shines on its own, where nothing masks its celery texture and snap of candy-like flavour. Fennel is incredibly cleansing, too, thanks to anethole, the aromatic in its essential oil that also makes it taste like licorice. Sidelined by a nasty bout of food poisoning these past two days, fennel was my antidote, the first thing I reached for. Cleansing and calming, it eased my whirling stomach.

I still steer clear of the ouzo for my own good, but any bag of jelly beans sent my way will be mysteriously missing the black ones before long.

Just making up for lost time.

Dæven han steike. Når han Johannes og han Øystein drar på fisketur skal det ikke stå på noe. 05.08.09: Rett på Nofi, yrkesfiskerens redskapsleverandør i Tromsø. “Ka du trur, Øystein, skal vi kjøpe oss et kveitevad??”. Som sagt, det skal ikke stå på noe – og 1500 kroner og to timer senere er vi på vei ut til Skogsfjorden på Ringvassøya i Johannes´trauste pickup, med lasteplanet fullt av villsvinpølser, ouzo, øl, snører, kroker, baljer og kar, munnspill og en god dose optimisme. Hyttenaboen, “han Roy” har nettopp fått to kveiter på 15 og 25 kg, og han donerer oss rundhåndet en balje med storsild.

No ska ho te pers! Ut i den lille 13,5-fotingen, ut til de store grunner hvor vi med mye møye setter ut lina, krydet med feit og fin sild. Det er ikke uten forventninger vi røkter bruket noen timer senere, bare for å konstatere at silda har blitt mat for sjøstjerner og snegler. Det mangler fortsatt kveite. Og dagan går no, som ho sa – vi navigerer i tåke etter gps, vi pilker etter kveite med pilk, blekksprutimitasjoner, jig og sild, og vi røkter bruket igjen og igjen. Vi flytter lina dag to, og da vi ved tredje solnedgang på havet fortsatt ikke har kveite i baljen må vi konstatere nederlaget.

Det er ikke noe i veien med utstyret, og plasseringen er jo strålende, på steder hvor vi vet at det har blitt tatt fisk før. Forklaringen er selvsagt både banal og såre enkel, og vi tøyset i vårt overmot litt med dette før vi dro ut: Ingen av oss har særlig ferskt haill (Fiskelykke-nødvendig sex før fisketuren). Dermed har vi ikke draget – gammel barnelærdom langs kysten. Slukøret begir vi oss tilbake til sivilisasjonen. Men neste år!!

Kjenn din fiende! Du må vite hvordan hun tenker, føler, biter og reagerer.

In 1996, I flew with a friend, Fern, to England, where we met up with Kevin and Margaret, friends of Fern, and then all four of us flew to a Greek island in the Ionian Sea, Corfu.

Most of the famed islands of Greece are in the Aegean Sea. Corfu is a little neglected island tucked away between the mainlands of Greece and Italy. There is much influence of Italy in the architecture and food of Corfu, but at no time will you mistake where you for anywhere but Greece. The national colors, blue and white, decorate many of the buildings, the views of the towns and of the water are often breathtaking, stunning in their beauty.

We arrived at the hottest time of the year, temperatures seem cold when described as a mere 41-43 degrees, until a quick conversion from centigrade to fahrenheit scales gives you a number above 100 degrees.

I had spent a few days in England and had come to love a pint at the pub, while learning to loath the unimaginative food offerings; so faced with the furnace blast upon deplaning, we went in search of a beer before checking into our hotel. Our only options at the airport were Heineken or Amstel Light, neither a beer I like the flavor of, but I drank away some of the lingering effects of the flight, and the heat, with a Heineken.

Out hotel was basic. We were shown to our two rooms, next to each other, by Stephen(os). Stephen, an enormous Greek, was our clerk when we checked in, and our bell man. Stephan easily handled the luggage of four people without the use of a cart. Our 2nd floor rooms each had two bed bedrooms, a bathroom, and a balcony. From our balconies we could sit and see the Ionian Sea, blue beyond the bluest blue imaginable.

In 1996, I drank; that is to say, I still maintained my ability to over drink. I had picked up 2 bottles of Jose Cuervo gold tequila duty free for my week. Kevin had picked up two bottles of Pernod. I don’t remember what Fern and Margaret picked up, but let me assure you, they each picked up 2 bottles for the week’s holiday. We consumed those eight bottles of alcohol in shots, with water, with mixers; we drank on our balconies, we drank by the pool, we drank at the beach; we drank. In less than half a week, we had emptied our 8 bottles of assorted alcohols. This was a vacation, every one of us was a well practiced drinker, and we were maintaining a constant state of lubrication.

