Praise to Tzatziki, the Almighty, the King of Creation.
O my soul, praise Tzatziki, for Tzatziki is thy health and salvation!
And my salvation was Tzatziki tonight during dinner at Stepho’s Greek Taverna. When everything in sight tasted like bland mush, Tzatziki was my guiding light and saviour.
At BoyToy’s three week long insistence, I finally agreed to have Greek food with him – and boy was that ever a mistake. Only having recently opened its doors, the two of us arrive on a Thursday night at around 9 to a full house. So full in fact that we are seated at the only table remaining – the loser table closest to the toilets.
Stepping through the doors into the restaurant, guests are greeted by a friendly Greek man and loud Greek music blaring over the speakers throughout the entire room. The space is partitioned and separated into several pseudo rooms with plenty of random greenery spread about so as to resemble an authentic taverna.
No stranger to the original Stepho’s, I know quality food has never been their game but having newly opened, my hopes were moderately high for this night’s dinner. First bite into my beef souvlaki platter though, reality came crashing down upon me to reveal bland dry overcooked beef, bland mushy rice, bland greek salad, and (semi) bland potatoes.
Maybe this was my fault. I shouldn’t have expected Stepho’s to completely change their bland ways and suddenly start making quality food entirely different from what we’re used to. Sometimes, change is too much for people to handle. As Mary Shelley once said, “Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”
We can’t always go around expecting that food will taste good just because we are paying for it with our hard earned money. And turns out, it really is lucky Meg because at least the Tzatziki packed some flavour. You can be sure that I drenched every morsel of that meal in greek yogurty goodness and when I walked out from my meal, I didn’t even care that I smelled like I had been marinating in a vat of ten thousand garlic bulbs for ten thousand years.
You know a restaurant is popular when you leave at 10 pm on a weeknight only to see there is still a line of eager people forming to get their cheap Greek fix, but I ask: Would I return?
At the risk of angering the populations of Vancouver, Burnaby, and Surrey, my answer is a firm no. Even despite large portions and cheap prices (and though it severely pains the Asian in me to be rejecting anything that is any sort of cheap), the thought of having to eat dry chewy beef again only makes me want to weep. No, I cannot do.