VOL. 002 — 2026
Recently I started making a joke about living abroad. I’m not sure if it’s funny, and I’m also not sure if it’s a joke. It goes: all things considered, the choice of whether to stay or go can be distilled down to people vs. produce.
When I enter the grocery store near my home, I am akin to a child bound for the North Pole. Pupils dilated, I confront the assault on my senses—secondhand smoke and perfumed detergents, buttered phyllo, and fish over ice—austere faces filled with wrinkles and Botox. Buzzing chatter wafts over bossanova covers of bygone radio—songs we all knew and have since forgotten.
Recently I started making a joke about living abroad. I’m not sure if it’s funny, and I’m also not sure if it’s a joke. It goes: all things considered, the choice of whether to stay or go can be distilled down to people vs. produce.
When I enter the grocery store near my home, I am akin to a child bound for the North Pole. Pupils dilated, I confront the assault on my senses—secondhand smoke and perfumed detergents, buttered phyllo, and fish over ice—austere faces filled with wrinkles and Botox. Buzzing chatter wafts over bossanova covers of bygone radio—songs we all knew and have since forgotten.
Recently I started making a joke about living abroad. I’m not sure if it’s funny, and I’m also not sure if it’s a joke. It goes: all things considered, the choice of whether to stay or go can be distilled down to people vs. produce.
When I enter the grocery store near my home, I am akin to a child bound for the North Pole. Pupils dilated, I confront the assault on my senses—secondhand smoke and perfumed detergents, buttered phyllo, and fish over ice—austere faces filled with wrinkles and Botox. Buzzing chatter wafts over bossanova covers of bygone radio—songs we all knew and have since forgotten.
I make my way past the cafe, where two old men drink beer. Beyond the freshly cored pineapples, I reach the inner sanctum. Wheels of funky hard cheeses from every ancestral region, enshrined in pristine glass reliquaries and guarded by double-handled axes. I receive of the number ticket and reverentially place my order with the high priest.
I am resurrected.
In my post-expat-honeymoon phase (despite cycling through homesickness, unbelonging, FOMO, and ennui) the food of this nation makes it seriously hard to imagine ever leaving.
But surely it isn’t better than missed births, weddings, holidays, funerals, and regular old get-togethers?
Warm tyropita kourou [Mam] or bougatsa kima [Makedonikon] during a rain storm. Salty potato khachapuri [Imerouli] to cure a hangover…
But surely, your loved ones! They’re in the pot while it boils!
Stuffed zucchini flowers on dark Saturday nights [Rakoumel], and focaccia with Graviera and pesto [Kostarelos] on the sidewalk.
Surely you must return to fight the jackboots!
Freshly squeezed orange juice [Bakel] like nothing you've ever tasted, and Makaronopita under vaulted ceilings [Alouatou]…
Your generation needs you.
The best thing you've ever had in your life (pistachio gelato) [Maraboo].
When I told the joke to my father and stepmother during our weekly catch-up, their laughter wasn’t quite as hearty as I would have liked.
I make my way past the cafe, where two old men drink beer. Beyond the freshly cored pineapples, I reach the inner sanctum. Wheels of funky hard cheeses from every ancestral region, enshrined in pristine glass reliquaries and guarded by double-handled axes. I receive of the number ticket and reverentially place my order with the high priest.
I am resurrected.
In my post-expat-honeymoon phase (despite cycling through homesickness, unbelonging, FOMO, and ennui) the food of this nation makes it seriously hard to imagine ever leaving.
But surely it isn’t better than missed births, weddings, holidays, funerals, and regular old get-togethers?
A warm tyropita kourou [Mam] or bougatsa kima [Makedonikon] during a rain storm. A freshly baked potato khachapuri [Imerouli] to cure a hangover…
But surely, your loved ones! They cry. They’re in the pot while it boils!
Stuffed zucchini flowers on dark Saturday nights [Rakoumel], and focaccia with Graviera and pesto [Kostarelos] on the sidewalk.
Surely you must return to fight the jackboots!
Freshly squeezed orange juice [Bakel] like nothing you’ve ever tasted, and Makaronopita under vaulted ceilings [Alouatou]…
Your generation needs you.
The best thing you’ve ever had in your life (pistachio gelato) [Maraboo].
When I told the joke to my father and stepmother during our weekly catch-up, their laughter wasn’t quite as hearty as I would have liked.
I make my way past the cafe, where two old men drink beer. Beyond the freshly cored pineapples, I reach the inner sanctum. Wheels of funky hard cheeses from every ancestral region, enshrined in pristine glass reliquaries and guarded by double-handled axes. I receive of the number ticket and reverentially place my order with the high priest.
I am resurrected.
In my post-expat-honeymoon phase (despite cycling through homesickness, unbelonging, FOMO, and ennui) the food of this nation makes it seriously hard to imagine ever leaving.
But surely it isn’t better than missed births, weddings, holidays, funerals, and regular old get-togethers?
A warm tyropita kourou [Mam] or bougatsa kima [Makedonikon] during a rain storm. A freshly baked potato khachapuri [Imerouli] to cure a hangover…
But surely, your loved ones! They cry. They’re in the pot while it boils!
Stuffed zucchini flowers on dark Saturday nights [Rakoumel], and focaccia with Graviera and pesto [Kostarelos] on the sidewalk.
Surely you must return to fight the jackboots!
Freshly squeezed orange juice [Bakel] like nothing you’ve ever tasted, and Makaronopita under vaulted ceilings [Alouatou]…
Your generation needs you.
The best thing you’ve ever had in your life (pistachio gelato) [Maraboo].
When I told the joke to my father and stepmother during our weekly catch-up, their laughter wasn’t quite as hearty as I would have liked.
Lord have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
talk to me nice
talk to me nice