The story of my Greek Food Truck Date is a European story of whirlwind romance, if you will… (read: this one is for the ladiezzz)
Imagine a warm and windy night in Mykonos – the Greek party island located just south of Athens in the Cyclades Islands. It’s hot enough to wear a sundress, with a slight breeze that picks up the edges of your skirt and lays them down in a rhythmic pattern that matches the sound of the waves. The streets are narrow and wind in and out, around tavernas, jewelry shops and restaurants open late with chatter in all different languages spilling out on the streets. The buildings are white washed with pops of blue, red and turquoise doors, set against the edge of the Aegean Sea, which splashes up against the sidewalk that looks out onto Mykonos’ famous windmills.
I’ve spent my evening dancing with the most beautiful Greek man (probably the hottest man I’ve ever encountered in life) – dimples and all – at a popular bar in downtown Mykonos, and he’s now leading me through the streets of the tiny island town, holding hands.
How do you say – good evening? I ask.
Kalispera, he responds, as a group of three Greek girls who overheard us giggle because it’s clear we’re holding hands but barely know each others’ language.
We continue to twist and curve our way to the beach with my hand in his as he teaches me common Greek phrases. Gradually we leave behind the thrum of the late evening craziness in Mykonos until we’re underneath the windmills, on the edge of town, and all you can hear is water and wind. We start kissing – and my mind is slightly spinning from the wine, the evening, the hour, the dancing, the sand between my flip-flopped toes and the giddiness and fun that comes along with attraction, hand holding, flirting and kissing a handsome man. I’ve just met him, but I don’t care – I’m in Greece, on vacation, and it’s going to be one of the best damn stories of my life, if I have anything to say about it.
At the close of our evening, he escorts me home and slides a business card into my hand, telling me to email him when I’m back in Athens in two weeks after my island-hopping adventure. Manos is his name. He’s in Mykonos on business, and lives in Athens, where I’ll end my trip before flying back to America. How apropro.
I grip his business card tight, careful it doesn’t fly away into the wind and turn my romantic beach makeout with a Grecian God into just a memory I recount over and over while lying on the beach…
As the days fade away and Athens rapidly approaches again, I begin to get really nervous and question if I even want to email him. Will he remember me two weeks later? Will he even care to respond? Will he want to meetup for a Food Truck Date? I’m so used to one-night kisses with American men who you never hear from again, that I’m expecting the worst. I email him and shut off my phone quickly, nervous about rejection and worrying over his response. Two days later, I open my email to this:
Greek Food Truck Date – secured! I felt like I was going to float right up and out of my beach chair with giddiness. How is it possible that I scored the seemingly most attractive man in all of Greece, who was totally willing to meet up with me again for a date in Athens? Too good to be true, lovers.
I quickly started researching food trucks in Athens (which are called vromiko, Greek for “dirty”) and discovered that two of the most famous vromikos were located in the center of Athens at Mavili Square. The first truck, Mavili, (named after the square, natch) served hot dogs so famous there’s even a song written about them, and the second one, Kotoboukis, served fancy “chicken nuggets.” Manos and I agreed on a plan to meetup in Mavili Square Saturday night before I flew back to America.
When I landed in Athens from Kefalonia island the day of the date, I rushed to H&M in downtown Athens to find a sexy dress. Food trucks are casual, but this was Greece and a date with a Grecian God. I was not about to show up in a dirty outfit I’d worn four times that had been squished in my suitcase for three weeks and probably had a combo of dried fava bean spread, Oregano chip grease, and suntan lotion on it. Luckily, H&M came through in a pinch with a hot coral peplum dress.
Of course, I was supppperrrr nervous… boys I like make me nervous, but HOT boys I like make me supreme nervous. My giddiness of the thought of a food truck rendezvous with a Grecian God turned into full-blown butterflies and nausea as I walked that night to Mavili Square – a beautiful, hip little neighborhood with a fountain, outdoor tables covered in trees and lights, and a number of tavernas and restaurants around the perimeter. My nervousness was slightly subdued just by the sheer romance of the adorable Greek hood as I entered the square and searched for the bar we had decided to grab drinks at before the food truck opened around 9 p.m.
When I step inside, Mister Grecian God himself was waiting near the bar. As I walked up to him and said his name, he put his hand on my lower back and kissed first my left cheek, then my right.
Je Ahhhhnnnna – hello, how areee you? he purred in the sexiest damn Greek accent this side of the Mississippi.
Melt lovers, pure melt. Everyone should get a chance to have a fling with an European man with a gorgeous accent. It’s a must-do on the life list!
Manos and I ordered a couple adult beverages and he began to tell me a bit more about himself – he lives just outside of Athens, near the beach, and works in business development for a famous European hair and beauty company. One that occasionally flies him out to Vegas for trade shows. (Greek food truck rendezvous part deux ala Sin City?! Yes please).
Oh you must clean up SHOP in the hair and beauty industry – I bet all the girls love you, I say.
Clean up shop? he looks at me, confused.
Um, “clean up shop” – like, you get all the girls. It’s an expression. You know, like I have a cookie shop and I’m cleaning up! Everyone’s buying my cookies! I’m sold out! I’m cleaning up shop!
Yes, I really did sat that cookie analogy. Where the hell does “clean up shop” come from anyway??
(Note to self: it’s impossible to talk in my favorite cliche phrases, to English-as-a-second-language hotties. You sound ridiculous and silly).
Luckily for me, Manos didn’t seem to care. He lightly touched my leg as we sat there, and we continued to flirt with each other as each round of drinks passed. I told him I liked his sweater – he told me he got it for free while, “modeling, um, have you heard – Hugo Boss?”
After finishing our drinks, we head out into the night air to check out Makvili food truck parked around the block. It’s early for food truck hour since the Greek usually head there after bar hours (4 a.m.) but that means the popular food truck that’s rumored to have a line around the block, has one guy in line. Win!
Manos and I grab food – one of their famous hot dogs with slaw and “special sauce” for me, and a panini for him – along with a few Amstel Lights and sit on the edge of the fountain. The food is pretty damn good (review coming separate), but let’s be honest – who freakin is reading this to hear about the food.
By this time, I’ve had minimum two martinis and a glass of wine, and I’m ready to skip the food and go straight to making out. Time is a precious commodity, and we have limited rations.
Luckily, love and lust is a language where no translation is needed…
and the rest is history.
Or, my personal history, I should say. Perhaps to show up in my 50 Food Truck Dates memoir later.
Until then, trust me when I say – it was a night that daydreams are made of. Yassou, my lovers.