A Most Memorable Meal

It was back in the early eighties. I was between jobs and had taken a year off from all work. One connection led to another and I found myself living on the Greek island of Lesvos in the village of Molivos.

 In those days, well before the Euro, it was a very inexpensive place to live and the lifestyle was just what I needed at the time. From early spring until late into the summer the climate was idyllic. It rarely rained, the wind rarely increased too much above a soft breeze, and the sun on the blue water of the Aegean Sea contrasting the many white buildings perched on the village hillside, made for a very relaxed and sensuous vibe. At night, at one of the three tavernas in the village, there was always good food and wine.

Dining out every night of the week didn’t seem to strain the budget in any way at all and was the main event of the day. I’d also leaned to speak and understand enough Greek to get by and enjoyed conversing with my new found Greek friends as well as the dozen or so long-term expats mostly from northern Europe. There were very few short term visitors in those days and the village life was as intriguing as the backdrop was appealing.

My daily routine was pretty simple. I would sleep until I was awakened by the smell of fresh pastries coming from the village bakery just below the window of my little two story Turkish style house. After a pastry or cheese pie from the bakery with a glass of water and a couple of cups of Greek coffee it would be time to head for one of the nearby beaches. My favorite was Eftalou about 4 kilometers away, and with the whole day at my disposal, it was a pleasant walk. If anyone passed in a vehicle on the narrow one lane dirt road they would always offer a ride.

On one such day at Eftalou I found myself in conversation John and Arianna. John came from England and although he’d lived in the village for several years spoke very little Greek. His friend Arianna came from Athens and probably because of her education and wealth had more in common with the foreigners than the local Greeks and was of great help to John as an interpreter and mouthpiece. A little later we were joined by Heinz who was a house painter from Munich who came to Molivos between jobs and had a residence there. He was a master of simple living and could often be found walking among the rocks with a hand spear looking for an octopus for dinner. Eating was important to Heinz and he was often a great resource in that department.

“Hey, you all want to join me for lunch?” he asked.
It was already past noon, none of us had brought food with us, and we were thinking of heading back to the village.
“Where?” asked John.
“Have you been to the little outdoor taverna down towards Skala Skimania out on the point?” asked Heinz.
None of us had.
“How do we get there, Heinz?” asked Arianna.
“We can walk along the beach and there is a road near the beach further along. It’s probably 4 or 5 kilometers.”
“Sounds too far for my legs” said John.
With a little urging John soon gave way and we were all strolling down the beach. An hour later we were sitting at one of two outdoor tables next to a small shack that served as a kitchen next to an outdoor fire pit that made up the complete taverna. Janni, the owner,  greeted us as profusely. A jug of cold local retsina was placed on the table as we sat and admired the view.

We were surrounded by the sea on three sides and across a small bay could see a small fishing village. The coast of Turkey was clearly visible some twelve kilometers across to the East. Two umbrellas in the blue and white colors of the Greek flag shaded the long table and much of our bodies from the strong rays of the early afternoon sun. A small ginger cat fed on the scraps in a large fry pan beside the fire pit.

Janni asked if we were hungry. As each of us responded in some way he took mental notes of how much food he might need to prepare. There was no menu. Janni and his wife would decide what to bring to the table, when to bring it, and in what quantity. This was not new to me and was a custom practiced in several of the smaller tavernas on the island. Heinz who had been here before asked Janni if he had any “marides” to start with. A smile and a head gesture from Janni told us he had some. “Marides” are small fish something similar to what many of us might know as smelts although they taste so much better. The Greeks roll them in flour and fry them whole in virgin olive oil.

Janni’s wife came out the fire pit, shooed away the cat, picked up the large frying pan and banged it twice on a nearby rock before placing it over the grate on the fire pit and pouring oil into it. I looked at John who also noticed what was happening and who despite his three years on the island seemed to hold on to many of his English ways. He squirmed a little but then shrugged and chugged down half a glass of his retsina. Heinz and Arianna also noticed but were obviously unaffected. I looked at the cat, now in the distance. It appeared to be in good health and free of any lethal diseases so I raised my glass shouting “Iassos!” and downed some retsina too.

I’m not sure if it was the sun, the seascape, the company, or the retsina, but those marides were the best I’d ever tasted. And that was just the beginning of a most memorable meal.  A day I will remember as the one when I didn't really care that a cat had cleaned the frying pan before it was used to cook my meal.