CARROT AT THE END OF THE STICK

A few weeks ago Yiannis walked in and announced that we were invited to the 50^th anniversary of the founding of this company that produced specialised building materials. It would be in Athens and they would be putting us up in a 5 star hotel and the whole shindig would be hosted at a prestigious cultural centre in Athens.

He: I think that’s the centre where they host events with famous chefs…uh…serving.

Me: Wow! Then we must go!

My mind immediately went into a spin and I imagined a sumptuous meal with renowned chefs serving us exquisite dishes with fancy descriptions like… quail drizzled with pomegranate reduction and locally foraged mushrooms with roast yeast crumb and black garlic ketchup and crispy duck with tangy orange sauce with a chilli twist and other drooling tongue twisters, all colour coordinated and wines swirling in crystal goblets and delightful dripping confections and I gasped out…`YES YES! WE MUST GO!’

But such a banquet demanded a little dressing up for the occasion. I couldn’t do the stuffy boring kind and didn’t have any to my name. I just had three dresses that I could dress up or dress down depending on the occasion. I decided to go with the cleaning lady’s advice and choose my all time favourite blue dress and smarten it up with a long red flowing scarf and some earrings that swayed ever so gently. But shoes what shoes?…God forbid heels and especially heels…I was so used to my trainers that I cringed in horror thinking of my feet crushed in uncomfortable pointy heels. My Saturday night friend suggested a little hesitatingly, that a smart pair of trainers might actually be ok, since Queen Leticia sported trainers at some formal do…Then she looked at me and thought again… I wasn’t Queen Leticia or even some aging duchess that could set or break trends…so she suggested flats, which I didn’t posses.

Come Saturday, we took the afternoon flight to Athens which was delayed by an hour or so and finally checked in at the hotel around four. We were starving as we hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. The hotel porter took our bags up and we asked him if there was somewhere we could have a quick bite. He suggested the luncheon bar on the 3^rd floor and as we tipped him he asked…

Porter: Where are you from?

Yiannis:  Crete.

Porter: Ahh…there’s a Cretan restaurant a five minute walk from here. You should try it for dinner. It’s really good.

Yiannis: Well actually…we’ve been invited for dinner.

We both laughed on the way to lunch and our smug laughter said it all…Why would we fly all the way from Crete to eat at a Cretan restaurant!…Anyway, at the luncheon bar, we tried to restrict ourselves to nibbling and pecking at our food to save our appetite for the grand gourmet indulgence which would start at seven.

At six thirty, all showered and sweet smelling and decked and dressed, we descended to the lobby. I pointed to the reception.

Me: Hey let’s get them to call us a taxi.

He: ( Looking at his phone. ) I just downloaded this new app and I can order one myself and everything is prepaid and …you don’t get ripped off.

Me: Do we need to try this now?

He: I’ve already ordered one! ( Smiling with a sense of pride and accomplishment. )

We stood outside and waited and along came this couple dressed to the nines and looking like they hailed from foreign parts. The man was glancing at the same invitation card that we had. We got to talking and learnt that they were from Florence and had flown in that morning and before we could chat any further, a taxi drew up.

Me: Is that ours?

Yiannis: ( looking at the app) Uhh…no… ours is a different number.

It had come for the Italian couple. They had ordered one at the reception. The couple said we could ride with them but we politely declined their generous offer and waited for the app taxi. It appeared after ten minutes. When it dropped us off, we had to quick march to the reception centre, Yiannis striding ahead and me wobbling behind in my pointy heels and wincing an…`ouch’…every now and then.

We rode to the top floor in a lift that was big and spacious with men in suits and one or two women in shiny dresses. The top floor was a huge terrace enclosed in glass with a beautiful view of Athens in the sinking autumn sun. With a prosecco in our hand we stood around and everyone shop-talked until we were told to enter a seated area. The head of this family company entered with a round of applause and we were shown slides of their past, present and future and more people made speeches and one hour slipped into the next and Yiannis nudged me and whispered…`There’s no dinner.’… I looked at him in disbelief and he just nodded his head. I wondered how we were we going to sit through more processed monologues that bounced off our brains  when… there was no carrot at the end of the stick…no whiff of a scrumptious meal. But surely it can’t be true!… I thought. How could you bring people from every part of wherever and not feed them!…Then I whispered back to Yiannis…`The dining hall must be on another floor.’…He just shook his head without glancing at me. Finally when all those people, including a television newsreader, a minister and a bishop, had their say, they told us to adjourn back to the hall with glass doors for…cocktails. Yiannis grinned and said…`I told you so.’

We had flown all the way from Chania and our stomachs were rumbling and squish squishing and it was a Saturday night and… COCKTAILS????…NO SIR! NO COCKTAILS FOR US! We needed something more substantial! So we sneaked out. As we were stealthily tip toeing along the corridor of glass walls, in plain view of everyone, a glass door sprung open and a young lady from the company exclaimed in wonder why we were not mingling with the guests and savouring their delicious finger food. Yiannis murmured some sort of excuse and before we could break away, she thrust a bag in our hand…one for each as a parting gift. They were great big heavy bags…and inside each…was an encyclopaedia-looking volume with hardcover and all…as big as one of those atlases of those days of yonder that used to sit in my dad’s bookcase and collect dust…It weighed a ton and brought my shoulder down. It was the past, present and future of the company, their products and all the sites they were used on, with workers in helmets applying them diligently etc etc. We walked out in the night, our shoulders slumped and our gait laboured. My bony toes wedged in those peep-toe pointy heels hurt and I hobbled along like some crippled sparrow. To our immense relief, we managed to find a taxi.

He: Where shall we go?

Me: Back to the hotel. We can’t very well lug these things with us.

After we had deposited those tomes in our room, we stepped out of the hotel, breathed the cool night air and looked at each other.

He: Where shall we go?

Me: Umm…

He: Shall we try that Cretan restaurant the porter was talking about this afternoon?

Me: It’s only a five minute walk away…so why not.

At the Cretan joint, we stood in our dressed up selves but me in trainers this time, just like Queen Leticia, looking at the crammed tables with people dressed casually, munching and chewing and chattering. A waiter came up to us.

Waiter: Do you have a reservation.

Us: No.

Waiter: ( Looking at us all spruced up and feeling he needed to accommodate us.) Let me see what I can do.

He showed us to a very small table pushed up against a column and apologised a couple of times for having nothing better to offer us…`Never mind,’ we said and went wild with our order…chunks of lamb cooked with wild greens, presumably from our very own Cretan mountains, pilafi…rice cooked in rich meat broth with a risotto glaze laced with thick goat butter, village sausages blistering from the coal grill dripping with fat and cheese and spinach pies fried in olive oil and an assortment of dips…and…red Cretan wine, a little rough at the edges, but so good at breaking down all that fat before it clogged up some artery.

All I can say is that we had our carrot at the end of the stick…What a feast we had!

So that’s all for now, my friends. Cheers and stay well!