It’s a Small World

Simply put, Greece and Turkey have some of the best food in the world. This is of course an opinion, but I am saying it with conviction. We filled our belly’s with tender meats, crisp fries and flaky pastries. I could wax long and flowery on the various cheeses, different ointments (sauces to the average American) and varieties of chocolate, cookies and chips we consumed. I won’t bore you, but I will write about our more memorable times.

Somewhere in A Tiny Town NE of Athens

A small bakery with a faintly abandoned look. The toilets were the meadow out back. Inside a surprisingly large staff/family bustled among the loaves of bread, beautiful cookies, sandwiches and pastries. Off to the side there were three metal warming pans with pork and gravy in one, beans in tomato sauce in another, and roasted potato chunks in the last. As it was lunch and we were rather hungry, we opted for the potatoes and pork. Mom dished us up heaping mountains of food and practiced her English, much to her teenage daughter’s keen embarrassment. “Mamaaaa”. It certainly didn’t deter her in the least! The first bite of food was heavenly. The pork was tender and flavorful and the potatoes had some sort of lemon flavor that none of us could quite place. We ate on a small table out front, warmed by the sunshine and good hospitality.

Tavern Vikos Gorge

A small tavern in the village of Monodendri, this place was a cosy refuge for us after a long, hard hike through the Vikos Gorge. Fourteen miles of somewhat technical trail had left us sweaty and tired, then the sun vanished and the cold rushed in. The Tavern had a roaring fire and a table full of roaring loud ladies as well.

Monodendri is know for its “Pies” so naturally we wanted to try that as well as a nice variety of other warming food. The three older folks sitting and talking near the kitchen were obviously the owners/in chargers/cooks/everything and were happy to seat us near the fire and promised us good food. It was good! Super good and super warming. The pie was a lot like a crustless quiche or maybe even more like a Dutch Baby with chunks of Feta in it. There was sausages and bread and salad and fries and I forget what all. Probably some ointments. All the food was served family style, as is pretty typical of the local joints. It’s a great thing, as you can taste everything and not have to decide on just one item.

A Greasy Joint Near Istanbul’s Old Airport

The area of town around the old Istanbul airport, where we flew into from Greece, looks fairly rundown. Stores are shut, lots of grubby looking apartments and scuzzy hotels. It didn’t look promising for a good lunch, but Google promised us a fairly decent place so we went for it. The door was locked, but a fat jolly man that didn’t speak a word of English opened it and welcomed us in, seating us at the only table in the place. He tried to tell us what he could offer us, but finally we told him, via Google Translate, to just cook us something and it would be great. That lit him up, and a flurry of water boiling, oil heating and freezer digging ensued. A motorbike driver dropped off a something and in a surprisingly short space of time we were presented with a large bowl of small dumpling looking things. They had a small bit of meat in them and were covered in a creamy tomato sauce. He then brought out a plate of sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, sausages, fries, bread and sigar bourek stuffed with cheese. For dessert he whipped up something green that translated to Heavenly Mud and topped it with a dollop of ice cream. This was all accompanied by hot Turkish Tea. Truly a feast! It was absolutely delicious and fun. Two weeks later I can still smell grease on the sweater I was wearing there. Yes, laundry has been difficult to get accomplished.

The Han Turkish Restaurant

Years ago in Istanbul our family ate at an Ottoman restaurant that has ever since been on our list of favorite places we’ve eaten. Since we were back, we decided to try to find it. Afraid it would disappoint, we nevertheless went to where we thought it was and sure enough, the exact same (ok, maybe not) old woman was sitting in the window rolling out big thin gözleme and cooking it over a hot fire. It was cold and wet outside and the warm interior looked like a haven. Low couches were spread along the walls with low tables in between them. We settled in among the cushions and proceeded to eat hot, fresh gözleme and several delicious meat dishes smothered in yogurt sauces. Hot tea was brought and we ended with a Nutella loaded gözleme so good it nearly made one’s eyes cross.

The Dirty Face Restaurant

I don’t know it’s real name, or even which town it was in in Greece, but I know it has the biggest and best gyros I’ve eaten yet. Our timing was off and we were looking for lunch right around 2:00pm, which is when most restaurants shutter their doors for nap time. Technically I think this one was closed as well, but when we asked, the old couple sitting on the front steps leapt up and welcomed us in warmly. With much friendly chatter they made us five mega sized gyros absolutely loaded with delicious ointment! We were gonna eat in the car while we drove but the first messy bite disabused us of that idea. Instead we plopped on some dusty chairs and tables in the adjacent park and dug in. Apparently I got a little carried away in my enthusiasm as our group started pointing and laughing at my allegedly sauce smeared face. I gave it a cursory wipe, but not good enough to satisfy the coffee shop owner next door as he called Heath over and gave him a fist full of napkins. Gotta love cheerful interfering Greeks.

Somewhere in the Ionian Hills

The delight of traveling out of season to out of the way places is that you can find otherwise hidden gems. A positively ratty restaurant appeared to be about our only option for supper one day, so in we trouped. Yes, yes, they were cooking. For sure. Several old people sat around the central drum stove chewing the rag and smoking. We took a seat at a table and the customary paper tablecloth with its little printed pictures of olive branches was carefully spread out before us. The chef tried to tell us the menu, but we really couldn’t catch much of his broken English. We heard eggs and potatoes and souvlaki. Finally we resorted to our “just cook anything” and called it a day. Chef seemed hugely pleased and bustled off to the cluttered, obviously not commercial kitchen to get it done.

