In the 25 years since I last dined there my cousin’s taverna has changed, but I returned to find many echoes of what once was.

His Father Yianni opened the tavern in 1975 serving small snacks for the townfolk to munch upon during their eveining promenades. The tavern was small with about 5 tables inside, a small delicatessen style freezer behind which were the heavy cast iron grills on which my uncle would place the number of souvlakia i felt capable of eating.

During summer months the front yard of the house would accomodate a further 8 or so tables, in the open lit by candles and lanterns. I remember trade being brisk, people would come in and sit at a table, the waiter, usually my cousin Diamandi or his brother Tzortz would lay a piece of grease proff paper down on the table whilst telling them what was on, there was rarely more than 4 dishes, 3 meat and one dish from the kitchen such as stuffed vegetables or “yiyantes” beans.

The souvlakia ordered would be placed onto the grease proof paper along with half a lemon, and small piles of dried oregano and salt. The patrons would drag the skewered meat through the seasoning and into their mouths.

The tavern had now grown, the indoor dining area alone now occupied the space that the entire old tavern once did. The kitchen had been moved to a new section at the rear of the stablishment in the area where my uncle used to keep his pigs. I still have vivid memories of these being slaughtered, heavy stuff for little city kid.

The tavern’s menu had also expanded over the last 25 years and the practice of using the grease proof paper covered table as crockery had also been replaced by knives and forks and white plates, much to my disappointment. But the meat was as i remembered, the flavour, smell and the way they pulled off the skewer took me back.

The old man no longer worked the taverna, Diamandi now stood behind the grill, his wife Mairi oldest daughter Hrisa (18) and son Yianni (of course) (15) shared waitress and kitchen duties when they were around. Diamandi’s older sister Elefteria was the full time waitress. Full time for them had become 7 nights a week and Friday - Sunday lunches, plus one other lunchtime session when busloads of greek “kapi” would be bussed into the village to eat at one of the traditional tavernas that had sprouted up in the houses surrounding Barba Yiannis’ once they saw his success.

The rivalry between the taverns was fairly apparent, with families electing to shift their efforts from working the land, to converting their homes into a sutable venue for food and drink consumption. They did this realising that this would most probably mean the end to any friendships or blood ties between them and the other tavern owners.

Although these newer taverns, being built for the purpose, were more comfortable places to sit in, the people that came to the village were looking for an opportunity to experience things in a more traditional environment and so Barba Yianni’s front yard tavern stayed popular and most (but certainly not all) of the town’s inhabitants stayed loyal.

So it is in the tavern again, amidst the company of family members I could actually talk with and dare i say it, enjoy the company of that I would again sit during the morning and evenings passing time, joking, reminiscing and sharing hopes, gossip and … the occasional souvlaki or ten.