Food, and a little Love- Mana's Kouzina Kouzina

You can find out a lot about someone's character when they are under pressure. Nations, too. The crisis has revealed some very fine qualities in the people of Greece: a deepening of the appreciation of community, of heritage, great resourcefulness, and not least, a determination to enjoy life, every day.

Fortunately, all of these qualities are edible. You can eat them at family tables all over Greece. Or at Mana's Kouzina Kouzina, where every dish has a pedigree, integrity, a delicious piece of heritage on a plate. (Why "Kouzina" twice? There is a beautiful little sea turtle that lays its eggs on beaches. It's called the Caretta Caretta, and it's endangered, a little like the cuisine Mana's seeks to preserve). 

Mana's Kouzina Kouzina has an inspiring story- it's the story of what is going on all over Greece now. On account of the crisis, Stefanos Spathas- like so many people- felt compelled to start something fresh and new, completely from scratch. All the places that slowly later opened on this now thriving square around the Church of St. Irene has a similar story. That makes for an incredible energy and optimism.

Drink local-

I love what Manas does not serve almost as much as I love what they do serve- this is a little multinational-free universe. What they do have? Greek brands only- small producers of superb drinks. If you grew up in the US, Greek soft drinks- packed with vibrant fresh juices and sometimes made with natural springwater- will be a revelation. Even our beloved imported Orangina is bland by comparison. Better still there are the beers. 

Greece has many new small breweries making interesting beers. Stefanos' son, Giannis- beer sommelier- has put together one of the largest craft beer menus in Athens. We try a smoked porter from Chios, a weissbier called Odyssey with a sweet after-taste, and Ali, a non-pasteurized IPA from Thessaloniki. 

There are also Greek spirits- ouzo, tsipouro, raki, and wines by the carafe:

Eat Local-

All of the products here are from small and medium Greek producers- great quality s one reason, supporting the community another, but also every region has specially protected items- cheeses for exampe- something so specific to the terroir and culture both that they are treasures in themselves. 

Cook... not so local.

Greece, though not large, is very, very complex- there are a lot of terrains and traditions, micro-cultures, heritages. One island's most celebrated dish may be unknown on another; the mountains and their flocks have warming cheeses and meats, the sea is full of sweet, delicate Meze (for ouzo). Stefano travels, goes into kitchens and asks questions and tastes and tries, bringing back to the restaurants authentic things. The chef, Dimitris, has a good hand with them. This is Pastizada, from Korfu- a braised rooster in tomato and sweet spices over pasticcio macaroni. Except you see it is not- this is mesta, a hand-rolled pasta from Chios, instead- a little artistic license is an opportunity to celebrate an authentic product from another place.

We loved the inside-out gemista (stuffed vegetables)- it's actually the homey classic trahana- a rustic tiny pasta of grain and yogurt, with the vegetables mixed in:

Celebrate... also not so local-

We're a group of travel bloggers (TBG), either from Greece by birth, or lovingly adopted by the country in the meantime. We were all here to have a get-together and meet our newest member Gabi (from Italy!) and also Kyriaki, a friend we met in Lesvos, to do an interview for her and her colleague Eirini for Greek TV (which we learned is in San Francisco). In short, an international group brought together by the irresistible magnetism of Greece. Greece's magnetism is edible, too.

Dessert made for lingering (and a little philosophy)-

Kunefe, a katifi filled with melted cheese,
toasted in butter, drenched in syrup, and served warm.

Dimitris comes up with a whole tray of things for us to try- a still warm kunefe (from Asia Minor), an orange syrup pie, rich chocolate cake, and a galatopita- a gentle "milk pie" like a custard with maybe a little semolina holding it together. "What's in the pie?" one of us asks him.

"Just milk, and a little love."

That is the heart of it- everything is made with a little love here, and you can taste it. 

Mana's Kouzina Kouzina is open for breakfast (!), lunch, and dinner, in the shady square of Agia Irini on the pedestrian street Aeolou.

Mana's Kouzina Kouzina, 27 Aeolou, between Kolokotroni and Athinaidos

210 325 2335

here's the site-

Mana's Kouzina Kouzina

This authenticity is not an experience visitors often have- they may have the tastes, but not necessarily the meaning. Mana's Kouzina Kouzina preserves edible heritage. 

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The Most Romantic Restaurant in Athens

Summer in Athens is crazy romantic- the song of cicadas is hypnotic, the breeze is filled with the scent of wild thyme, and the stones hold the heat of the sun long into the night. When you scan the horizon, there's the Parthenon. 

If you're lucky enough to be having dinner at Point α, on the rooftop of the Herodeion Hotel in Koukaki, you won't need to look hard- you're smack across from the Parthenon, close enough, Katia our hostess says, that every element of the restaurant's construction and decor had to be approved by the minister of culture (the Acropolis Museum is even closer- you can make out the rippling muscles of the backs of the marbles.) It makes sense- the place basically feels like an extension of the Parthenon. 

