A Gift from Athens

My first glimpse of Athens did not prepare me for what I would find there. It stole my breath, it was so lovely and bright, but before I left, the place captured my heart, too. 

I try to make friends when I travel. As in, I talk with children, parents, grandparents. I ask questions, practice speaking the language of the country (even if my skills are ridiculously lacking and completely laughable), and if invited to play a game in the park or read a bit of a local newspaper I never refuse.  

I wander down cobblestone streets looking for local eateries rather than stopping in the made-for-tourist-trade restaurants. Only exception to that rule is the Hard Rock Café. If a city has a Hard Rock, I'm in at least once. Grab a guitar pin for my jacket and a t-shirt for the yoga mat. And a cold beer and fries because some traditions need to be kept. Otherwise, though, it's local all the way. 

In Athens I found a small restaurant on a side street near the Acropolis. It was barely big enough for the half-dozen wobbly-legged tables stuck in the shade of a faded awning. The first time I went in, a mother and toddler sat at one table and a man in jeans, dusty t-shirt, and work boots occupied another. I was the only person in the place who couldn't converse in Greek. 

Perfect spot for breakfast--that day and nearly every other day I was in the city. Breakfast was included in the price of the stay at my hotel but I went around the corner to my new favorite place, anyway.  

I noticed a plate of cookies on the counter the first time I went in. I had a busy day planned so I bought two and took them along in my backpack. That became a daily habit. Breakfast in the little restaurant and cookies to go. Perfect arrangement. 

It got even better when the woman who owned the eatery sat down at my table one morning. We drank dark, strong coffee and chatted, the way strangers do. She told me about her kids. I told her about my reason for being in Greece. We compared lives, finding we were more alike than different. 

And we talked about baking. I gave her hints on braiding challah and she shared her grandmother's secret about which olive oil to use for pastry. 

The day before I left, she gave me the recipe for the cookies I loved. I bake these often, and every time I take a bite of a still-warm orange cookie I am pulled back to the moment my gaze fell on the dazzling city for the first time. 

Greek Orange Cookies

1 cup butter
¼ cup granulated sugar
1 ¼ cups vegetable oil
1 ½ t baking powder
½ cup orange juice
1 t baking soda
4 to 5 cups flour

Cream butter, sugar and oil. Add baking powder and mix well.

Combine baking soda and orange juice and stir until foamy. Add to butter mixture.

Add flour one cup at a time, until a stiff dough forms. Dough may be rolled and cut, or simply made into a log and sliced.

Bake at 375 degrees F on ungreased cookie sheets. When slightly brown on the bottom, remove from oven.

Combine equal part honey and water in a saucepan. Bring to a boil, then simmer until a thick syrup forms. Allow to cool.

When cookies have cooled, dip into syrup, then sprinkle with chopped nuts, sprinkles or cinnamon.