My own discoveries in Greece started when I was a tour guide there almost 30 years ago. There, locals introduced me to foods that seemed wildly exotic to me at the time. Now, I try to replicate those culinary experiences when I’m at home. Maybe I’m grilling calamari tubes stuffed with a mixture of feta, chopped tomatoes, lemon, cayenne pepper and oregano. As soon as I smell those ingredients, strong senses and memories come flooding back. Suddenly, I’m in Greece again, where I’ve had some of the most memorable meals in my life.
For me, food means more than just staving off hunger, especially when I travel. So much of what defines a place is based on its cuisine: how its food is grown and harvested, how it’s prepared, how it provides a way for communities to come together in celebration or in solace. On the islands, I’ve seen fishermen coming in with octopus, which is one of those “exotic” foods I was unfamiliar with. There, it’s on the menu everywhere—octopus salad, grilled octopus with lemon, octopus marinated in vinegar. You see them draped from balconies to dry out, and dropped on cement piers to tenderize (the fishermen say it takes 50 drops to properly tenderize an octopus).
Another time, a friend and I were walking in a small mountain town when we saw an elderly woman with a large sack slung over her shoulder, struggling to carry her load to the top of the hill. My friend jumped into action, taking the heavy sack from the woman and carrying it to the top of the hill. We weren’t able to communicate very effectively through language, but she showed her gratitude when she opened the sack and offered us handfuls of freshly shelled almonds. It was a cold winter day, but I’ll never forget the warmth of her smile.