I'm Greek...So Eat!

by Cathy

If you're not eating  - I'm not happy. Wanna make me happy? Eat.

There is no question that food is a significant component of the Greek culture. As such, it is the main focus of any familial gathering: Thanksgiving? Forget what we're thankful for, what are we eating? Christmas? Thanks for the gift but I'd rather open up the oven and take a look. Sunday dinner? Nice to see you...let's eat! And forget Windex. (FYI - that association to Greeks was just for comedic relief. You DO realize that, right?) The cure for anything and everything that ails you is food. Got a headache? You must be hungry. Got a stomachache? Have some boiled rice. Running a fever? Eat something. Fatigued? Forget sleep - you need to eat. Caught a cold? It's because you're not eating enough.

When my sister and I were kids, we had to finish every morsel on our plates. I loved the tactics my father used: the 'ol food-on-a-flying-airplane-fork was for my sister. For me, it would always be: "You're going to leave that last bite? That piece has all your vitamins and energy in it! You can't leave it there. You have to eat it!"

Growing up, it was normal in my house to have your plate refilled as soon as you were obligingly polishing off what was originally stacked there. My father is notorious for that, and as such, his food-pushing habits have become expected by regular visitors and shock the first-timers. Without asking guests, he will grab the tongs and pile salad into your plate just as you're taking your last (or so you thought) bite, or he will fork another steak and plop it on top of the food (still?) left in your plate. All the while, he is urging you on in Greek, "Eat! Eat! Why aren't you eating? Aren't you hungry?" Meanwhile, your eyeballs are about a millimeter from popping out of your sockets because you just have not one ounce of room left in your body to store any more food.

My father's sister, a masterful cook and a notorious food pusher herself, is a thousand times worse than my father in this category, if you can imagine that. We all starve ourselves the day before a visit to her house because we know we are sure to be tied down and force-fed before we leave. Meatballs will be flying into your plate from across the table, your drink re-filled after a sip and platters of whole roasted chickens and Greek meat lasagna shoved and paused under your chin until you take something.

Seeing as the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I now have picked up nuances of these annoying habits. I can't help it; they are intertwined in the fabric of my being as a Greek and as my father's daughter. I am always worried about people not eating enough.

- Once, Patti was to pick me up on her way home from work and running errands, for an evening event we had to attend (where there was to be no food). Concerned that she wouldn't have eaten since lunch that day, I thoughtfully packed a sandwich and some chips and handed it to her in the car, after she announced (surprise) that she was starving. Her response? "You're sooooo Greek!" She then shared a story with me about her Greek neighbor, from whom she once asked to borrow an onion and the Greek neighbor emerged from her house with three onions, two sweet potatoes, an eggplant and a bag of tomatoes.

- My kids are victims #1 and #2 of my feeding frenzy obsession. After school: "Want a snack? Have a snack. Aren't you hungry? Did you eat all of your lunch? WHY NOT?? You can't go through a school day hungry! Why didn't you eat your school snack? Well then stop talking and start eating during lunch and snack time! So-and-so is eating while she's listening to your chattering. Stop chattering and eat...EAT!!!"

- Anywhere we go, I pack snacks: Target, after-school activities, Marshall's, church. Yes, church. If you hear the crinkling of a granola bar wrapper interrupting the sacrament of holy communion, that's us.

My dad, appropriately, is a butcher. On occasion, I'll ask him to bring home some ground meat. He'll bring two 5 lb. bags of ground meat, eight dinosaur steaks and some whole chickens. (The ongoing joke between my sister and I when we visit our parents' house is that we always leave carrying chickens.) I am lucky that my freezer is packed to the hilt with good quality butcher meat (none of that fake, dyed supermarket meat for us...nooooooooo); so much so, that I don't have room for necessities...like ice. 

When you visit a Greek house, you must ALWAYS be offered something to eat.  We Greeks must have something at the ready to pull out of our fridge, freezer or cabinet any time of day or night for our guests. (Oh, was that a burglar? Did you offer him something to eat?) If not, it is a sin, and you will be talked about relentlessly in the community. It could be a bowl of nuts, cookies, pastries, cheese, olives and bread or a hard-boiled egg.

Oh. You're not hungry? Have a seat. I'll broil a steak.