Cava

I'm very vulnerable to the power of suggestion. Especially when it comes to food. Today was a meandering sort of day and this afternoon (pre-lunch) I found myself at Barnes and Noble. I thought I'd pick up some pre-trip things but then remembered that Allison, old friend and fellow foodie (well, professional caterer now), told me to check out Saveur: The Greek Issue. Colon and everything.

She knows me well. I started idly flipping through the first few pages..then hit the feature on Greece and was rapt. I got an explanation of the derivation of pastitsio (bechamel being an innovation to a crema-less predecessor, which was added after a famous Greek chef returned from training in France), a brilliant explanation of how Greek food exposes the history of Greek culture, and beautiful pictures of my favorite foods: fish, Greek pastries, feta, masticha, grape leaves, souvlaki. My stomach and then eventually my whole body seemed to be contorting in misery because the photos looked so good and so real but were such unsatisfying, teasing temptations. I thought I could never be happy again until I had some.

I'd heard good things about Cava in Eastern Market, so I pilgrimaged there. I drank glasses of water in rapture (it was hot) and equally enthusiastically eyed the menu full of all the delights that had recently were so painfully two-dimensional. After I was passingly hydrated, I got ouzo.

And dolmades (stuffed grape leaves). It was foolish to twice get things that my grandmother makes beautifully.

They were delicious...and displayed cleverly too. I'm used to dolma juice seeping into my plate full of food at a family dinner or having them be more uniquely formed and bursting out of their veined seams with filling. These grapeleaves, hand-rolled onsite and stuffed with jasmine rice and herbs and topped with yogurt and capers, were for grown-ups: uniform, polite, in their place...not as good as my grandmother's...but delicious.

A little family portrait of things that grow on vines...and their derivatives.

I always like to think that I'm being bold and adventurous when I order octopus. Someone recently pointed out to me that they noticed I had octopus two meals in a row. Ah well, make it a third, it's too tempting.

It was tremendous.. and there was a lot of it. I was satisfied. There was no need for me to order anything else but with such a beautifully diverse menu, I couldn't help getting one of my more recent Greek dessert favorites: galataboureko egg custard served between layers of honey-drenched phyllo.

My brow was less furrowed and I read a girly novel instead of playing backgammon, but I had my ouzo and all was right in the world.