I have always felt a little bit Greek.
I have never really looked it though, with the red hair and the blue eyes and pasty skin. Although, when I was about sixteen I went to a Greek cafe with my dad, a place where he was a regular. With his black hair, olive-ish skin and passion for Greek coffee and food I think the owner had assumed he was Greek (actually he is a crazy mix of Irish, Scottish, German and a splash of Welsh). When the cafe owner saw me he clapped his hands and said "Your daughter, she is the original Greek!" Apparently in certain parts of Greece, many many years ago, before the Romans came along with their dominant dark-haired genes, there were a number of redheads in Greece. He was rather disappointed to hear that we were both just mongrels (mixed breed:) He quickly recovered when he realised I had the same passion for his food.
I was born in a small country town in NSW. My dad had been virtually adopted by a delightful Greek family and used to spend many afternoons with them, being fed by my Nona and playing snooker with my Nono. When they heard my parents hadn't really considered godparents for me, they begged for the opportunity and my honorary Greekness began. Every Friday, until we moved away when I was twelve, I would eat spanakopita and kourambiethes (which I loved) and hide the koulourakia (which I didn't like) in my pockets until I could escape down to feed them to the chooks. Yes, they had chooks, and a huge veggie garden and their house smelt like dill and olive oil and love.
Greek food will forever be a favourite and so when selecting a birthday dinner location, George Columbaris' messy Greek street food at Gazi was a chance to revisit my childhood.
