One Greek Easter I introduced my brother to traditional holiday foods. Maybe ignorance is bliss. Read on to learn more.

A Greek Easter Tale

Greek Orthodox Easter is coming up April 20. I thought it a great time to share this story, though I’m sure Jon might want to forget it.

 

My Early Days

Growing up in 1960s England, my only connection to Greece was watching Jason and the Argonauts at the local picture house. Greece was an exotic, mythical place, full of gods, heroes, and stop-motion skeletons wielding swords. Little did I know that one day I’d end up living in a Greek village, married to a fiery Greek woman, and—perhaps most shockingly—eating things I never thought were edible.

Back in those days, British food was… well, “predictable.” Pasta came in tins, garlic was suspiciously foreign, and the only olive oil we ever saw was in tiny glass bottles at the chemist, reserved for ear infections and easy removal of earwax, not salads. The height of culinary adventure was putting pineapple on a slice of ham and calling it Hawaiian. Then I married a Greek. That’s when everything changed.

 

My Greek Easter Culinary Boot Camp

Alex, my wife, took it upon herself to educate me in the ways of Greek cuisine, often using methods that bordered on psychological warfare. She’d wait until I was halfway through some delicious, crispy fritter before casually announcing, “You’ve just eaten sheep’s testicles.” The next dish turned out to be fried brains in batter. It was like an initiation ritual—Greek culinary boot camp. Eventually, I lost all fear and just ate whatever was put in front of me.

But my younger brother Jon? That was another matter entirely.

 

 

Greek Easter – A Carnivore’s Delight

Jon came to visit us one Easter, blissfully unaware of the food-based horrors awaiting him. A cautious eater by nature, his idea of exotic cuisine was fish fingers and steak and kidney pie (minus the kidney). The only part of a fish he’d ever eaten came in breadcrumb-coated rectangles from Captain Bird’s Eye. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, an adventurous diner.

Easter Sunday arrived, and with it, the great feast to break the Lenten fast. We took Jon to a local taverna, where a whole lamb was slowly roasting on the spit, its golden skin crackling in the heat. Beneath it, something else was cooking—something smaller, wrapped tightly in what looked like string.

Jon narrowed his eyes at it.

“What’s that?”

“It’s like a Greek sausage,” I said reassuringly.

Satisfied with this explanation, he turned his attention to the first course: Magiritsa—a thick green soup, the traditional Easter dish meant to ease the stomach back into meat-eating after 40 days of abstinence.

Jon poked at it suspiciously. “Why is it green?”

“It’s made with lettuce and dill,” Alex replied smoothly.

Jon took a tentative spoonful. To my surprise, he loved it. He finished the whole bowl and sat back, contented.

Then he made the mistake of asking, “Was there meat in that?”

Alex beamed. “Yes! Heart, liver, lungs, kidney, spleen, and intestines.”

Jon went greener than the soup.

 

 

The Great Kokoretsi Deception

Still reeling from his accidental offal consumption, Jon turned back to the mysterious sausage-like object turning on the spit.

“Are you sure this is sausage?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Just… you know, whole chunks of lamb instead of minced meat. You’ll love it.”

“What’s it wrapped in?”

“It’s… uh… like pork crackling,” I improvised. “But lamb.”

Satisfied, Jon agreed to try it. A generous portion of kokoretsi was served, and he tentatively took a bite of the crispy exterior.

“It tastes like bacon,” he said, chewing on the grilled intestines. “Not bad!”

Then he dug a little deeper and pulled out a large, spongy piece of something.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Alex examined it. “Oh, that’s spleen. Or maybe heart. No, wait—lung.”

Jon put down his fork. He was done.

 

The Final Straw

Still eager to make peace with Greek food, Jon asked if he could just have some barbecued lamb. A safe choice. No tricks, no hidden organs. Just plain, familiar meat.

The lamb was taken off the spit, expertly carved, and plates of perfectly roasted meat were passed around the taverna. Then the waiter approached with a plate specially reserved for the guest of honour—Jon.

It was the head.

Jon stared at it. The head stared back. And smiled.

Jon left.

 

Lessons Learned

Jon’s visit to Greece ended with him consuming more internal organs than he ever thought possible, and possibly requiring years of therapy. But to his credit, he never once caused offence by refusing food outright. He bravely tried everything—if only briefly—before abandoning his cutlery and fleeing in horror.

Greek cuisine is a celebration of resourcefulness, history, and an appreciation for every part of the animal. In Greece, nothing goes to waste, and every dish tells a story. For those unaccustomed to this way of eating, it can be a challenge. But if you can get past the initial shock factor, you’ll find some of the best, most flavourful food in the world.

Jon, however, remains unconvinced.

 

Happy Easter!