At the Taverna

Our table, of whichever taverna we ended up in, was on the beach, every beach, at the edge of bay: tiny, lapping, waves nearly at our feet. Our best friends met us there. Always.

Dakos, that Greek salad of crunchy whole grain rusks, topped with ripe tomatoes, feta cheese, and a zillion olives, olive oil, vinegar and local oregano, too, please. There was olive paste, and a layer of onions, and some capers, too. (Recipe at bottom of Newsletter).

Greek salad, classic, and when its the season: its ALWAYS what you want to eat! (what I want to eat, what the Greeks want to eat, what we ALL wanted to eat, together). Mondo—my grandson— isn’t as glum as the photo looks, he’s in the middle of bread-chewing.

Horta! (and our friend, Sly, who loves horta and is not shy about expressing this love)

It was usually still light out when we sat down at our table, but as we ate and drank, the sun—the God, Helios?— sank into the sea.

One of the great things about a taverna at the sea’s edge is that when kids have eaten they don’t need to stay at the table fidgeting, being annoyed, and being annoying. They can slip off their shoes, wander barefoot in the wet sand, and watch the world. The sea is always mesmerizing, especially at sunset, the waves, the darkening vista, the mystery of it all.

In the above photo, Mondo, the philospher, and his insect-focussed friend, Tino, stood, discussing the world and all of its possibilities. Watching them reminded me of Nikos Kazantzakis’ Zorba the Greek, and “Boss”, walking along the water, looking out onto it, discussing life and everything about it.

Meanwhile, I promised you best friends: they weren’t shy. Tavern-kitty meant business.

He jumped onto the table suddenly, and made off with a grilled sardine.

Taverna-doggy, one of our “best friends”.

Tavern doggy in love with Leah.

Tavern doggy in love with Jonathan.

Taverna Doggy is also a life-guard.

The sun setting.

Back home from the beach, from a dinner of many delicious things, from the sunset and the water and the doggies.

A funny note: many of the restaurants, hotels, shops, etc, in the area were a variation on the name Marilena. I wonder/ed if I was being sent a message.

Dakos, aka Ntakos, Recipe

Serves 4, or more as part of a small plates-on-the-table-to-share dinner

4 barley Cretan rusks, or 1 big rusk; there are so many types, also known as paximada: you just need very dry and crunchy dried rusks, ie chunks of bread

3 big fat ripe and juicy in-season tomatoes, sliced, quartered, chopped, or any combination (include their juices)

Salt to taste if desired (the olives, capers, and feta have salt, so keep that in mind)

1 medium-small red onion or other mild tasty onion, peeled and thinly sliced into shards

2-3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, as desired

Small amount (several shakes, to taste) local wine vinegar

3 ounces/150g feta cheese, broken up into chunks

Several generous pinches Greek oregano leaves, crushed between your fingers

A few capers—1 teaspoon?

Olives! a small handful? This is your call: I like a lot of olives, about 5 per person at least; you may prefer less.

About 2-3 tablespoons black olive paste

Place the rusks in the bowl/plate you will serve it in; if you are using one big rusk, break it up a bit; even individual rusks can be broken for nice irregular textures. Pour water over the rusks, and leave for just a moment; it will slightly soften, but you don’t want it to soften completely. You want it to still be crunchy when served.

Top with the tomatoes, lightly salt if you wish, then the onions, olive oil, vinegar, feta, oregano, capers, olives, and top with the black olive paste in a tidy little spoonful.

Kalí órexi