All year long, I had been saving up for a dream: fifteen days in a seaside village in the Peloponnese.
In my mind, I pictured the crystal-blue waters, the smell of grilled fish drifting from tavernas by the shore, and endless conversations with locals. Those famously warm, talkative, and welcoming Greeks.
But life, as always, loves surprises.
No sooner had I stepped onto the golden sand than a stubborn summer cold decided to join me. It wasn’t serious, just a stuffy, runny nose but still, not the start I had imagined.
Of course, there was no way I’d let a little sniffle ruin my first swim in the Aegean.
After floating in the sun-kissed water, I felt alive again. Hunger soon reminded me of the next Greek ritual: eating.
The scent of grilled seafood and oregano from a nearby taverna was impossible to resist.
It was one of those postcard-perfect places.
Blue-and-white checkered tablecloths, pots of basil swaying in the breeze, and a bright fuchsia bougainvillea curling over the terrace.
As I sat down, my eyes caught sight of an elderly man at the corner table, mending his fishing nets, a scene so timeless it could have come straight from a painting.
Lost in that image, I didn’t notice the waiter standing beside me with the menu.
The old man, who turned out to be the waiter’s grandfather, said something in Greek. The young waiter smiled and translated:
“My grandfather says you should try the fish — he caught it himself this morning, with those nets you’re looking at.”
How could I refuse?
I ordered grilled fish with a Greek salad.The simplest and most perfect meal you can have in Greece.
But my cold wouldn’t leave me in peace. I kept reaching for tissues between bites, which didn’t go unnoticed.
The old fisherman glanced up from his nets, adjusted his reading glasses, and called his grandson over. He pointed at me and whispered something.
A few minutes later, a small plate appeared on my table. It was a creamy dish that looked like yogurt.
“This is tzatziki,” the waiter explained. “Grandpa says it’s good for colds. Garlic kills all the bad germs!”
Now, raw garlic and I had never been friends, but this was different.
Mixed with cool yogurt, olive oil, cucumber, and a hint of dill, it was refreshing, tangy, and, surprisingly, comforting.
That day, I tasted tzatziki for the first time, not just as a Greek dish, but as a symbol of something deeper: the warmth of Greek hospitality, the belief that food is more than nourishment, and the quiet wisdom of a fisherman who knew that the sea, the land, and a little garlic can heal almost anything.
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The Greek Heaven Team
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NUTRITION