Sarah Haselton
First, an introduction to the company is called for. Zorbas was founded in 1975 in Athienou, a village in Cyprus. It was initially a small family business, but now it lays claim to many locations across Cyprus. In 2015, they expanded their presence to New York City, where they have a store called “The French Workshop” in Queens. There are now three locations across the city, with another on the way.
Before I even arrived in Larnaca or had seen the city with my own eyes, one of the paramount aspects of the city which had been told to me was Zorbas, a 24 hour bakery with multiple locations all over Cyprus – and, as I was to learn, in the United States. Previous participants in the dig raved to me about their experience at the bakery, and I couldn’t help but feel anticipation to explore Zorbas myself. And finally, when I got to Cyprus, my frenzied waiting came to a close.
So, let me paint you a word picture: It is 4:30am. A faint yellow stripe of light is creeping over the horizon, but the moon continues to glow silver in relentless defiance. Her family of stars stick by her side like a brood of ducklings, refusing to let their light grow dim. My alarm rings, and I wrench open my eyes in frenzied instinct, my brain reacting to the noise like a veteran hearing fireworks. Be still my heart, I think to myself, subconsciously quoting Homer as I so often do. My stress only mounts as I and my three other roommates rush to get ready with only one bathroom. Somehow we find ourselves in the appointed meeting place at 5am, where I stumble into a van which, like the illustrious chariot of Helios, conveys me to Zorbas.
The sign above the bakery glows faintly as we enter, a beacon of hope in a still-dark world. Once I enter, I stand stupefied for a moment, overwhelmed by the bounteous cornucopia before me and cursing myself that I did not plan my haul beforehand. I stupidly follow the person in front of me to a fridge in which sandwiches are kept, wondering for a moment why I cannot understand the labels before I realize I am reading the Greek. Glad that no one else can see inside my lethargic brain, I grab a sandwich and march a circuit around the store.
Then I slyly think to myself, “I should grab a dessert for tonight.” Without too much thought, I find myself before the case holding the baklava. My beady eyes stare greedily at the golden lumps, and I open the case with trembling hands. Now, dear reader, I must have you know that I consider myself an expert in the delicacy of baklava. Let me tell you, Zorbas baklava is without a doubt the best baklava I have ever been blessed to taste. Surely it must be the ambrosia of the gods. This pastry drips with succulent honey, which, in my opinion, is the only acceptable form of baklava. A sprinkle of pistachio garnishes the top like flakes of gold. I dream about this pastry, but a part of me mourns that I will no longer have access to it come mid-July.
In those early morning visits to Zorbas, I couldn’t help but notice a delectable-looking selection of cakes, and I resolved that I must try them. One evening after us Reedies grabbed a communal dinner at Sawa, a Syrian restaurant, we decided to stop at Zorbas on our way back to replenish our supplies like hunter-gatherers of old. I leapt at this opportunity to sample one of the cakes, and we chose a Dubai chocolate one (for those who do not know, Dubai chocolate is a mixture of pistachio, chocolate, and kataifi (shredded phyllo dough)). I was stuffed from dinner, but still found the courage in me to try a sliver when we got back to the hotel. It was not at the level of my beloved baklava, but it was nevertheless quite tasty. I usually do not like cake because I find it too sweet, but this one was a pleasant layering of mousse and crunchy kataifi, creating an enjoyable balance of textures.
Now that I have been in Cyprus for a few weeks, I, like a puppy-eyed lover, have developed an attachment to Zorbas. Truly I am not sure what I will do without its presence in my life. I will surely become despondent, morose, and out of sorts. I believe the only solution is to come back, or, even more ideally, for Zorbas to expand to the west coast. Perhaps I should offer a votive baklava to the gods to beseech their help. I urge the reader to experience Zorbas for themselves if they can, as I am sure your life will be forever altered.