"So it's like cream?" Manolis asked me.
"Well, yes – like cream and milk, but also with eggs and nutmeg. Americans, British, Germans, maybe Australians – they like to drink it at Christmas. Sometimes they heat it up and even add alcohol…." I responded.
Blank stare.
"It's okay, I don't think it's something here. I was just wondering," I said, breaking the silence of the stare.
Manolis lived in New Jersey for a few years which is where he experienced Whole Foods and similar stores, giving him the idea for his little organic shop here on Patmos. He once told me it was something Patmos was missing and if he figured out how to order the right things there were both locals and foreigners who would want them. He clearly was right enough to have kept the business going many years now. For me, he's my kombucha dealer – but also whole I get certain other staples like gigante beans, orzo, Thai curry pastes and when available, tofu.
It seemed to me a man who knows about kombucha, tofu and has candied chestnuts and panettone for the holidays might have enough background knowledge to know what egg nog is. Only there I was wrong.
Egg nog certainly wasn't that important, but since Manolis had candied chestnuts, it struck that same holiday-time nerve as the cinnamon and walnut dominated melomacarona cookies traditional in Greece for Christmas. They just seem complementary to the egg nog and you don't get what you don't ask for. I had already scanned the milk case at Alpha Beta and know they didn't have it, but it struck me that in this case perhaps things might work opposite of how they often do – the larger supply chain might not be the better choice. A smaller, specialty shop might be my better path. Then the blank stare came and disabused me of my whimsical thoughts.
Over the years I've written plenty about food in every country I've ever been to – and especially Greece. Experiencing the cuisines of other cultures is one of my favorite parts of travel and happily, my well-traveled kids have developed broad palates and appreciations. Before I left, Sennen was deeply jealous that I would be here eating tzatziki, gyros and cheese balls without him.
One thing we haven't experienced before is Greek Christmas cuisine. Not to say the entire menu changes by season – most of the staples remain the same. Like home – or anywhere – there may be certain things people lean into more than others. Here moussaka and roasted chicken become more popular in winter and Greek salad and eggplant spread less so – even though all the ingredients are available year-round and in most restaurants you can get all of these anytime. We won't dive too deep into seasonal preferences – we'll stick to what's actually different.
Not surprisingly, there's an entire series of soups and stews I've never seen – even in Spring. Michelle had a "meatball soup" that might be better described as meat and rice balls with some veggies in a chicken broth. On another occasion she tried the "oven-baked calamari in tomato sauce" which was really more of a Greek bouillabaisse centered around calamari with orzo and seasoned with whole cloves of allspice. Because I don't eat red meat, I haven't been able to delve into the roasted lamb options – but there have been a few times where lamb is one of the specials of the day at Sagitarius – which despite being almost a Greek cliche is something you almost never find in the summer.
In fact, the lamb paradox confused me years ago. The meat I most expected was nowhere to be found, even as gyros which is the most common kind I find in the U.S. The owners of Alas explained lamb is only for cold weather because it warms you up. In the summer, gyros should be pork or chicken – of which they usually offered a choice, although this last summer they narrowed down to only pork. In 2022 when I came here from mid-March through May, I expected to see lamb gyros at least at the beginning. There were none – which worked just as well for me, but seemed to belie the cold weather myth. My inquiry was sort of shrugged off as if it blueberry muffins were falling from the sky, but no one could really explain it. Then during Easter week, they not only had lamb gyros, but also giant spits of roasted lamb – which I'm sure coincided with the part of Orthodox Easter week where people slaughter and roast scores of goats.
Naturally, the most noticeable seasonal foods are in the bakeries. Greece already has a penchant for nuts, honey and cinnamon in their baking anytime of year – but in winter they rev it up a notch. Kourabeides – which may well give you diabetes – are based on butter and almonds and sometimes use a little rosewater and are covered in generous amounts of powdered sugar. In another variation they're dipped in chocolate – I've seen dark, milk and white. They remind me of Mexican wedding cookies or my Bubbee's pecan puffs. As such, I find them pleasant, but a little snoozy. They're now off my list.
