“Ο Μάρτης πότε γελά και πότε κλαίει” – Μarch sometimes laughs and sometimes cries. So the idiom goes here, as has this year. There are many phrases like this about March in the Greek language. Most of them (like in other cultures) focus on the weather’s instability during the month, and folk tradition believes that the weather gives us a glimpse of what will come in summer. This March was unstable, to say the least: one week it was snowing, then the next the spring sun was shining, and then again back to snowy winter! One of my favorite March traditions is donning a bracelet made with red and white thread. We call it “martis” or “martia” after the month’s name, and we make it on the last day of February and wear it on March 1.

Legumes have been at the core of the Greek diet since antiquity, with chickpeas being especially popular. We find references to them, and the ways they were cooked, in the works of several ancient writers and poets, including Homer, whose epic poems provide insight into the eating and cooking habits of the time (roughly the 8th century B.C.). Revythi (ρεβύθι) is the Greek word for chickpeas, and it derives from the ancient Greek word erevynthos (ερέβυνθος), which referred to both the plant and the seed. Sappho (c. 630-570 B.C.), the greatest female Greek lyric poet, spoke of “Χρύσειοι ἐρέβινθοι ἐπ ̓ ἀιόνων ἐφύοντο,” which translates roughly as “Golden chickpeas that have for centuries been growing.”

It was a late night in 2009 when Thanos Prunarus finished his shift at Pop, a now-shuttered bar in Athens’ historical center on the tiny Klitiou pedestrian street. He was just a few steps out the door when he spotted a “For Rent” sign taped to the front of an old, empty store. This area of Athens used to be a part of the central market, with pockets of streets specializing in selling specific categories of products like buttons, doorknobs, textiles or wool. Some of the small, ancient-seeming shops selling these goods have managed to stay open despite the big historical center development boom that’s taken place in the last decade.

The last two years have been different in many ways. The pandemic kept restaurants, bars and cafes closed for a long period of time, depriving people of every kind of social activity. Many of us went back to cooking elaborate meals at home, and those of us who didn’t ordered food from the growing list of restaurants that were forced to adapt to a new norm. In fact, for a long period of time, the only vehicles one would see on the streets of Athens – especially at night – were food delivery bikes. Then came May. Places started reopening and the city became full of life again, with lots of new places thrown in the mix (though others were sadly permanently shut).

In ancient times, the murex shell, “porphyra” in Greek, was the source of a beautiful dye so rare and costly to produce that it was only used for royalty – the royal purple. Three years ago, in Athens’ northern suburb of Melissia, a restaurant calling itself Porphyra opened, preparing high-quality seafood with a creative yet accessible flair – no foam or unrecognizable frills. We have yet to taste a dish there that was less than scrumptious and because we have been following the career of owner, Christos Cjoncari, for 20 years now, we wanted to find out how he does it. When we first met, he was in his late teens, a waiter at Kali Parea, a popular fish place in Nea Erythraia.

Important holidays have long been associated with large feasts and for centuries have functioned as an excuse to treat family and guests to something special. Christmas in Greece is no exception: there are many culinary traditions associated with the Christmas season, known as Dodekaimero (twelve days), which officially begins on December 24 and ends on January 6. Nowadays many Greeks associate the Christmas table with a roast stuffed turkey, a tradition that arrived in Europe from North America, particularly Mexico, around the 1820s. It gradually became fashionable in Greek cities and over time turned into a Christmas staple, with a traditional stuffing prepared mainly with chestnuts, chopped turkey liver, minced meat, pine nuts and raisins.

At first glance, quince can often pass as a larger version of its cousin the pear. But it becomes a bright golden yellow as it matures – hence, it’s longstanding nickname, “the golden apple.” When the quince made its way west from south Asia and the Caucasus into Ancient Greece, the fruit quickly took to the soils of Cydonia (Κυδωνία), a town in northern Crete now known as Chania. This is a region that became famous in the ancient world for the production of the finest quinces. Known as “kodymalon” back then, this hard, yellow fruit is scientifically the Cydonia oblonga, so-named for its new Greek home. The ancient Greeks made good use of them, both in savory and sweet dishes.

For over a century, the dense downtown Exarchia neighborhood, located near the National Technical University and the Law School of Athens, has been deeply connected to the city’s students. Greece’s first student revolution took place there in 1901, resulting in the resignation of both the leading government and the Archbishop of the time. Since then, Exarchia has maintained its revolutionary spirit, displaying its most prominently during the Athens Polytechnic uprising against the military junta that ruled Greece from 1967 to 1974. An everlasting sort of vendetta has remained between the student population of Exarchia and the police – often with dramatic results. Everything is recorded on the walls of the neighborhood, in the form of mostly political graffiti that covers any reachable surface, as well as many seemingly unreachable ones.

