I was feeling very proud of my knowledge of basic Greek...perhaps a bit too proud. The fact that I'd been in that country a mere month and a half did nothing to dissuade me of the opinion that I really 'knew my stuff'! I was looking forward to taking Shelley to the restaurant and showcasing my linguistic abilities. What is that old saying? Oh yes, "Pride goeth before a fall." Poor me. I was about to become well-acquainted with that concept.
The restaurant was crowded, as usual. I'd been there several times before and had enjoyed not only the food, but the ambiance, as well. It was a typical Greek restaurant. Its white walls were covered with pictures of the Parthenon, Mount Athos and the windmills of Mykonos. Ocher vases and small Grecian figurines sat atop the turquoise shelves that lined the walls. The other-worldly sound of the Greek language and bouzouki music permeated the small space. The scent of garlic, mint, onion, basil and thyme was irresistible. The fact that the taverna was inexpensive was a bonus. We needed to make every drachma count since we planned to travel for a minimum of six months.
It was common knowledge among tourists in Greece in those days, that when you entered a restaurant of that caliber, the first thing you did was ask the waiter if you could go into the kitchen. "Endaxei," (okay) was the usual response. Hence, we found ourselves behind the scenes, in the busy, noise-filled kouzina, checking out the fragrant contents of large, bubbling pots and pans atop the stove and counter-tops. Everything looked so good and smelled so heavenly, that it took us forever to choose. Finally, having decided what we would eat, we headed to a table.
The waiter approached with the requisite basket of bread and a small bowl of olives. "Ti thelete?" (What do you want?) This was my moment to shine! "Pay attention, Shelley," I thought. "You're about to hear some impressive Greek now!" Oh, but I was so full of myself! Smiling sweetly at the waiter, I said confidently and perhaps just a wee bit too loudly,"Theo copella, parakalo." Several people at tables around us started chuckling, their chuckles slowly turning into gales of laughter. The waiter looked around the room trying to avoid my eyes. At last, not able to control himself, he joined in the merriment. I could feel my face flushing. What had I said? Think, Arlene, think. Theo copella...that means two chickens, doesn't it? Doesn't it? I wracked my brain. Copella...copella. Oh, my gosh....it doesn't. The word for chicken is kotopoulo...not copella. I should have said "Theo kotopoula"! My heart sank, my humiliation complete. Instead of ordering two chickens, yours truly had ordered two girls!
The restaurant was crowded, as usual. I'd been there several times before and had enjoyed not only the food, but the ambiance, as well. It was a typical Greek restaurant. Its white walls were covered with pictures of the Parthenon, Mount Athos and the windmills of Mykonos. Ocher vases and small Grecian figurines sat atop the turquoise shelves that lined the walls. The other-worldly sound of the Greek language and bouzouki music permeated the small space. The scent of garlic, mint, onion, basil and thyme was irresistible. The fact that the taverna was inexpensive was a bonus. We needed to make every drachma count since we planned to travel for a minimum of six months.
It was common knowledge among tourists in Greece in those days, that when you entered a restaurant of that caliber, the first thing you did was ask the waiter if you could go into the kitchen. "Endaxei," (okay) was the usual response. Hence, we found ourselves behind the scenes, in the busy, noise-filled kouzina, checking out the fragrant contents of large, bubbling pots and pans atop the stove and counter-tops. Everything looked so good and smelled so heavenly, that it took us forever to choose. Finally, having decided what we would eat, we headed to a table.
The waiter approached with the requisite basket of bread and a small bowl of olives. "Ti thelete?" (What do you want?) This was my moment to shine! "Pay attention, Shelley," I thought. "You're about to hear some impressive Greek now!" Oh, but I was so full of myself! Smiling sweetly at the waiter, I said confidently and perhaps just a wee bit too loudly,"Theo copella, parakalo." Several people at tables around us started chuckling, their chuckles slowly turning into gales of laughter. The waiter looked around the room trying to avoid my eyes. At last, not able to control himself, he joined in the merriment. I could feel my face flushing. What had I said? Think, Arlene, think. Theo copella...that means two chickens, doesn't it? Doesn't it? I wracked my brain. Copella...copella. Oh, my gosh....it doesn't. The word for chicken is kotopoulo...not copella. I should have said "Theo kotopoula"! My heart sank, my humiliation complete. Instead of ordering two chickens, yours truly had ordered two girls!
