Stavros the Cook

Katie's adventures in cooking class:

Thursday night was my first Greek Cooking lesson in which we actually cooked food. Stavros, the chef, is absolutely delightful. Like any good chef, he is a kitchen Nazi, but he tries very much to unclench his fists of control and let his students help out with some of the tasks. He generally maintains a sort of half-crazed grin through most of his instruction, and he throws in a quirkywink every now and then.

His genius is apparent at all times. "Right, so I will have all of your emails, so the recipes should arrive in your mailboxes by Saturday afternoon," Stavros says, for instance. "And you will have my information, so you will contact me. If you want to go to a restaurant, you will call Stavros. If you want to go to a bar, eh, well, bars are, how do you say, no big deal, but you will call Stavros and I will tell you where to go. There's a lot of crap in Athens, and I don't want you to waste your time. Endaxi. (which is basically Greek for 'that's settled.')"

As a side note to help you envision this man and my thorough amusement with him, I have tell you about a Hallmark card I received a few years ago for my birthday. The front of the card features a very burly circus performer in a leotard, and the card says something like, “Paco will show you many things if you will go with Paco, but Paco will not beg.” The inside of the card says,“Whatever you do for your birthday, don't go with Paco.” Although Stavros is a fairly thin man who wears a chef's jacket and wind pants, he reminds me very much of Paco. Whenever Stavros makes a mistake while cooking, he sings a little song to himself. It goes like this: “I dooo not like it when I dooo this.”

Speaking of mistakes, Stavros tried to teach our class of eleven how to flip the sautéing contents (which, in Greek cooking, consist primarily of olive oil) of a frying pan with a flourish. When the first girl who tried this succeeded in scattering a large amount of oil-coated garlic and diced onions all over her arm and the floor, Stavros winked at her and said, “Right, well, this happens. This is why we cooks always have tomato concentrate in our kitchen; it is good for the burns,” as he slopped tomato paste over her scalded skin.

In spite of the mishap, we managed to prepare a pretty glorious feast of Greek salad, bean soup, seasoned potatoes, saganaki (fried cheese), and chicken with lemon sauce. Stavros, however, was less than impressed with the beverages our cafeteria offered. “Ugh,” He said. “Dinner, without wine, is like island, with no sea. We must have some wine for next week. At least a beer.”