Dear sirs: Saw a reflection of myself and was appalled. What with Friday's gut-busting eat-a-thon, the Λοστρέ κουζίνα's beetroot spread with yogurt and walnuts, and its kontosouvli chunks of grilled pork (Pitheou 32), chased by a Greek salad and plate of fried shrimp at Margara (126 Chatzikiriakou in Piraeus), I am feeling attacked. Not to mention the free desserts. I will not be placated by these furry dining companions you keep sending me. You will be hearing from my lawyers.
My thought after visiting any taverna or ouzeri in Athens (aside from wow, my stomach is really distended) is that the cookery exudes a mature confidence. The menus tend to look similar, with kitchen staffs more interested in honing than experimenting. I can't remember ever eating this well in Europe. Granted, in the more expensive northern cities I tend to throw together quick meals on the stovetop ... but still. There's something about the intersection of sun and sea: vine-ripened vegetables, fish just pulled from the Mediterranean, and always these damned flaky cheese pastries leading me to my destruction. While I dine, I jot down observations in a notebook ― the old habit of a newspaperman. I have caught chefs and servers noticing this; it seems to gratify them. Maybe they are just amused. In a Thanksgiving act of solidarity with my countrymen, I went in search of something resembling a turkey dinner. The closest thing I could find was this slowly braised rooster in a fr...
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