But we are not here for a history lesson; our happy group of friends - Travel Bloggers Greece - are here to have a good time- a distinctly Greek good time. Charming barmen make cocktails with charming names (I had the Act I Drama, topped with a cevice tapas I would have ordered for dinner), the sky turns pink, and- just as the Parthenon lights up- you clink glasses with your friends, several times. Appetizers start arriving- Avant garde, playful de-constructions of the essentials of Greekness. The first thing that arrives is a centerpiece- olive branches by a jeweler. But the olives are not metal- they look almost velvety. "Take one" Jenny says. It's not velvet- it's frost! I slip it into my mouth and a layer of green olive oil sorbet coats my mouth, then there's a rich, savory olive ice cream I enjoy for a moment longer. It's served with rustic whole wheat bread, like you would have if you were eating under a plane tree at your aunt's house if your aunt were from a village in Crete with a wood burning oven. Not such a fanciful analogy- the team of two chefs are from Crete- for all the fantasy, there is also a simple, beautiful truth.

Then Loukumades- usually a sweet, honey syrup soaked thing- these were crisp and hot and filled with fresh cheese- tangy and savory, with a hint of honey for balance. Another dish was Imam Biyaldi- known to all as eggplant stuffed with onions simmered in tomato- a garden dish.

Ours comes coated in delicious black "dirt", with the gardener's footprints crossing the plate.

We were there on the full moon. I realize you can see the moon from everywhere, but it looks fatter and more golden from Athens. We're all bloggers, so half of the fun is photographing everything before we drink it/eat it/take it in-

From left, Elena, Marissa, Chrysoula, and Rebecca,  photographing the moonrise

We lingered over the main courses, sharing everything, the king fish a great favorite, and everything wonderful. Where the appetizers are playful, the main courses - equally inventive- are a little more serious, classical.

Then something happened that endeared me- Katia came to see if any of us needed a pashmina in the evening breeze. She also confessed she had a store of fans for a heat wave. Never have I felt more coddled- in the spirit of the best Mediterranean hospitality,  Point α, stunning as it is, is not about impressing at all- it's about enjoying the beauty of the moment.

l- Marissa and Katia, r- Jenny and Elena

Another Romantic thing do in Athens- seeing a performance at the Irodeio-

Carmen, in the moonlight...

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Pearls, Swine, and Lamb Chops.

If you can't see the sea, then you order lamb or, preferably, goat, especially if you have been hearing the bells around their necks all day, spying them grazing on wild shrubs and grasses and herbs and such. We've just stopped at a cherry orchard to ask some men chatting by the fence where we should go if we want some lamb or goat. It's not 300 yards up the road- a tidy restaurant with fresh sheet rock and old men. Just to make sure, I confirm before sitting down that they have goat and they say that indeed they do, so I sit down and start in on an aperitif of chatter, as I already know what I am ordering; I'm ordering goat. 

After a time, one of the older gentlemen comes to the table and sits down and we exchange some greetings. He is warm and very lively, with an extraordinarily broad and bushy mustache; it would turn heads on a large man. On this gentleman, who is unusually compact and wiry, it is astonishing. It's not clear whether he has come from the neighboring table just for a chat, but after a bit he begins to tell us what they have*- pancetta (this is magnificently meltingly fatty delicate slices of pork), patties of minced meat ("bifteki"), and kokkoretsi. Judging from the flocks sheep covering the hillsides this last one will be a good choice- a tangle of organs, generously seasoned, bound in a salty coil of small intestine that hopefully will have crisped and colored deeply as it turns for hours on the spit. (It's not for everyone.)

"And the chops? Lamb, goat?" I say I had only just then been assured that there are chops. A brief silence follows as his face drains of any readable expression. "I can't imagine why the cook would say we have chops. She must have misunderstood you." We move on to the salads. He says they have the usual salads. In fact there are two- cucumber and tomato, and cucumber and tomato with feta. On returning to the unsettled matter of the main courses, he goes through a very thorough and not untempting explanation of each. Having listened in silence, I can only bring myself to soberly remark: "It is a shame about the chops. You say you have none." There's an uncomfortable pause as either chagrin or pride at length gets the better of him (I do not know yet which, but I shall.) 

"Well..." he begins. Ah there now, at last we are getting somewhere. "We do have mutton." I smile with satisfaction- I do love a chop. It's not so simple though; apparently he will not yield them so easily as that. "But it is mutton. Do you know mutton? It can have quite a chew to it." "I'm sure they will be fine," I say.

Indeed, they were fine. Their time on the grill had coaxed the most expensive-looking lustrous brown out of the surface; the maillard reaction has never begat a more becoming or more tasty exterior. Amply salted in advance, that strip of fat that clings to the one side of the bone had fried itself up in the hot smoke into an airy crisp of herbaceous, wild-tasting bacon.

It was an excellent meal. 

Toward the end the gentleman came back with a grand dish of cherries. They were his own, from that very same orchard just down the road. We told him how we had admired it. Encouraged, he could not but then boast of his fine herd of two-hundred and seventy(!) sheep. The very great extent to which he had been holding out became clear, and equally clear that it was pride, not shame, that had got the best of him- he could not help showing off the excellence of his domaine. You know that expression to not cast pearls before swine? He just needed to make sure his mutton were not cast before swine. And who of us would not do the same?

*The absence of a menu is not uncommon. It simply means that they are offering what they thought best and what they have on hand, The price will also be entire as expected.

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