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Greek Sampler "Life isn't a matter of milestones,
but of moments." Storm clouds massed on the horizon. Sharon, Sue, and I arrived in Stettler at 6:15 pm. Moments later, we discovered the town's grocery store had closed at six sharp. "Plan B?" Sharon enquired. We rode down main street and stopped in front of an unassuming Greek restaurant. A debate broke out on the merits of Greek food. Locked in a dead heat, the restaurant owner bounded forth to help break the impasse. "Super bikes," he said. "Many people in my home country ride bikes." And with that as an introduction, he invited us inside his restaurant. "Ah," I kidded, "since you own the restaurant, I guess I can't ask you what the food is like." "If you don't like what's on the menu you may leave," he replied, and disappeared back inside the restaurant. Who could turn down such a fair offer? We parked our bikes against the wall and were in the process of removing our helmets and padded gloves when the nimble owner reappeared, wife in tow. In the proverbially inquisitive nature of the Greek people, they prompted us into talking about our camping gear, the contents of our bags, and, of course, what we ate while on tour. "Everything and anything!" I replied, as the cold wind picked up a notch and hurled dust down the street. "Cycling is good in my country," the restaurateur said, as I pulled on a fleece jacket. "It is always warm ... not like Alberta." A dust devil concurred with that pronouncement, forcefully whirling a handful of street grit straight into our sorry traps. More than happy to be ushered out of the elements, we blinked dust from our eyes and followed the owner and his wife inside. A tiny oasis met us - a restful combination of giant plants and twittering parakeets. We found a table near the kitchen, hidden deep in almost impenetrable equatorial flora. Mr Papadopoulos served us juicy tidbits straight from the kitchen. We learned he was a chef of some note. Plaques of distinction extolling his culinary preeminence from New York and Los Angeles restaurants adorned the walls. Two hours later - after sampling a large portion of the menu - we waddled out. If the cycling in Greece was even half as good as Mr Papadopoulos's food had been, we would be in cyclists' heaven. |
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