Tsipouradika (ΤΣΙΠΟΥΡΑΔΙΚΑ)

On Sunday afternoons between 1 and 4 and almost any other evening after 9:30, you are likely to find a good percentage of the Volos population at one of the nearly 150 tsipouradika that line the sea port or snuggle in narrow neighborhood streets all over the city. To be Volosian is to dine and drink at tsipouradika, restaurants that serve small bottles of distilled grape liquor known as tsipouro accompanied by little mezedes (appetizers) of seafood for about 3 euros a round (1 bottle + 1 mezedes).

The process is easy: sit down at a table, ideally one overlooking the sea (and preferably in the fresh air, far away from smokers – alas, a near impossibility), and a waiter will come, clip a paper cover on your table and ask, almost imperceptibly as the answer is already supposed: “Tsipouro?”

If your answer is an affirmative “Ne” (and it almost always is), he’ll return shortly with a bottle of water, a tiny steel bucket of ice and even tinier steel tongs, and small bottles of tsipouro (1 for each in your party) each accompanied by a different mezede. The optimal strategy is to go with a big group of people and drink as many rounds as you can without falling over so that you get to sample all of the mezedes the tsipouradiko has to offer: grilled octopus, baked anchovies, cheese stuffed squid, crab croquettes, sauteed mussels, fried calamari, broiled fish liver…and other surprising things that are very often delicious or at least interesting.

Tsipouro, like ouzo, is a strong, clear liquor that turns white when water or ice is added because the aniseed used for flavoring forms microscopic crystals when contacts water. However, if you order your tsipouro choris glycaniso (without anise) as Iago has learned to do, you can add as many ice cubes as you like and your drink, if not your head, will remain clear.

Not being a particularly large person or one who is fond of strong alcohol, I have a hard time pulling my weight at the tsipouradika and as a result we often end up with too much tsipouro and not quite enough mezedes. That being said, we've learned that pushing the limits of mezedes diversity and quantity should not be our object; for after copius research, we've found that there tends to be a non-linear relationship between mezede quality and the number of tsipouro rounds you order (see Lowe et. al, 2006).

In a group of 3 or 4 people, the first round is often tasty but basic and leaves you wanting more, your tastebuds primed. The second tends to be more adventurous, while quality peaks in the third. After the third round, the quality of the mezedes declines markedly, owing, we hypothesize, to the reduced capacity of the consumer to be discriminating.

Good food, good drink, great company, and lingering conversation. The tsipouradika exemplify the Volos life.

Ya mas!