Living Las Vegas

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Big Fat Greek Food Festival

There must be an ecclesiastical law requiring Greek Orthodox churches to raise money by selling food. If there is, let’s hope the patriarch never repeals it. I don’t know where I’d go for an annual fix of saganaki (fried cheese), tzatziki (cucumber & yogurt dip), tyropitas (cheese pies), and baklava (many-layered sweet pastry). Yes, there are Greek restaurants, but it’s much more fun to eat outside with bouzoukis playing in the background and guys walking around in their pleated tutus, tasseled hats, and pom-pommed shoes. Even retsina (pine resin-flavored wine) tastes good in such an environment.

The site of extreme Hellenic hospitality this last weekend was St. John the Baptist Orthodox Church on the southwest side of town (Click here for info about the food festival). I showed up hungry, intending to head straight for the food lines, but as soon as I’d paid my $5 admission fee, I couldn’t help noticing a sign announcing tours of the church, a new-looking structure built in traditional orthodox style with a large central dome. A tour was just about to start, so I scared my stomach into reverential silence and entered the sanctuary. When Father John Hondros appeared, he assured the hundred or so people in the pews that he wasn’t going to ask for money. Instead, he explained the meaning of the icons inside and outside the church and a bit about orthodox doctrine and ritual. Then, after inviting us to join a six-week class he’ll be teaching beginning next month, he led us in a group shout of “Opa!” and turned us loose.

More people were pouring through the entrance gates as I left the church, and I made my way around a courtyard lined with booths selling paintings of Greek windmills, festival t-shirts, worry beads, religious icons, replicas of ancient art, and lots of ceramic statuettes of dogs, saints, and Aphrodite. Then - there it was at last - the food, and the only question was where to begin. Passing up loukoumades (Greek doughnuts) and baklava, I decided to start with saganaki and a bottle of retsina. Finding a seat at a table in a white tent, I shared notes with one couple eating souvlaki (shish kebab) and dolmathes (stuffed grape leaves) and another who said the kataifi (sweet pastry that looks like shredded wheat) was excellent.

When my saganaki was gone, I moved closer to the stage, where a Greek band imported all the way from Los Angeles was playing, and a long line of men and women in traditional outfits were doing a practiced “grape vine” step. People of all ages and backgrounds were still pouring in through the entrance gate. There were families with babies, middle-aged couples, and elderly people in wheelchairs. High school girls in short skirts paraded in front of boys struggling to look nonchalant, and a number of young couples looked like they might have been on first dates.

The crowd was still growing when I left, the number of babies declining in direct proportion to the number of young men and women on the prowl. The residential neighborhood surrounding the church was gridlocked with cars, but no one seemed to be bothered by it. The festival’s thirty-two-year history must have something to do with it.

Back in my car, I realized why Father Hondros smiled when he said he wasn’t going to ask us for money. Somehow, my wallet was $50 thinner than when I went in, and I hadn’t even bought a ceramic Aphrodite. If that was the average expenditure of everyone who passed through the gate, I think it’s safe to bet that St. John’s Greek Food Festival is not an endangered species. This is good news, because there’s no better way to make a charitable donation than by eating, drinking, and shouting, “Opa!”

What's it like to live in Las Vegas? You'll find answers here! Living Las Vegas features news and views from nine local writers who call Southern Nevada home.