Gratia’s Experience in Greece
This was the small bakery. It’s hard to tell but this bakery was at the end of an alleyway. So in my opinion, this place was a lucky find.
It was the spring of my senior year, and my mom forced me to go to Greece with her. It was a long journey; as soon as we got off the plane, I was pushed straight onto a boat to arrive on my first island of this trip. The sun dipped low over the azure waters of the Aegean Sea as I stepped onto the island of Hyda Attiki. Little did I know that my odyssey would take an unexpected turn, leading me to a sweet discovery that would forever stay in my memory. Wandering through the narrow cobblestone streets, I stumbled upon a small bakery named To Stachi; its rustic charm was just asking me to go inside. My mother and I were given a warm welcome from a little old lady. The air was infused with the heavenly smell of freshly baked pastries. To Stachi, I soon learned, was not just a bakery; it was a sanctuary of sweetness. The display case glistened with an array of tempting treats, each one more tempting than the last. From traditional Baklava to delicate Loukoumades, the choices were overwhelming. It was as if the gods themselves had crafted these amazing desserts.
My journey through To Stachi’s menu began with a cup of strong Greek coffee, its rich flavor awakening my senses. As I sipped, I observed the locals indulging in conversations, their laughter filling the air like music. The ambiance was as delightful as the treats awaiting my stomach. Of course, being the tourist I was, my first choice was the Baklava. The first bite into a slice of Baklava was something I never experienced before. Layers of flaky phyllo dough embraced in honey, nuts, and spice. It was a dance of textures and flavors that transported me to the heart of Greek culinary tradition. Each bite was like a birthday party in my mouth. As I explored the menu further, I encountered a very hard word to pronounce: Galaktoboureko. I may have butchered the name, but the sweet old lady understood. Next thing I know, I’m eating it. The golden layers of filo pastry cradled a luscious custard filling, delicately scented with vanilla and topped with a golden honey glaze. It was a dessert fit for the gods, and I savored each forkful as if time itself had slowed down to allow me to relish the moment. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the island, I left To Stachi with a heart full of gratitude and a lingering taste of sweetness on my lips. My journey to Hyda Attiki had been transformed into a sensory symphony, and the desserts at To Stachi had become the sweet notes that would forever resonate in my memory.
This is To Stachi on the map. It’s right off the Port.
This is Galaktoboureko. It is like a really wet cheese cake.
This is Baklava. It’s like giant frosted flakes stacked on top of each other with nuts and honey inside.
Justin’s Expierence in New York
Growing up in Long Island New York was like living a fever dream. Everyone you knew had an accent and anger issues. My neighborhood was a bit interesting. Imagine central Connecticut but with tank tops and Italians.
My neighbors’ names were Felipe and Tony. Tony worked as a pizza delivery driver. My dad was excited that Tony worked as a pizza delivery guy because my dad had an interest in learning how to make pizzas. My dad decided to accomplish his goal of one day being able to make pizza. He finally began to learn the art of pizza making.
For the next few weeks, he spent every night after work practicing making pizzas. As he was learning he had to find out what ingredients he needed and he had to learn the proper technique for making and spinning the pizza dough. At first, his pizzas were very misshapen and weren’t very flavorful. My dad ended up getting a lot better once he discovered the perfect technique for spinning dough and the right balance of ingredients for the perfect pizza crust.
He was so happy with his newfound talent that he wanted to share his perfect pizzas with everyone he knew. At this time I was 4 years old and I thought all dads could make pizza. My family decided to move to Virginia for the next step in my dad’s career. As I grew older, I began to expand my palate for different pizzas. As my interest in pizzas grew, I started to ask my dad about his experiences while learning how to make them. He began to teach me how to make pizza starting with the ingredients and moving to very specific things like how to make the dough, spin it, and bake it.
Within a month’s time, my dad and I really bonded over the shared love of pizza making. I was able to make pizza like a pro. Me learning how to make the pizzas inspired my dad to go back to his roots, and he began making pizzas for the whole neighborhood like he used to do in Long Island.
Once both of us knew how to make pizzas with ease, we began to bond over them. Making pizzas together was starting to be a weekly activity that I especially looked forward to. My favorite part about making pizzas was when we handpicked our toppings for the pizza. Some of my favorite toppings included pepperoni, peppers and onions, olives, and anchovies. My dad hates anchovies but my love for anchovies came from my mom. These experiences shaped my view of cooking. Thanks to my dad’s love for pizza I never would’ve had all these great memories. I used to think that cooking was boring, but now it’s something I look forward to.