For me – and based on the amount of shelf-space in the bakeries, others too – the melomacarona take center-stage. These classic Greek Christmas cookies center around butter, honey, cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, small amount of orange, semolina and of course olive oil. I had heard of them before, but never tried until this trip. They were good, but almost disappointing – until I tried the chocolate dipped ones. Not only does the chocolate add, well chocolate – but the encasement makes the cookies moister and denser almost like the chocolate chip mandebroit I make for Passover. Thanks to the chocolate, the cookies hold together better and their flavor deepens.
I was just subscribing to the Melomacarona Fan Club when I stumbled into what I'll call Uber-Melomacarona. One particular bakery here on Patmos – the one we refer to as the Bread Bakery because they're more bread and pies than desserts, the inverse of their neighbor the Christodulous Bakery – has two varieties of chocolate-dipped melomacarona: one with a piece of something like a brownie on top and the other with a dollop of pistachio cream. These "extras" sit between the cookie itself and the chocolate encasement – forming a second layer and almost taking the shape of a mini-wedding cake. Because of my dessert-loyalty to Christodolous, I didn't want to like the Bread Bakery's melomacarona at all. But in a world where even facts are hotly contested, I try to be the change I want to see in the world and go with truth over bias – the Bread Bakery's Uber-Melomacarona are next-level. So I stocked up on them.
Luckily, Christodolous gave me something they do best to hold onto: Roxakia. I have experienced these holiday cookies at other times of year including Lent (because they're vegan), Orthodox Easter and Assumption and always loved them. The ingredient base isn't that different from a number of other desserts: semolina, simple syrup, cinnamon, cocoa and olive oil. At Christmas they add in some orange, making them unique to the season. When I write it down, the ingredient list doesn't seem to suggest anything terribly exciting – but somehow the way they come together is magic. Roxakia have one of those flavors I could eat all day long – like peanut butter filled pretzels.
The Xeres Bakery in the back of town focuses on two things: traditional Patmian items on its shelves and really interesting pudding and cheesecakes in its fridge case. The shelf-items are hit and miss for me, especially since there's a fair amount of mastic in play and that's not my flavor. For Christmas, they had some trays of baklava-looking items. Only they're Christmas-specific and had fruit as well as nuts in the filling which reminded me a little of my great-grandmother's strudel only – some had one end dipped in chocolate, which was a little jarring at first. Once I pushed strudel out of my mind, I was able to relax into the concept and concluded these Christmas-baklava things were, in the words of Dom DeLuise "nice – not thrilling, but nice."
So I've come, I've tried, I've learned.
The one holiday food we have here that's the same at home are chestnuts. Throughout Europe, Turkey and even in parts of East Asia – roasted chestnuts from street vendors in cold weather are one of the delights of Winter. Last year in France, roasted chestnuts quickly became one of Sennen and Ailyn's favorite treats. While there's nothing better than those blackened piping hot chestnuts cooked right in the hot coals, the home-roasted variety is still good. Michelle and I won't have ours roasted over an open fire – Patmian homes typically use electric appliances – but we'll use the convection setting and enjoy some hot chestnuts all the same. Sure, it's not the Cannes Christmas Market or a Paris street corner – or even Istekal Caddesi in Istanbul – but it'll do. The chestnuts at the store looked beautiful – better than anything I've seen in an American grocery.
After many trips and years of coming to Patmos, it's nice to discover something new. I also find there's a joy in exploring a place and a different one sinking deeper into one – getting to know its layers and textures. At this point – quite literally – Patmos is another home. It's a place I'm not fully part of – but less and less of an outsider. I've been to a Patmian home for dinner, I know the tragic story of Panagottis, I kinda' understand the store hours and I can watch a movie eating Uber-Melamacarona. If I'm not "in", I'm definitely not "out".
Meanwhile the largest part of the rain storm has passed over Patmos – dumping most of its load late last night. There's a brief misty reprieve until one last part of the system is supposed to pass over and give another big burst of rain before we get to a day without rain on Friday. It's all fine with me. Christmas on Patmos is quiet (except for the church bells that went off at 5am), cool and peaceful. I'm happy to stay settled in. And I hope all of my Christmas celebrating people find joy and fulfillment in their holiday.
