My idea of the perfect picnic was one where the picnic site was covered in green grass, the picnic was placed on a blue-and-white gingham tablecloth, the plates and cutlery were all contained in a picnic basket, and the food did not resemble the kind of food we ate on a daily basis at home. I imagined pies, muffins, prepared juices, and all kinds of food you could pick with your fingers without getting dirty. Our family picnics never turned out that way, or at least the one and only picnic we went to every year. It was never a gingham-tablecloth affair. Instead, it was a hullabaloo of expatriates from the Mediterranean island of Crete, playing Cretan music from ghetto blasters hooked up to car batteries, breaking out into Cretan jigs and eating barbecued New Zealand lamb - the annual Cretans' Association of Wellington summer picnic.
(Click the link if you want to read the whole story.)
ωχ τι μας κάνεις τώρα και είπανε να το ρίξουμε στη δίαιτα
ReplyDeleteFor half a second there I read that as a 'cretins' picnic. I thought, "jeez that's hard on yourself". You never know with New Zealanders though! ;)
ReplyDeleteI love the story, and I like the sound of the food.