Rapture at First Retsina

By Emily Gasser | Mental Mastication

At first I thought it was a just passing fancy, a spring break fling that would set my evenings ablaze for one short week and then fizzle as soon as I got on the plane home. It started in a little café in Athens, with the Acropolis illuminated on the hill above us looking like a postcard. I was on spring break from my study abroad program in Italy, traveling with my old roommate, Nina; Greece was nearby and cheap. The street was lined with chic-looking restaurants and cafes all angling for their share of the tourist dollars flowing through the place; we compared menus and chose the one with the least obnoxious maitre d’ out front. Everything looked good. To avoid deciding, we each ordered several appetizers to share, and for wine a bottle of retsina (only because I’d heard of it before). First to arrive was a concoction billed as “Cretan dacos,” made with feta, hot pepper, and tomatoes on a hunk of hard brown bread. I closed my eyes and cut off a slice. It was love at first bite.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of feta, garlic, and good wine. We staggered out of the restaurant satisfied and sleepy. (Cigarette, anyone?) The next day’s lunch was the same, then dinner, and on and on for five days of gastronomical bliss. Partly it was the novelty – after three months of monogamy with pasta, which my host mom served as the first of three courses every night at dinner, souvlaki was a welcome diversion. Nina was in the middle of a semester in Scotland, land of fried snickers bars, and in need of a break from hot oil. It was a thrilling week, not a strand of spaghetti or boiled haggis in sight. We experimented with tavernas, tourist traps, and one vegetarian restaurant which blew my mind. A casual run-in with tzatziki, a slightly spicy cucumber/garlic/yogurt dip, turned into a passionate affair; we ordered it at every lunch.

And the wine, oh the wine… I’ve had some experience with wines, but retsina was unlike anything I’d had before; the pine resin used in fermentation gave it an herbal flavor, like sage. The reds were rich and voluptuous; I usually don’t like whites, but these were sweet and playful on the tongue. One thing led to another, until one more adventurous evening saw my maiden encounter with ouzo, the heady liquorice-flavored spirit that is the Greek’s answer to vodka. The morning after found us sitting at a cafe on the island of Naxos eating sweetened yogurt, the best use I’ve come across yet for a drizzle of honey. And all of it not just easy on the eyes but gentle on the wallet.

Like any relationship, it wasn’t without the occasional rough patch; a cheap lunch passed along something nasty that kept both Nina and I out of the game for a day or so until the symptoms had passed. (Bird flu? Menelaus’ revenge? Who knows.) And we weren’t entirely faithful ourselves – there was one back-alley tryst involving some of the best tom kha I’ve ever eaten. But for a brief few days the pleasure we encountered on each plate made even those small indiscretions forgivable.

The break ended and I flew back to Italy, where I went back to my old, comfortable relationship with fettuccini bolognaise, never expecting to see moussaka again. And for a long time I didn’t. Then, back in the states for the summer, I came home one day to find my little sister sitting at the kitchen table snacking on a container of feta, and the old longings were reawakened. I grabbed a spoon. It’s not the same as it was, and as long as I’m on this side of the Atlantic I doubt it will be, but I found a decent tzatziki recipe, I make regular use of the feta at Sharples, and my bar is stocked with a big bottle of ouzo. I’ll never forget my first time, but while I’m here I’ll take what I can get.

Pseudo-Greek Salad, Sharples Style

Spinach leaves, chopped (salad bar, dinner only on weekdays)
Cucumbers, chopped (salad bar)
Shredded arrots (salad bar)
Feta cheese (salad bar)
Cherry tomatoes (salad bar) or tomato slices, chopped (sandwich bar)
Garlic powder & red pepper flakes to taste (wok station)
Oil (salad bar) or, better yet, BYO olive oil
Top with plain yogurt (salad bar) and/or a squeeze of lemon (the cooler by the teas)
Pile everything on a plate and mix. Eat with a pita (sandwich bar).

Published version: http://phoenix.swarthmore.edu/2007-03-08/living/16999