........................somehow I met a remarkable man, both wise and compassionate,
........................who taught me to never forget that
........................I am alive...................................
Theophilus the Philosopher
If there is one character who had a profound influence, not only on my career in catering but also on my whole attitude to grecofilia, it is restaurateur, entrepreneur and philosopher, Theophilus Alaveras of Crete.
I`d been running out of money and hanging round his Neo Restaurant Bar for what seemed like an age and although I hadn't actually lied, I'd puffed up my experience and knowledge of the culinary arts enough to make myself seem like an irreplaceable asset in a town full of restaurants. Then two weeks before his trip to Kassos, Theo decided to take me on. He showed me round the kitchen, told me to forget everything I`d ever been taught before, then proceeded to re-educate me in the art of cooking for crowds. He put a hand on each shoulder, looked me in the eyes, his waxed moustache dangerously pointing east and west, and announced with his customary doleful expression, "Listen to me, Antonis. You might not make much money here but then I don`t charge for training."
He not only sharpened my humour, he also gave me myself.
At five the next evening I turned up for work and stood in front of the stove, closed my eyes, held my breath and leaped into the abyss of catering a la carte, promising to emulate Theo's own seemingly effortless style for at least the next fourteen nights and hopefully longer.
During those two weeks, I abandoned my own path and followed the Theo way of cooking under pressure. No drinking, late nights or being late. He encouraged lots of fresh air, walking on the beach and moderation in everything. "You are going to become a thinker in my kitchen. Either the customer wins or you do. It's for you to decide!"
He encouraged trust in my sense of smell and helped me develop a discriminating array of taste buds. He installed the necessity of blending colour and texture, and as far as the blade and the block were concerned, I became finesse with a razor's edge.
"You have only eight fingers and two thumbs. Don't waste any of them." Every day there were words of wisdom. "Never use a clock. Let your sixth sense alert you when cooking time is over, do you understand?"
Theophilus was passionate about everything but mainly his little boat - the Saint Adelphia, the music of Rembetika and his home film making. He had shown his films all over Greece. Sometimes in his restaurant he would film his diners eating, while they talked, singing, when they were paying their bills and later translate their body language. For instance, the cool guy who scratches the back of his neck when asking if there is a table available - not cool at all, in fact edgy. And those who make wavy lines in the air when they want to pay, "Why don't they just ask for the bill, they look like they want to conduct an orchestra."
It was impossible not to feel younger than him. Some said he's been here before.
Looking back, it was either a calculated risk or his own reckless sense of humour that caused him, the owner of one of the most prestigious restaurants in southern Crete, to take me on trial as his cover chef but secretly, I suspect Theo simply enjoyed teaching life lessons and taking risks. He rarely lost his temper but step out of line and and you sensed his disappointment. Calmy, he would take control, appeal to your intellect and leave you to work it out where you went wrong.
For instance, on one occasion he became so suspicious of his bar manager diverting the takings that he simply promoted him to cash controller and made him responsible for every drachma. Miraculously, the money stopped disappearing, the manager took the credit and the staff were relieved.
As I said, Theo's humour was sharp. You never knew when he was pulling your leg.
He was known to swan through the kitchen on the way to the bar showering advice on his assistants right and left. "Attention everybody! Listen to me! Never slice anything so thick you can't see through it!"
or, giggling like a schoolboy and clapping his hands like a flamenco dancer,
"Come now, clear 'Table 2' - we're running out of lettuce! Come on!"
I believe he placed great faith in his instinct. "A contented boss, and the establishment runs itself."
So he let us drink as much as we dared. The penalty for being 'tired and emotional' was instant dismissal but since everybody loved Theophilus, no one ever let him down. Except once when he actually offered to pay an inebriated barperson to go home early rather than wait until she passed out.
There were times when he came close to disaster.
One of his kitchen rules was that any homemade soup left over from the day before was to be placed in the bottom of the fridge to be thrown away by the kitchen assistant - he never took chances with food.
One evening at the height of his performance, he was told a rather pompous gentleman diner wanted to see him in person with regard to the soup. "But there is no soup on tonight's menu." He raised his eyes to the gods. Then Theo, believing attack is the strongest form of defence, presented himself at table with a huge smile,
"Good evening sir, everything to your liking, yes?"
"Well, this soup has an alcoholic bite and I was wondering if it might be past its best."