Anything was slimy greens served cold that had a pretty good flavor, cabbage with vinegar, fries, bread, a fluffy platter of eggs, feta cheese, souvlaki on sticks, small sausages and probably other stuff I’m forgetting. Regardless, it was all perfect and we were well satisfied.

After so many successful stabs at the unknown, we started to feel invincible. Every restaurant was approached eagerly and with great enthusiasm, our mouths watering as we imagined what new taste, flavor or texture would be presented to us.

Until.

We should have known it couldn’t last.

Not for three entire weeks.

Enter: Kam the Lamb

dramatic drumroll

Tellioğlu Kokoreç

We were in Dinizli, Turkey. It’s ancient name is Laodicea. It was late and we were tired and ready for an early night at our quite snazzy hotel for once. But needs must, and we realized we would need to run into town for a quick supper bite before we could rest. I didn’t feel like researching restaurants and seems no one else did either. Someone spotted Tellioğlu was opened and off we went. As we were walking in, I saw they had delicious looking rolls of meat roasting on an upright grill. Brown and crispy looking, they definitely appeared bacon wrapped. Apparently I had forgotten we were in Turkey, not Greece and muslims don’t eat bacon.

The only other patrons at that hour was a swarthy looking man and his friend, both obviously just off work from their plastering job, judging by the condition of their clothing.

Heath went to the menu tacked to the wall and was Google Translating it when a waiter came and tried to help him out. He allegedly couldn’t speak a word of English, but eventually they must have got something arranged and we awaited our feast.

It came. A plate with a pita on it and a large slab of the “bacon wrapped meat” on top. Another plate with a baguette stuffed with chopped up bacon wrapped meat. We were to share them among us four. I noticed the swarthy man looking on with great interest and when I reached out and took a bite of the crispy edge he gave me a big beaming smile and a thumbs up. I gave him a thumbs up back (idiot). That’s when I paused and looked at the food. Really looked at it. And I will admit my heart melted within me.

This was clearly nothing we had encountered before in our whole lives.

We all started looking, tentatively poking and putting bits into our mouths. The taste wasn’t bad, some was quite good in fact, but all the poking and prodding started to uncover some disturbing sights. Tubes. Lots of tubes. Tubes an inch to two long poking in every direction. I was under the impression one shouldn’t see tubes in food, but in fact I was looking at them. Pale pink, they wrapped about red, gray and white bits of, well, food I suppose and the whole thing was held together by the crispy exterior. About this time our swarthy fellow diner leapt up and showed us that we should sprinkle the whole production with the contents of a shaker on the table. I think it was cumin. Satisfied that he had helped us out, he sat back down to beam and watch. Ho boy.

At first I picked around the tubes, but pretty soon realized it was actually almost impossible to do that. It was also almost impossible to chew the crazy things. Finally enough was enough and I picked up my phone and told Chatgpt that I was in the Izmir region of Turkey eating something that was crispy on the outside and full of tubes in the inside. It didn’t take but a few seconds for it to tell me that we were indulging in a fine delicacy known especially to this region. Offal Bbq, Kokoreç, or to put it bluntly, every bit of a lamb that isn’t actually meat bundled together, wrapped tightly with said lambs intestines and slow roasted all day. Brains, stomach, liver, heart, you name it, we ate it. Totally disturbing.

I was quietly done eating. The rest forged on, bless their hearts, until Heath got a bite of tube that wouldn’t behave. It stretched between his teeth and the baguette he held in his hands. Stretched and stayed there. So. Terrible. Gross. He growled a small dog like growl and we were done. Completely done. The end. Fin.

As per Turkish custom, we were thoroughly overcharged to boot, but that was the least of our worries. My stomach brain was beastly upset at what it was trying to process and we were forced to go to the cookie shop next door to try to dilute the awfulness in our stomachs. “What” I begged of Chatgpt, “are those tubes that one cannot chew.” Likely colon, I was told, as this is the toughest part of the intestine. My spirits sank even lower. WHO in their right mind munches on lamb colons? Heath pulled up his translated picture of the menu he had on his phone, and that’s when we realized that this was not just any lamb we had eaten, it was Kam the Lamb.

Un. Be. Lievable

By this time we were ensconced on the couches in our Hotel Lobby and it suddenly began to strike me funny. Horribly, terribly funny and I laughed till I wept and I’m quite sure will be permanently labeled as a lunatic by the poor desk clerks. Maybe it wasn’t even me laughing, maybe it was Kam.

All I know is that from that moment on I had a vague obsession with kokoreç and the next day felt drawn to go stare at it cooking at a roadside restaurant. Stared and shuddered. I also was rather paranoid of the toilet, cause last I checked colons weren’t meant to dissolve…

All I know is that the next day even McDonald’s look good. And safe. What are the chances of it selling a McKam? We didn’t actually eat there, but it goes to show how one meal can really change your world view on food.