My big, fat, Greek burrito

For a few glorious days and nights in my early twenties, I lived out my most hedonistic fantasies. While Eurail-passing through Europe, I eventually found myself on the Greek isle of Crete, renting a room for around $3 a day and drinking ouzo for 5 cents a glass.

Mornings, I'd roll out of bed and land in the town square, where I'd eat a frittata whose taste I've never been able to duplicate. Maybe it was the olive oil, or the combination of herbs, I can't recall. By midday, I was ready to tackle the rocky path to a secluded beach where I could sunbathe topless.

As I have rather large boobs, I was instantly popular -- a rather new feeling for introverted me, and one I happily exploited. My favorite moment was the Norwegian swimmer who had me hold his trunks while he ventured into the Mediterranean in nothing but his altogether. Something about the aerodynamics or other, I was too busy drooling to pay attention.

I'd lunch on a baguette and nutella I'd dragged from the village along with a bottle of water. And that was it -- my entire day. I might've explored the caves at one end of the beach, and posed for a few photos with flustered Canadian guys. Their Yankee counterparts did a better job of feigning coolness around all that voluptuous nekkidity.

In the evenings, it was strictly Greek salads by the sea before hanging out at one of the local watering holes to pick up guys, who couldn't remember my name but seemed to have memorized my cup size.

I brought home lots of souvenirs: funky leather sandals, a huge, coarsely knitted sweater and a case of crabs. Every time I step foot in a Greek diner, I'm reminded of those blissful days, if only because most of the salads I've ever eaten in a diner truly suck. I've no idea where the wilted iceburg lettuce comes from -- it's not commonly available in Europe -- or who stuck in those freaking beets or the tasteless yellow peppers.

Here's my remembered version, chopped smaller so it fits into a tortilla. Don't blame me if you get the sudden urge to take off your clothes.

The maven's big, fat, Greek burrito

Salad:

1 or 2 small persian or asian cucumbers, or 1/2 an English hothouse cucumber, peeled and diced.

1/2 heirloom or vine-ripened tomato, seeded and coarsely chopped

1-2 thick slices, purple onion, diced

1/4 cup pitted kalamata olives, coarsely chopped

1 Tbsp crumbled feta cheese

Whole-wheat tortilla

dressing:

1 tsp red wine vinegar

2 Tbsp extra virgen olive oil

1 tsp dried oregano

pinch pepper

Combine salad ingredients (except the tortilla) in a bowl. In a cup or small bowl, whisk together the dressing ingredients and pour it over the salad. Toss. Spread on the tortilla, and then roll it into a burrito.

And remember: 

"Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee!" -John Donne

Comments

[Cori]

Excellent post... just surfed through blog explosion.... I'll be sure to come back!

[Ontario Emperor]

Just goes to show that 90% of our "taste" buds are probably related to things unrelated to the tongue. (Insert comment here.)

Back in December 1997 I was with two co-workers at an outdoor restaurant across the street from the beach in Copacabana, eating a wonderful salad. (For the record, I was fully clothed, and my co-workers were male. Good meal anyway.) Something about the very foreign-ness of the situation (the only Portugese that I know is "obrigado") just made the meal taste better.

[Adrian]

Sounds interesting, Anne. Did that kind of food ever disagree with you though?

[plosh]

Cori, I just took a quick look at your site, and all I can say is "wow." I wish you well on your journey to find your dad.

[Anne]

Cori: Thanks! Your blog is so poetic and elegant, I'll be posting a link soon (when I get around to it. Sigh).

OE: What, you were clothed? In Portugal? Hah! Likely story. But, yes, being in a foreign country and taking in a new environment does something to sharpen our senses, somehow. The impressions are indelible.

Adrian: Welcome back! Greek food was fine, but I was warned to stock up on toilet paper before continuing on to Turkey. It was sage advice. I'll let your imagination fill in the details.

[Adrian]

Thanks, Anne. I think you were wise. My imagination has certainly plugged the gaps!