When people ask me what’s my favorite time of the year here in Athens, I always say it’s spring and particularly April. That is when all the Seville orange trees lining the streets of Athens – both downtown and in the suburbs – blossom and perfume the whole city. I can spend hours walking around and inhaling the wonderful scent. The common orange is believed to be a naturally occurring hybrid between the pomelo and the mandarin. There are many different varieties and other hybrids that have evolved, but they generally fall into one of two categories: sweet (citrus x sinesis), which includes varieties such as the navel orange, the Valencia orange, the blood orange and the Jaffa orange, or bitter (citrus x aurantium), which includes the Seville orange, the trifoliate orange and the bergamot orange.

Restaurants closed in Athens on Friday, March 13. For Sophia Vracha, it was a “horrible” day, a real “Friday the 13th,” as she put it. Together with her parents, Nikos and Mary, Sophia runs Kissos, a taverna in Chalandri that I wrote about when things were still “normal,” just about a month before the city went into lockdown. While it was a hard day for the family, they had seen it coming. “There was a rumor out and about in the week before it happened,” Sophia said. As she described it, a general feeling of uneasiness and insecurity was in the air. People really began to panic when Covid-19 arrived in Italy, thinking that it was just a matter of days before the virus would come to Greece.

Considering that there are more than 40,000 cultivated varieties, it’s no surprise that rice has fed people so successfully for so long. Many believe the wonder crop was first cultivated in China as early as 2500 B.C. before spreading to Tibet, India and beyond. It was in India that one of Alexander the Great’s military campaigns came across rice in the 4th century B.C. In his work Geographica (“Geography”), Greek geographer Strabo (c. 62 B.C.-24 A.D.) quotes a source from the campaign: “The rice, according to Aristobolus, stands in water in an enclosure. It is sowed in beds. The plant is four cubits in height, with many ears, and yields a large produce.”

I have always loved dolmades, stuffed grape leaves, and my family obviously knew it. My grandmother would make loads of them and would call my mom to tell her, “I made dolmades for Carolina.” Dolmades, just for me! I especially liked the ones with just rice and herbs that we eat cold – you can pop them in your mouth like candy. Likewise, avgolemono, the smooth yet tart lemon and egg sauce, is another favorite of mine. My grandfather George was an expert on making this. As a child I’d stand next to him while he was whisking quickly but with a masterful technique he had acquired over the years of being married to my grandmother Rena. She would stand next to him, like a general, on the lookout for possible mistakes and giving him directions.

In the next installment of CB Cooks, a series that brings our walk leaders into your home for a live cooking demonstration, Carolina Doriti, our Athens bureau chief, will be cooking dolmades avgolemono, stuffed grape leaves with avgolemono sauce. Her Instagram Live will run on Thursday, May 7, at 11:30 a.m. EDT (GMT-4). If you want to cook along with Carolina, here are the ingredients you’ll need (although all are welcome to come watch, even if you’re not cooking).

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.”

Greek Easter was extraordinary – in the truest sense of the word – this year. Despite the fantastic weather people had to stay at home to celebrate, quite a lonesome setup compared to the crowded daylong outdoor feast that we are normally used to. Despite being at home, my 7-year-old son and I did all the same Easter traditions, just in smaller quantities. One of the most fun traditions for children is the “egg breaking” ritual. We dye eggs on Good Thursday; this year, since my son is into space and Star Wars, we used that as inspiration and dyed our eggs like planets – we’ve got plenty of time, so we might as well use it creatively!

Another Instagram Live series we’re launching is CB Cooks, which will bring our walk leaders into your home for a live cooking demonstration. First up is Carolina Doriti, our Athens bureau chief, who will be cooking <em>galatopita</em>, a Greek milk pie, on Sunday, April 19, at 11 a.m. EDT (GMT-4). If you want to cook along with Carolina, here are the ingredients you’ll need (although all are welcome to come watch, even if you’re not cooking).

