We all grew up with them – the Greek festival. Each year the Greek-American communities bring out their gyros, baklava, and say Opa, to raise money for their churches. But has the Greek festival become passé or unimportant? Has it become too costly? Is it time for the Greeks to get out of the Greek festival business and start developing some other sound financial projects for our churches to sustain themselves for the next 25…50…100 years? Can we continually depend on selling those little succulent morsels of marinated meat known as souvlakia, to support our churches, the cost of which is skyrocketing like everything else? Can’t we come up with a better way to make money?

I know what you’re thinking. Is he out of his mind? Does he have loukoumades for brains? Hear me out.

We all have memories of Easter and the way our Greek-American families celebrate it. From the time we can remember, we were taught that Easter (Pascha for the purists) was the most important holy day for the Greeks, which it certainly is. But, to a child, I think Christmas may have an edge up on Easter. Santa brings toys. The Easter Bunny brings stale chocolate bunnies with broken ears (unless Easter falls on the same day as the Catholics). At Christmas there is turkey and ham. On Easter, there is…a dead carcass on the spit and soup made from the guts of that dead carcass (read the blog of my fellow blogger, Evan KARA…ntee for more on magaritsa). “Fae, pethi mou, ine poli nostimo.” That’s what I use to hear, like it made it better.

Okay, before you start sending your hate mail, let’s get something straight…I love Easter. I respect its religious meaning and traditions and our family traditions. Easter services are the most beautiful and meaningful I have seen. But, let’s face it, being an “American” kid during this time was rough.

As a kid, growing up in the 1960’s in a small southern New Jersey town where we were the only Greek family (the Tiniakos Family came later in the 70’s), was tough. The town was made up of predominately Irish and Italian Catholics. Not only weren’t we Catholic, but my parents had accents – Mom especially. I clearly remember the taunts the kids gave me when my mother called out my name to come home for dinner… Haaaarrreeeee (you must roll the “r” as you say it). The entire neighborhood would erupt in “Haaaarrreeee!” I guess it could have been worse. She could have called me by my Greek name, Argyri. That would have been a disaster.

Although my parents worked hard and our family was respected in the community, we were looked at a little differently because we were the “Greek Family.” Most of my childhood friends didn’t even know where Greece was. I can remember them asking if we still believed in the twelve Olympian Gods, and why we celebrated Easter on a different date. The only Greek they had heard of, at that time, was Telly Savalas, who played Kojack. Forget about trying to pronounce my last name! That’s a photo of me training for the family business)

The biggest event happening in my area is the opening of a new shopping center that has the chain food stores, Chipotle and Panera Bread…whoop-tee-doo!!! My kids are excited…I’m yawning, a really big yawn. There is something sinister about these CFSEs or “chain food service establishments” (I refuse to call them restaurants). Something is missing from them. Something very un-American. Something dastardly. What is it?

Ah, yes, I know. Come on…you too know exactly what is missing! A Greek guy named Stavros, Niko, George, or any other Hellenic name, who is the owner, running around making sure the customers are getting their meals quickly and hot. (For our purposes, we’ll use the name Gus). Also there is his wife, usually named Maria, who is playing hostess, a daughter is taking cash or waitressing, and a son in the back is cooking. Yes, what is missing are Greeks.

Recently, I was at the local Greek clubhouse for dinner with some friends. The meal was great, like always, including horiatiki salata, beefsteki and souvlakia, hand-cut French fries pantzaria, toursi, and some toasted hard-crusted bread. And a couple of cold beers. Hmmm…delicious. The atmosphere was great too…old bouzouki music playing in the background and a few “manges” (in a good sense) in the corner, sipping their Scotch, smoking a cigarette, and talking politics…just like the old days. And to top it off, Greek coffee.

As I finished that delectable beverage with an aroma that just melts the senses, I instinctively turned the demi glass upside down and left it there. One of our friends was quick to ask, “Do you want your flitzani read?” I laughed. I hadn’t had my fortune read from a Greek coffee cup in years. I remember as a kid or young adult, the old ladies at family gatherings would read the grounds from the Greek coffee. It was an art, but we always laughed about it.