The man's hungry family, each with a bowl of the suspect soup before them, stared with admiration at
their father then turned and waited on the next words from Theo. He fell silent, then smiled warmly.
"Many of my customers make that mistake. You see, we use an ancient Cretan recipe and just before we
serve the soup, I throw in a glass of traditional Cretan raki for good luck. This may have confused you."
"Oh, well that`s fine. It really is most unusual. Thank you."
"You have only eight fingers and two thumbs. Don't waste any of them." Every day there were words of wisdom. "Never use a clock. Let your sixth sense alert you when cooking time is over, do you understand?"
Theophilus was passionate about everything but mainly his little boat - the Saint Adelphia, the music of Rembetika and his home film making. He had shown his films all over Greece. Sometimes in his restaurant he would film his diners eating, while they talked, singing, when they were paying their bills and later translate their body language. For instance, the cool guy who scratches the back of his neck when asking if there is a table available - not cool at all, in fact edgy. And those who make wavy lines in the air when they want to pay, "Why don't they just ask for the bill, they look like they want to conduct an orchestra." It was impossible not to feel younger than him. Some said he's been here before.
Looking back, it was either a calculated risk or his own reckless sense of humour that caused him, the owner of one of the most prestigious restaurants in southern Crete, to take me on trial as his cover chef but secretly, I suspect Theo simply enjoyed teaching life lessons and taking risks. He rarely lost his temper but step out of line and and you sensed his disappointment. Calmy, he would take control, appeal to your intellect and leave you to work it out where you went wrong.
For instance, on one occasion he became so suspicious of his bar manager diverting the takings that he simply promoted him to cash controller and made him responsible for every drachma. Miraculously, the money stopped disappearing, the manager took the credit and the staff were relieved.
As I said, Theo's humour was sharp. You never knew when he was pulling your leg.
He was known to swan through the kitchen on the way to the bar showering advice on his assistants right and left. "Attention everybody! Listen to me! Never slice anything so thick you can't see through it!"
or, giggling like a schoolboy and clapping his hands like a flamenco dancer,
"Come now, clear 'Table 2' - we're running out of lettuce! Come on!"
I believe he placed great faith in his instinct. "A contented boss, and the establishment runs itself."
So he let us drink as much as we dared. The penalty for being 'tired and emotional' was instant dismissal but since everybody loved Theophilus, no one ever let him down. Except once when he actually offered to pay an inebriated barperson to go home early rather than wait until she passed out.
There were times when he came close to disaster.
One of his kitchen rules was that any homemade soup left over from the day before was to be placed in the bottom of the fridge to be thrown away by the kitchen assistant - he never took chances with food.
One evening at the height of his performance, he was told a rather pompous gentleman diner wanted to see him in person with regard to the soup. "But there is no soup on tonight's menu." He raised his eyes to the gods. Then Theo, believing attack is the strongest form of defence, presented himself at table with a huge smile,
"Good evening sir, everything to your liking, yes?"
"Well, this soup has an alcoholic bite and I was wondering if it might be past its best."
The man's hungry family, each with a bowl of the suspect soup before them, stared with admiration at
their father then turned and waited on the next words from Theo. He fell silent, then smiled warmly.
"Many of my customers make that mistake. You see, we use an ancient Cretan recipe and just before we
serve the soup, I throw in a glass of traditional Cretan raki for good luck. This may have confused you."
"Oh, well that`s fine. It really is most unusual. Thank you."
Theophilus sailed back into the kitchen and took a sword down from the wall. "Bring me the kitchen assistant. Immediately!"
We were a good team and took great pride
in accepting responsibility and running the restaurant ourselves whenever Theo and his wife, Tsaly were away.
It was theatre, and the show must go on. We worked hard and late, had some fun and usually all went well.
But pride often comes before a fall
and at the end of those two weeks my rump hit the ground with a mighty thump. It was on Theo's return from Kassos that he came to my work station, shook my hand and simply said,
"Antonis, I'm impressed. Have a night off." A night off? Unheard of in summer.
Anyway, that evening I rewarded myself with a Psarosoupa, a favourite soup in Crete made with octopus, sardines, smelts and any other small, whole fish, as well as some onions, garlic, tomatoes, celery and a bottle of fine white Cretan wine in my room at a table for one on the balcony overlooking the summer evening street and for the first time in over a fortnight I let out a long sigh and relaxed. I was just wallowing in my own conceit when a loud banging on my door shattered the peace and quiet.
