For what seems like many years now I have driven down Mayport Road going to or coming from the beach. I've always glanced over to make sure the lights are still on and the blue and white flags are still waving in the wind at Nick the Greek.
This tiny corner restaurant is a walk-up window where you place your order to go. The traditional greek lettering spells out 'Nick the Greek' and there is an awning proclaiming numerous greek delights- souvlaki, hummus, falafel, gyro, baklava. It's on the edge of a sketchy looking neighborhood in the tired part of Mayport Rd and his signs all look home-made. Maybe that's why I've been kicking myself every time I drive by and don't stop. Could home-made signs mean truly homemade greek food?
Today, again, I passed Nick the Greek and stared a little too long at the waving pendants. His sidewalk chalkboard was out ready to draw me in. I made a snap judgment to pull a u-turn and give it a try. It was a blustery day when I parked and stood in front of the order window. A kind lady slid open the glass and before she could hand me a menu I said, a bit too excitedly, "I'd like to order the falafel". She smiled, handed me a list of greek delights on a take-out menu and said she'd be happy to take my order. Then she asks if I'd like to also try something sweet like the homemade NY style cheesecake or baklava. "I'd better try the cheesecake" I tell her. She tells me how much I'm going to love it. Behind her is a man working the tiny cooking space she's relaying my order to. He turns to greet me as well. I ask them if everything is made right there on the spot. "Oh yes, this is Nick" she says, pointing to the guy cooking. He tells me in his wonderful accent that he makes everything right where I'm peering into, except the baking he does next door. I tell him how many times I've passed by and always meant to stop. "This is your first time?", Nick asks me. I tell him it is. And then Nick wins me over. He pinches his fingers together, brings them to his lips, makes a fantastic MUAH smacking sound and tells me it is so delicious I'll be back again soon. His assistant is smiling. She's been won over by the passion he has for his food, too.
My ride home with a small brown bag on my floor board has never taken so long. I'm hungry, my adrenaline is pumping. I can't wait to see if it's as fantastic as he thinks it is. I'm pretty sure it will be, though.
When I finally arrive home I open the foil and find my falafel wrap. For just a moment I absorb the beauty of what Nick created for me. Wrapped in a warm, soft, chewy pita is my falafel. It is topped with shredded lettuce, tomato, cucumber and tzatziki sauce. I can tell he was generous with that creamy wonder of a spread because it's lingering just on the edges of the wrap ready to fall off onto my fingertips. The taste of ground chickpeas and enough garlic to keep away my dearest friends is balanced with the cool cucumber. I'm pretty sure I licked the drops of sauce off the wrapper when I was done. This was definitely a falafel wrap composed by someone who takes pride in his creations.
My dining epiphany is simple this time. My mom told me not to judge a book by it's cover. While it would be easy to judge the odd little walk up counter that is Nick the Greek, my community would be doing itself a huge disservice not to share in the passion that Nick puts out of that window in the form of his greek specialties. Nick was right- I will be back. Maybe next time he'll share a little more of the magic with me.
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