Before we start this story, we must first explain the role of the platia in Greece. Platia (πλατεία, pronounced pla-tee-ah and sometimes spelled plateia) means “plaza” in Greek, and can refer to a central town square or a small neighborhood square. All ages meet at the platia: babies in strollers, loud children running and playing like there’s no tomorrow, teenagers having their first smoke or kiss, parents, grandparents, cats, dogs! These squares are to be found all around Greece, even in the most remote village. The role of the plaza in an Athenian neighborhood is even more vital and precious. It preserves the idea of a neighborhood, where everyone gets to know each other and share something in common.

A guest arriving at a Greek home should expect an overwhelming array of traditional welcoming treats that will be presented upon their arrival, from coffee and cookies, to cakes, homemade liqueurs, loukoumi and more. But there’s one sweet something that has long been linked with hospitality and welcoming in any proper, traditional Greek home: glyko tou koutaliou, or “spoon sweet,” a type of fruit preserve whose roots go way back to ancient times. For centuries, preservation was a necessary part of the harvest – it was the only way to make excess fresh fruits and vegetables last for as long as possible.

In the summer of 2020, a close friend of Ioli Vrychea and Panos Stogiannis – Athens restaurateurs with plans for a new spot – arrived at the Tainaron Blue Retreat on Greece’s southern Mani peninsula. He sat down at the hotel restaurant and, after quickly falling in love with the meal he’d been served, knew he had found the chef Ioli and Panos were looking for. The friend was so enamored that he convinced the pair to make the drive down south to Mani to introduce them to the person who made the food, Stavriani Zervakakou, a 40-year-old chef with roots in Mani. The bond was instant. She quit her job at the resort and made the move to Athens.

Evi Papadopoulou is no stranger to the culinary arts. A well-regarded food journalist who has written articles on pastries and desserts in the top Greek gastronomy publications, she is also a classically trained chef. She studied at the culinary school of renowned Italian pastry chef Iginio Massari and followed that up with specialized training in making artisanal gelato at Francesco Palmieri’s prestigious laboratory in Puglia, Italy. In July of 2014, Papadopoulou opened Le Greche, a gelato parlor tucked away on Mitropoleos Street, right off Syntagma Square. The parlor itself is straight out of an Alphonse Mucha painting and has an Art Nouveau feel, with its airy, muted color palette. Since it opened, the shop has accumulated quite a cult following – and for good reason.

In business since 1887, Diporto – a defiantly traditional spot in downtown Athens – has no sign and no menu. The staff doesn’t speak a word of English, and you might have to share a table with eccentric old men who look like they stepped out of a folk ballad. You will probably have to mime your order or draw it on the paper tablecloth. But if you ever wondered what it would be like to eat in a working-class Greek taverna circa 1950, read on. Diporto is located smack in the middle of what is – at least by day – one of the Athens’ most fascinating areas, home to a variety of specialized marketplaces. Varvakeios, one of the few of its kind in Europe, is the city’s largest fish and meat market, in operation since 1886. Around this enormous, chaotic market, where vendors try to outdo each other in shouting, lies Athens’ traditional center of trade, with streets devoted to specific merchandise: hardware stores and bric-a-brac on Athinas Street; spices, cheeses, kitchen equipment and plants on Evripidou and Sofokleous; doorknobs on Vissis (yes, there is a street dedicated solely to doorknobs).

If there is a symbol of the adoring relationship that Greeks have with lamb, it is none other than the lamb on a spit that most Greeks in mainland Greece eat as a specialty on Easter Sunday. Greeks eat beef or pork at least once per week; lamb, however, is not an everyday thing but a treat, something more than just meat. The film My Big Fat Greek Wedding may be a never-ending fount of stereotypes, but it does get it exactly right when it comes to how Greeks view lamb. When Aunt Voula finds out that the groom Ian is a vegetarian, she says, “What do you mean, you don’t eat meat? That’s okay, that’s okay, I make lamb.”

For Marina Liaki, Greece had long been a holiday destination, a place to visit family, soak in the sun and practice her Greek. So it was a shock when Marina, who is half-French, half-Greek and grew up in Paris, volunteered at a temporary refugee camp in the port of Piraeus in late 2015. The Syrian war was at its peak, and large numbers of refugees where coming over by sea every day. “It was so strange seeing the port of Athens, which I had always connected to careless summer holidays, in such a state,” she recalls. It was there, in January 2016, that Marina met Hasan Hmeidan, another volunteer who was originally from Syria but had moved to Greece with his family when he was five years old.