There stood a furious Theophilus, feet apart, hands flaying the air, eyes wide with anger.
"Mister Brown, as you know, we sell lamb, chicken, veal, biftekia, brisoles, lamb chops, souvlakia, moussaka and we open in just half an hour. Now since you forgot to take any of these from the freezer for tonight's menu dear boy, that means we've got no goddam meat. Nothing!"
Economy with words, yet his condemnation hung like the sword of Damocles as he wheeled round and stormed off leaving me to make a panic-stricken circuit of the other restaurants in the hope of finding replacements.
Time was running out but I was in luck and managed to gather not just an ample selection of unfrozen vital main course ingredients but also some very flattering praise from Cleo's Restaurant, our biggest rival in the town. It was well known in the village that to employ someone English was a feather in the cap of any restaurant proprietor and cause for envy amongst rivals. So by the time I returned to our kitchen I was bursting at the seams with pride and self-esteem, declaring to all and sundry as I pushed open the door,
"The 7th Cavalry's arrived!"
Silence. You could cut the air with a carving knife. "And guess what Theo? Cleo herself offered me a job!"
He deflated my triumph in an instant.
"What as? Stock Controller?"
The incident was never mentioned again and the Neo became my home from home for the rest of the summer.
Before Theo left, Sandy and I dropped in several times and always enjoyed the special treatment he reserved for his guests of honour and like the old guru master that he was, he always left it for me to mention my big disgrace before we'd laugh and cry, and laugh about it all over again.
"...may you live a life well lived...
...and never forget that you are alive..."
and at the end of those two weeks my rump hit the ground with a mighty thump. It was on Theo's return from Kassos that he came to my work station, shook my hand and simply said,
"Antonis, I'm impressed. Have a night off." A night off? Unheard of in summer.
Anyway, that evening I rewarded myself with a Psarosoupa, a favourite soup in Crete made with octopus, sardines, smelts and any other small, whole fish, as well as some onions, garlic, tomatoes, celery and a bottle of fine white Cretan wine in my room at a table for one on the balcony overlooking the summer evening street and for the first time in over a fortnight I let out a long sigh and relaxed. I was just wallowing in my own conceit when a loud banging on my door shattered the peace and quiet.
There stood a furious Theophilus, feet apart, hands flaying the air, eyes wide with anger.
"Mister Brown, as you know, we sell lamb, chicken, veal, biftekia, brisoles, lamb chops, souvlakia, moussaka and we open in just half an hour. Now since you forgot to take any of these from the freezer for tonight's menu dear boy, that means we've got no goddam meat. Nothing!"
Economy with words, yet his condemnation hung like the sword of Damocles as he wheeled round and stormed off leaving me to make a panic-stricken circuit of the other restaurants in the hope of finding replacements.
Time was running out but I was in luck and managed to gather not just an ample selection of unfrozen vital main course ingredients but also some very flattering praise from Cleo's Restaurant, our biggest rival in the town. It was well known in the village that to employ someone English was a feather in the cap of any restaurant proprietor and cause for envy amongst rivals. So by the time I returned to our kitchen I was bursting at the seams with pride and self-esteem, declaring to all and sundry as I pushed open the door,
"The 7th Cavalry's arrived!"
Silence. You could cut the air with a carving knife. "And guess what Theo? Cleo herself offered me a job!"
He deflated my triumph in an instant.
"What as? Stock Controller?"
The incident was never mentioned again and the Neo became my home from home for the rest of the summer.
When the time came, I said my goodbyes and just before catching my bus to Iraklio, Theo and I stood on the veranda overlooking the rooftops, neither of us knowing what to say. Then he turned to me and said softly, "Antonis, why must you go back to England? I don't understand. Here you have a good job, the Cretan sky, the Libyan seas and a wonderful lifestile - but most of all, you have my friendship. So why?" I couldn't answer. We hugged and as I lumbered down the steps towards the square, my tears came in buckets.
Before Theo left, Sandy and I dropped in several times and always enjoyed the special treatment he reserved for his guests of honour and like the old guru master that he was, he always left it for me to mention my big disgrace before we'd laugh and cry, and laugh about it all over again.
"...may you live a life well lived...
...and never forget that you are alive..."
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