To Kofinou for lamb kleftiko, with Jane and Bill and their neighbour Maureen. A bit cloudy but not cold and the restaurant surrounded by flowers and almond trees in blossom. There are several restaurants in the village that specialise in kleftiko, and Sunday's are often busy. Entirely local, apart from us, and ordering anything other than the obvious can involve poor translation on our part or even hand gestures. Thus we don't manage to get Jane a small carafe of wine, but the good woman does understand that a small rather than large bottle will suit. The rest of us drink beer, which is simpler. And we all have salad - large shared bowl - as well as olives and pourgouri (a bulgar and vermicelli dish which is nice but which we know better than to eat much of, as it's filling and we know how much kleftiko and roast potato will follow). Kleftiko is from the outdoor beehive shaped ovens, cooked to a melting softness.
Opposite us are three Cypriot hunters enjoying an enormous meal. They're dressed in typical Cypriot hunter garb - camouflage! Horrifying to Canadians, who wonder why there aren't even more accidental shootings. Meal finishes with small warm cheese filled pastries, two apiece. Though we thought we were full.
And the kleftiko? As we're leaving we read, for the first time, the single sheet menu taped to the front door and reading in part kleftiko (goat). Have no way of knowing if that is sometimes or always, and in any case goat meat very difficult to distinguish from lamb. We wonder about bringing pictures to inquire next time, in preference to trying out animal noises. Only really idle curiosity - except for Maureen, who does seem mildly distressed.