Mind you, we were consuming lots of liquids, water, Heineken or Amstel Light (these were the only two beers I found on the entire island in the whole week we were there), coffee. It was hot, and the heat meant lots of fluids were called for.

We also ate. I love food. The food in England had been uniformly boring and horrible. Remember, England is the country where the best chef in the country is Gordon Ramsey, a Scotsman.

Corfu, it turns out, is largely a holiday island for vacationing English and German tourists. Our hotel was in the town of St. Georges, and it seemed our entire town was populated with English holiday goers. Fern and I were the only Americans I saw on the entire island in the week we were there. Breakfast at the hotel each day was an English breakfast. Each morning, our waiter and busboy was Stephen. Stephen would bring out 4 plates with eggs, sausage, tomato, beans and toast, along with tea for the English and Nescafe instant coffee for Fern and I. Before our week was done, I had Stephen bring Fern and I an American breakfast; sadly, I didn’t have a single decent cup of coffee during my entire European vacation (bring your own!).

I would snack each mid day on lighter fare; often having Tzatziki, a yoghurt, cucumber and garlic dip, usually scooped up with torn pita, light, tasty, refreshing; or Xhoriatiki, a Greek salad with lettuce, tomato, cucumber, onion, feta, olive, and herbs; or both. Limited in choice, I usually washed it all down with either a Heineken or Amstel Light. Stephen acted as both my snack bar attendant and beer-tender.

During the days, we traveled by bus to the only real city, conveniently named Corfu; or to the most beautiful town and harbor, inconveniently named Palaiokastritsa. We visited the olive orchards and farms in the hills, and spent time on the beach below our hotel.

To get to our beach, we walked out the front doors of our hotel, waving to Stephen, down a path past the pool, across the beach road, and down a steep and narrow path cut into a hill side cliff. On one side of the narrow path, rebar had been hammered into the hillside to keep it from falling, and remained dangerously exposed; on the other side of the path, a cliff offered a sheer fall of over 50 feet to the beach below.

At the beach, bottled water, sodas, beer (Heineken or Amstel Light) and alcohol helped fight the heat of the sun and the cold of the sea, I thought that the Mediterranean Sea would be warm. Perhaps is is, at least in some places. The part of the Med around Corfu, known as the Ionian Sea, is not warm. Not so cold that swimming is impossible, it could definitely be warmer; it was a bit uncomfortable.

I travel often, and often by myself. I am almost always in charge of myself when I travel. I was not used to traveling with others, being forced by politeness to do what others want to do, to have to listen to the often drunken ramblings of others. I’m good, I can handle quite a bit of it; but I couldn’t handle it 24/7. Each day when the sun was at it’s hottest, and we four were gathered on our balcony, shaded from the sun, and drinking; without warning or comment, I would get up, walk to the railing of out balcony, climb over it, hang from the other side, and drop to the ground below. My companions could not follow my example, and I would walk to the beach and swim alone for a bit each day. I found great comfort in my daily alone time.

Each night at midnight, I would do the same thing, except the beach was always deserted. Being the only one swimming at midnight, I shucked my clothing on the beach and swam nude under the moonlight, feeling incredibly free.

My first Corfu beach memory is of a food vender who wandered up and down the beach with a stick. Impaled on the stick was a stack of giant doughnuts. What I remember best was the shouts of the vender. It has been said that sex sells. This vender must have heard that as well because her shouts of, “sexy doughnuts, come and get your sexy, sexy doughnuts,” still makes me smile in amusement.

At night, seafood seemed an obvious island choice. unfortunately, fish was awfully expensive. I ate Sofrito, an Italian style tender veal dish featuring white wine, garlic and herbs over rice; and Mousaka, fried eggplant and beef, topped with a béchamel (basic white; butter, flour, milk; often including veal, onions, thyme, pepper, clove, nutmeg and/or salt) sauce.

Cheaper still were Souvlatzidika, kebabs made into gyros by wrapping them in a toasted pita with salad and tzatiki. It didn’t matter what meat was used, beef, veal, chicken or fish, as the marinade made it taste the same anyway. Tasty, but cheap, I ate many Souvlatzidika and liked every one.

Dessert, or a pre midnight swim snack, usually involved Baclava, honeyed filo puff pastry with chopped nuts; or yoghurt with honey, nuts and fruit; or, again, both.

The two big local alcoholic beverages were Retsina and Ouzo.

I love wine. Retsina, in theory, is wine. Retsina, in reality, is a Christmas tree in a bottle; a pine sap resin smelling and tasting wine. I found it horrible. I tried several different labels, from different producers; hey, I’m a wine guy, i wanted it to be good. Kind of like Pineapple wine from Hawaii, Retsina (or at least every one I tasted) is horrible.

