Sugar and Spice, Sharp but Nice

I've been repeatedly asked to imagine what flavour I would be, and I can never come up with a satisfactory answer. Probably because flavour means food, but there's so much more to food than flavour.

Oatmeal Cinnamon Chip Cookies

I'm not a foodie snob, just someone who loves enjoying her food. There's flavour, but there's also smell, there's texture, there's temperature. All those can make a world of difference. So I decided to cheat a bit and figure out what kind of foodstuff I could be… and the choice just sprang up without me having to think about it at all.

If I identify with a food item, in a 'come back as X' way, that would have to be my mother's spice and orange cookies. They don't look like those up there in the photo; she prefers to twist the dough into little braids and shape them into sticks, crescents or rings. They are vegetarian, as there is no butter, milk or egg in the recipe; baking them would always ramp up big time during fasting periods, and the smell of cinnamon, clove and orange greeted people from the landing, without even having to open the door into the flat.

They're fluffy and comforting when eaten hot, just out of the oven, or even warm, although I've always preferred them cold, at least a couple of days old, when they feel more solid and the flavours have blended. And unlike so many other cookies that seem to be designed to be dunked in milk, these are extra yummy when dipped in orange juice, leaving some of their spiciness in the drink.

I'm not sure if I identify with them because they tick all the 'favourite foods' boxes or if I like them so much because I'm so like them, but there you have it. I'm solid, dependable, low maintenance, a generally wholesome influence; sweet but with a little core of pungency, an acquired taste. I want to believe I bring a bit of comfort, even with some crumbly rough edges, to the lives of the people I touch, and leave something of myself in them.

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Attempts at Countrification

I was born and raised in Athens. A sprawling metropolis of about four million souls, spectacularly magnificent in places and spectacularly repellent in others. I guess it spoiled me for any smaller place.

Athens

I used to say that, as a dedicated city girl, I couldn't see myself living in a smaller place. Well, I'd jump at half a chance to live in Edinburgh, despite it being about 1/10 the size of Athens, but beyond that, I'd only leave for an even bigger place, like London, Paris or New York. I couldn't even imagine then that I would end up in semi-rural Essex, coping with life out in the fringes of a modestly sized town. And really, coping is the word.

You see, I'm definitely not cut out for life in the wild. Even if that means a housing estate a short bus ride from town, as wild as a domesticated mouse. I miss being able to pop out to the shops at a moment's notice, or finding myself among people with a few minutes' walking. We're on a dorm estate, where I can go for half a mile or so without meeting a soul on the street, and I resent having to plan a bloody journey on the bus to get into town. The local lifestyle is heavily skewed in favour of drivers; walking is a desolate experience and public transport combines extortionate fares with unreliable timetables. If we didn't have a huge supermarket, that allows lots of browsing, close by, I wouldn't have anywhere at all to go, outside town limits. I'm still wondering at a retail estate with several furniture, furnishings and DIY stores, but no bookstore.

I've spent long periods of time in the real countryside, in a house without hot water or an indoor bathroom, where we still gathered our dinner ingredients from the garden. I know I'd make a lousy farmer's wife; I've even lost the feeble interest in gardening I used to have, much as I would like a chance to grow some of our own food. But I'm no good even in the faux countryside of the boonies. I just miss people too much. It's bad enough that there is absolutely nothing to do in town once the shops close. (By 6pm. Which, in high summer, means long hours of empty streets in broad daylight. Creepy.)

I know now that I could live in an even smaller town. I'd just have to be smack in the middle of it all.

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Deck the Halls

Not our own hall, though. Not if I can avoid it. Not this time.

You see, I plan to be in Athens for the holidays this year. Last time was in 2009, and I've missed the atmosphere so much.

We haven't booked tickets yet, so I don't know exactly when we will be away – any time between 17 December and 2 January. I want to be there as long as possible, and not only because I desperately need seven workdays to bring my paperwork up to date, failing which would create no end of trouble.

You see, we say 'holidays' there, instead of just 'Christmas', because Christmas is only the beginning of the festive season. During most of the 12 days, the party goes on non-stop. There are so many name days to be celebrated, and a good few of them involve such popular names, that an overdose of treats is very likely, if one really keeps in touch.

The week between Christmas and the New Year also hosts more parties than any other time in the year: one long revel to celebrate the birth of the Son and chase the old year away. Add to it the fact that presents are exchanged on New Year's Day, rather than Christmas, and you can understand we could never be satisfied with a day or two of celebrating. Oh no. That's just a warm-up.