This year Greek Easter will be celebrated a week later than Catholic Easter. I guess “celebrated” might not be the right word, as everything – for the first time in recent history – will be shut, even the churches. In Greece, Easter is as important as Christmas. If they can, most Athenians leave the city to spend the holiday in the countryside or on an island, where the setting is ideal for the ultimate Easter tradition – a whole lamb on a spit, roasting in the open air on Easter Sunday. Everyone gravitates toward this central attraction, sipping on tsipouro and wine and munching on meze till the feast is ready to officially commence.

If you happen to wander around a Greek supermarket or visit a Greek bakery, you will notice that there is always a section dedicated to paximadia (paximadi in the singular) of various shapes and sizes piled high or wrapped in cellophane bags. At first glance, they look like nothing more than slices of stale bread. So it can be surprising to learn that paximadia (or rusks), once a peasant food found in the poor areas of Greece, are greatly loved all over the country, with many different types available for purchase: from large rustic looking thick slices to small bite-sized “croutons.”

It’s 6 a.m. Lately I’ve been waking up really early. I don’t expend enough energy I guess – not in the rhythms that I am used to anyway. Everything is suddenly so different, so eerie and lonely, and at the same time I feel like I’m being watched – as if I’m part of a movie or a weird version of Big Brother or Survivor, the kind of game show where everyone is on the same mission, but no one really trusts each other. Everyone’s scared of something invisible, and if you sneeze or cough, you get a strange look. I was joking around with the few people who were worried about Covid-19 before it had even reached Europe. At the end of January, the coronavirus made it’s way to Italy – right next door. That’s when more people started worrying.

The refrigerators are spilling out onto the sidewalk. That’s the first thing we notice at Galaktokomio, a dairy shop in Ambelokipoi. We step inside and, unsurprisingly, more of these large refrigerators line one of the walls of this tiny shop. The opposite wall is filled with shelves of pasta, trahana, almonds, flour, honey, tahini and other edible goodies, while a freezer filled with frozen pies, which look homemade, looms at the back. But their most precious gems are in the refrigerators: dairy products, including some of the best yogurt in Greece. As we stand, enthralled by the contents of these gleaming cases, Vicky approaches us. The polite and professional shopkeeper, she begins to unravel the story behind this small shop in one of the most densely populated areas in Athens.

Introduced during Ottoman times, the kafeneion – the old-fashioned kind of coffee house – has long been a fixture in Greece. By 1860, Athens already had more than 100 establishments that were serving what has been called both Greek coffee and Turkish coffee (name debates aside, we can all agree that it’s more or less the same thing, a small cup of strong coffee with a thick sludge at the bottom). They were (and still are) the domain of men, who would congregate there to talk politics and socialize over coffee as well as more substantial fare, usually simple meze and ouzo or tsipouro. Although the traditional Greek kafeneion still exists in many Athenian neighborhoods, it’s slowly dying out.

This is a story that starts and ends with the land. First there was the father, Spyros Vracha, a farmer who owned fields nearby Chalandri, now a middle-class suburb around 8 km north of downtown Athens. His crops supplied the kitchens of the tavernas in the area, which until the 1980s was dotted with villas, rather than the apartment blocks of today. Before it closed down almost 30 years ago, Ta Marmara (“The Marbles,” so called because of Chalandri’s many marble suppliers and workshops) was one of the tavernas that Spyros supplied. It was owned by Stavros and Athena, Spyros’ neighbors.

When it comes to food, Onofrio Ioakimidis takes his inspiration from both the north and the south. His love for cooking blossomed in Thessaloniki – he was born and raised in the northern Greek city, which is second only to Athens in terms of size and legendary for its cuisine. But his grande amore with the culinary arts really began with his grandmother Constanza. Originally from the southern Italian city of Naples, Constanza fled Italy during the difficult years of Mussolini and moved to Greece. Fate brought her to Thessaloniki and into the arms of Grigoris, who soon became her husband. Onofrio recalls a childhood spent in nonna’s kitchen, at first playing with flour and dough, and then eventually learning how to make pasta.