By Shannon Ma
I always find myself wondering, what is that extra little magic that makes European towns so quaint? Especially Greece, whose real-life landscapes transcend any previous pictures that Mama Mia painted in my head. I wonder about the source of magic — is it the rich and grandiose culture? But that would imply a hint of pretension, when one of the most defining qualities of the Greek atmosphere is humility. There is an effortless homeliness cultivated through subtle habits that are special to the Greeks. Through my time here, I’ve discovered that European restaurant/café culture plays one of the largest roles in fostering such a uniquely cozy and charming ambience.
It’s not uncommon to stay in a restaurant for hours as if it’s your own personal resting space. Even coffee shops provide a full dining experience — customers lounge comfortably while servers deliver coffees to their table! The bill isn’t a concern until you are ready to leave. I think back to my college town’s beloved Small World Coffee; the first thing you are greeted by is a queue — more like a mob — that often snakes out the door. Inside, the roar of coffee machines and baristas shouting orders to one another drowns out any hope of normal-volume conversation. On tiny wooden tables that hardly fit more than two coffees, students type on their laptops maybe two feet away from each other. Every time I stand up to use the restroom, I am surprised I don’t knock over a slew of precarious wooden tables. The all-around rush always makes me fear that I’ll miss my name being called when my coffee is ready.
I’m not sure what I expected when I walked into Cultivos Coffee in Exarcheia, Athens, but it was something along those lines. I should’ve known from the plush pillows on sofas, the overflowing pots of green fern decorating the perimeter, and the cozy stone-colored interior that it would be vastly different.
I placed my order at the front register, assuming it was an ordinary coffee place, evidenced by the selection of pastries and the coffee menu on the wall. But I earned a funny look from the barista, who I later realized was a waiter that was supposed to come to me to take my order. I audibly said, “Ohhh,” when the barista (waiter) brought me my latté in an ornate glass and a small cookie on the side. For over an hour, I lounged, people-watched, and worked. Then I was ready to go, and walked out of the café — until I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around to see that my waiter had chased me out of the restaurant. She held out the credit card machine and said, “You haven’t paid.”
Clearly, I had gotten so comfortable in Cultivos Coffee that I forgot it was a public café. I also didn’t expect it to share the payment customs of a restaurant — I have only started encountering these types of café-restaurant fusions here in Greece. These dining experiences offered in cafés encourage relaxation, rather than a stop-and-go, fast-paced café experience. Getting coffee can often be quite an isolated/independent process, but being waited on stimulates dialogue and interaction, helping customers feel at home and taken care of.
Café-restaurant fusions are actually quite common, and they never failed to confuse me and my fellow Princeton interns. When we visited Dennis Café during our stay in Paros Island, we confidently marched up to the front register to order our smoothies. But the waiter dismissively waved us to a table and approached us with a notepad, as if to say, “Let’s start over the right way.”
At Almond, a gorgeous brunch restaurant in Paros, I was quite taken aback to see a girl casually working on her laptop on the table. Another time, my friends and I lounged at a seaside bar in Paros. It had been an hour, all our drinks were drained, and we were ready to leave. But for the next twenty minutes, our arms would go up in half-hearted waves directed at our server, who actively avoided eye contact with us. After we finally managed to catch his attention, he simply waved back at us. We burst out laughing. He then walked over and said, “Hello, how are you?” — still playing with us, ready to strike a conversation and avoid the bill.
In Naxos, we entered a brunch restaurant with a mission in mind — to try their delicious frozen margaritas. We ordered four different flavors (and would highly recommend them. Restaurant name: Bossa Café). The next morning, we were back for brunch, and our server from the previous day pointed an accusatory finger at us. “These girls are here for the margaritas!” Amid our fits of laughter, we attempted to promise that we wouldn't drain their margarita supply by noon. We were just so delighted to have been recognized and remembered.
Oh, and how could I forget the cats? The amount of times that a gorgeous cat has snaked around our feet at a restaurant, gazing up wide-eyed begging for a bite, is too many to keep count. Suddenly, eating out feels like I’m eating in the comfort of my home. As the proud owner of a shy orange tabby who flees at the slightest sound of strangers’ footsteps, I am always taken aback by how human-friendly all the stray cats are, and it’s a warm reminder that wherever I am, a piece of home is always following me. I’m particularly smug because my friends who were once self-proclaimed “dog people” have even warmed up to the Greek cats. How could anyone resist cats after a visit to Greece?
European eating culture is marked by a heavy emphasis on effortless camaraderie, personal enjoyment, savoring time and the food and the company, and living life so fully that one almost wants to stretch out time. I’m a big fan. It is the best representative of Europe’s slow, wondrous pace of living that many Americans like myself admire.