So I'm going to do everything in my power to be down early, to enjoy the build-up of activity. To decorate the tree in my mother's living room, which I haven't done since 2006, together with my little one. To welcome carol singers on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. To go to church at dawn and hear liturgy in Greek again. To have the pork and leek casserole that is traditional Christmas Day fare in my part of the country, and my mother's incomparable melomakarona. To visit with uncles and aunts and cousins and old friends, who haven't seen my son since he was just crawling. To see old friends, walk along crowded decorated streets, and welcome the New Year with fireworks at midnight and clinking glasses of bubbly with the family that made me and the one that I made, all together.

Despite the bleak economic climate in Greece right now, all I can think of is spending time with the people I care for. Nothing else matters. We've faced the spectre of poverty here as well, and we're just beginning to raise our heads above water, but I'd do anything to never have to spend another holiday season separated again.

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The Best, for Less

Sandwich bars don't have a reputation for being posh eateries. Swing by an Everest, though (they're all over Greece), and you won't care about posh again. Too delicious for nitpicking.

Chachi’s Sandwich Bar

Everest redefined the tradition of the 'quickie bite', taking it from cheese and spinach pies and sausage rolls (greasy and occasionally dodgy) to full meals, with a lot of room to go healthy and with more than decent prices. Where else can you get a filling meal, a dessert and a drink, and still keep the bill in the single digits?

There are traditional-style pies and ready-made cold sandwiches, to be sure, but the great strength of Everest is the completely customisable toasted sandwiches. Basic white bread rolls, but the choice of fillings is entirely up to the customer's whim, and I all staff have had to deal with some pretty daft combinations. I'm not sure if I've ever had the exact same sandwich twice myself, and believe me, I've had hundreds. (Nothing better after a night of clubbing, to keep the post-drinking munchies at bay.)

In more recent years, they have introduced customisable salads as well – pick a (sealed) bowl of greens – spinach and rocket, or a medley – and add your choice of extras and dressing. I used to have a lot of such salads for dinner when I worked evenings. Spinach and rocket, with roast chicken fillet chunks and honey-mustard dressing, or with red beans, sweetcorn, diced peppers and a vinaigrette. If I was extra hungry or it had been a particularly nasty day, I could add a slice of carrot or marble cake. And their 'chococaramel con panna' (hot chocolate with caramel syrup and whipped cream) was comfort in a paper cup in any but the hottest weather.

My husband, who was not yet my husband at the time and enjoyed ping-ponging emails with me during the hours of low activity in the evenings, never stopped being bemused at how little I had to pay for my dinners, compared to how many things I piled into either my salad or my sandwich. All until he came to visit and had the experience himself. It is really the only way.

I miss Everest. I haven't been to one since August 2010, and I plan to indulge fully when I find myself in Athens again.

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Year End To-Do's

Perhaps setting a close deadline works better than new year resolutions.

Things to do today

I've already struck the unfeasible items off the list (read The Wheel of Time in six weeks? yeah, right), so this is only what depends solely on myself and circumstances as they are right now for its accomplishment.

1. Get myself accustomed to a daily schedule involving more sleep and exercise. With husband's new job, I have to get up earlier and shoulder more tasks during the day, so I need to rake up more energy and keep the winter blues at bay.

2. Finish the book series I've put on hold for NaNoWriMo (Cate Tiernan's Sweep). Five instalments are down, 10 remain to go. Each one is a couple of hours' worth of reading, so it may seem like a light task. It is, as long as I manage to make the time, which can be trickier than it seems, especially on full-blown work days.

3. Bring my paperwork up to date. My passport will expire in January, and my identity card is still of the kind that started to be replaced a decade ago. Unless something goes terribly wrong, we will be going back to Greece for Christmas, and I will have both taken care of while we're there, saving myself trips to London and dealings with the embassy.

4. Buy myself at least a couple of smart garments. I've grown too comfortable with the 'mum uniform' of yoga pants, t-shirts and sneakers; I need to reacquaint myself with smart clothes (especially slacks – that's going to be hard) and heels, in anticipation of working opportunities.

5. Take the little one to at least one Christmas event. Probably the arrival of Father Christmas at the local zoo, in a sleigh pulled by real live reindeer.

6. Be happier, for myself and in myself.

That's it, I guess. A short list, fully achieved, would do much better things for my self-confidence than having to work out success percentages.

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