Ouzo, on the other hand, is a tasty anise based, licorice flavored, thickly sticky sweet alcohol. It is similar to Italian Sambuca or French Pernod in flavor, but completely Greek.

One evening, out of tequila, I decided to drink ouzo. I started out sipping this thick licorice liquor from shot glasses, moved to drinking double shots from rocks glasses, and finished off the night drinking chimney tumblers full of ouzo. I think it is safe to say, conservatively, that I consumed at least an entire bottle of ouzo that night.

During my drunken evening, I won a slot machine jackpot and filled my pockets with foreign coins, and I took part in a trivia contest that I swear I knew all the answers to but the tavern owners claimed they couldn’t read my written answers.

At midnight, like a mechanical bird exiting a Swiss clock, I jumped off my bar stool. Drunk though I might be, I was heading down the road to swim at my beach – right up until the bush swallowed me.

In fairness, the bush that fronted the tavern I was exiting was no ordinary bush; it was large and shapely. It was very hedge-like. Perhaps it was a hedge. All I know is that as I tried to pass it, it leaped out at me. It certainly felt that way to me at least.

My friends report that as I got up to leave, on my way out, it appeared that I leaped into the hedge.

I extricated myself from the hedge, breaking off bits of it in my clothing, and continued down the road, staggering drunkenly toward the beach.

Let me be clear: at no time did I experience falling. I did, however, experience the ground rushing up to meet my face several times.

Over and over, the ground slammed into my body, my head, my face. I had no idea from which direction it would come at me next. Still, I moved toward my beach.

I have no idea how many times I fell on my way to the beach path. I knew intellectually that I was falling down drunk. I had never before experienced this. In spite of the novel sensations of having the Earth rush up to smash me and hedges reaching out to swallow me whole, I wasn’t having as much fun as you might imagine.

Getting to the beach had become a quest, my own Grail quest. Perhaps a swim would sober me (ignorantly unaware that I would likely drown). With my first step on the narrow path down to the beach, the earth smacked me in the head again. I lay against the path, unmoving, thinking. I probably lay on that path ten full minutes. I realized that with exposed rebar on one side and a sheer drop on the other side, this path would surely result in my death if I stayed on it. I turned around, without standing, and crawled off the path back to the roadway.

Stephen told me the next day that my path from the road to the front of the hotel involved a series of dives, head first, into the road, gravel path, and bushes and trees along the path.

My last pitch was intended to be through the doors of the hotel. Knowing I was going to fall, I squared myself up, and started running for the door, hoping to fall through it, into the lobby. I was very surprised when all of my motion was instead backward, away from the doors, and deep into another bush.

At this point, Stephen picked me up out of the bush, carried me to my room, opened the door while holding me pinned to the wall with one hand, then depositing me fully clothed in my bed to pass out.

I awoke to a horrible smell. Fern, who came in while I was passed out, had thrown up in her bed while asleep. I pulled her bedding from under her, wadded it up, and threw it outside, and over the balcony.

The next morning Fern realized with horror that the terrible smell in the room was her. Her hair had collected a bit of her stomach’s contents as she rolled when I took her bedding off the night before.

Fern, after cleaning herself, invited our friends to come view me in my passed out state. My bed had bits of trees, bushes and hedges scattered from my previous night’s battles; coins from the previous night’s jackpot were also scattered about the bed, some stuck to my body.

For the rest of the trip, I was known as Johnny Ouzo; the merest whiff of it, could produce the most severe nausea.

Fern was lucky, she got rid of her over indulgence of alcohol on her bed. I wasn’t sick; all the alcohol was still in my body the next day, and the most painful hangover of my life lay ahead of me.

Sitting hungover when the temperature is over 100 degrees is not a good way to spend a day of a Greek vacation. Getting sunburned while hungover may be the only way to make your day worse.

The tavern owners gave me a consolation bottle of (Retsina based) Champagne (sparkling wine) for my previous night’s attempt at the trivia contest. I didn’t drink that, or any ouzo, while in Greece. I did get back to being able to drink, if not enjoy, Heineken or Amstel Light.

I had a great time in Greece. I was ready, after a week. to leave Corfu and return to England to continue my vacation.

My son was born the following year; I have not taken overseas vacations since (Hawaii doesn’t count). I’m looking at a trip to Melbourne, Australia later this year (about 50/50 likelihood). I might enjoy some local Yarra Valley Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, but with 12 years as a father, I don’t have to worry about drunken battles in the outback with Dingos.