It's Not All Greek To Me

Letter to a friend about our epic Maryland (Greek) salad days saga and the fruitless search... yes, botanically-speaking, cucumber is a fruit.

Having successfully sailed our good ship, the Dutch-designed and built Nordia Van Dam 68' ketch, 'Asteroid', without untoward incident, from historic Nelson's Dockyard in English Harbour on Antigua, far and wide across the Caribbean on the prevailing southeast wind and, assisted up the Atlantic by the Gulf Stream into the muddy Maryland waters of (once-was U.S. capital) Annapolis, we were happily met by welcoming old friends.

That evening, the not-so-magnificent seven of us unanimously decided upon dinner at the Rockfish Raw Bar & Grill where we were delightfully greeted by the delectable Sara (or, is it Sarah), an ever-so-pretty hostess.

Once seated, in addition to drinks, an entrée and dessert, I ordered a Greek salad… which arrived minus cucumber, no onions and with chopped green (green?), not Kalamata olives.

Now, I am neither gourmet nor connoisseur but, no cucumber or onions and green olives, spare me!

Without complaint but merely as an 'FYI', I informed the 'gentleman' who took and delivered our orders as to the traditional ingredients of a Greek salad.

My observation was met, not only with a raised eyebrow and display of ignorance, but was matched by the fact, which he made perfectly plain, he really could not render a rodent’s rectum (i.e. give a rat’s arse).

'pon meal's end, altho' I was sorely tempted to give him a tip as to the correct manner of service, the expected pecuniary gratuity was not forthcoming from any one of us.

The following evening, a somewhat dubious duo, the skipper, an ex-British Navy rum-soaked sailor who oft lamented the loss of their traditional tot, wisely remained aboard, once again ventured forth in search of satisfactory sustenance, and to stretch our sea legs, so, for a change of pace, sat we down in Chick & Ruth’s Delly where, on the multi-faceted menu, lo and behold, we discovered… Greek salad no less.

Upon ordering same, not to be undaunted, we unexpectedly received an inquiry as to what dressing we would prefer and were addressed with the question, “Thousand Island or Ranch?”

This precipitated several sighs and much rolling of eyes but wait, there’s more… not five minutes had passed when our waitperson/server returned to inform us, in a suitably subdued tone of voice, "There's no feta cheese," and then proceeded to inquire of us, "Will cheddar be OK?"

Déjà vu yet again?

Meanwhile, perusing the multi-coloured menu once more, I noticed an absence of chili and, altho' having previously consumed and enjoyed quite excellent chili in the very self-same establishment I was not put out as, when, noticing the meals designated as Delegates; 'John Dwyer Jr.' (cheeseburger & chili) and 'Rona E. Kramer' (hotdog & chili), I attempted to ascertain the probability of receiving a bowl of chili (as opposed to what failed to constitute a Greek salad) and was politely yet firmly, and in no uncertain terms, informed, “None whatsoever.”

I was about to order dinner when my crew-mate, who was by then familiar with the workings of my brain (which has a mind of its own) and had foreseen what I was about to utter, pleaded with and prompted me not to continue so as to avoid a 'scene'.

“Aye-aye” says I foiled again but, as well he knew, I was only about to mimic the character portrayed by Jack Nicholson in the film, 'Five Easy Pieces', and order, a 'John Dwyer Jr.', hold the cheeseburger, and 'Rona E. Kramer', hold the hotdog.

At that point, we upped oars and jumped ship in disappointment and departed without so much as a morsel passing our lips nor coin of that there Republic changing hands.

Day three and a doubtful duo is still in pursuit of passable provisions.

Now don’t get me wrong, I do not expect to find a true Greek salad in a faux French restaurant but, when I espied such on the Café Normandie Restaurant menu (minus cucumber), I could not help myself and ordered, not one but two, and, in so doing, pointed out to the embarrassingly beret-bestowed bearer of same, we really and truly would appreciate the addition of cucumber… which he acknowledged in what could only be described as a sullen (or, was it surly) manner.

However, it seems the distance between the table and the kitchen was more than we had reckoned on for the attention span of this particular personality and he delivered two cucumberless salads.

When asked, “What’s missing?”, he had neither a clue, the interest, nor the curiosity to find out. We gave him a simple reminder and a total of six cold cucumber slices were duly delivered on a saucer whereupon, he was neither seen again nor heard from until the bill (or, is it check?) was delivered some time much later. Not one to encourage poor service (or bad behaviour), the anticipated tip was duly withheld.

Undeniably, a Greek salad may not be the absolute and all-consuming true meaning to life yet, ‘tis one thing to be hungry on the ocean when surrounded by a vast and deep blue swirling sea of nothingness but, to go hungry more than once for want of one, when safe ashore, is just not on.

So, that said, after what seemed like an impossible mission, we bade a fond farewell to old and new young friends alike, cast off the dock lines, waved goodbye and set the sails away from a sunny Annapolis to, yes, you guessed it, the land of the Golden Fleece, in search of the genuine article

— Greek salad ho!

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