The Cypriot Sandwich
My first not so romantic date with my future husband
1998
Larnaca, Cyprus
Sunday morning. The early morning coolness is making way for the midday heat, and I glance at the weather app on my phone as I switch on the air conditioning. Thirty degrees Celsius already! What will I wear on such an important day?
What does one wear on a first date with someone they have been friends with for over a year? Someone who has seen them dressed for clubbing and in sweaty leisure wear on days off work over coffee?
It’s different now though, he isn’t looking at me in the same way and I am not looking at him like that either…
A year since we met.
A year since I moved back to Cyprus for a new start post-divorce. Twenty-one years old and divorced already…tut tut tut the Cypriots say dissapointed.
A year since I walked into Nitro café bar for my first day at work as a waitress.
Just as hot as today only hotter I think. It was early evening and the place was packed with men and women dressed to attract, the women exposing as much flesh to outdo one another, their scent of heavy make-up, perfume, and skin cream mixing into the scents of the men with their cologne, and sweat. Everyone smoked inside back then so add that to the mix and it was unbearable. Yet, I was filled with hope for a new start, with my new boyfriend who was sitting at a table with his friend, supervising me all evening lest any man dare speak to me.
Until Andreas spoke to me.
Andreas worked behind the bar, helping the owner – his friend – just for that night. I passed him the order of drinks and when I went to pick up my tray, he delivered the most powerful pick-up line I have ever heard.
“Dolce Vita suits you”
“What”?
He repeated it.
“My perfume? You can smell my perfume over this vulgar sensory overload in here”?
He smiled and went back to work leaving me intrigued.
Turned out he knew my boyfriend and they exchanged banter.
I thought nothing more of it.
Throughout the year, if I was in the vicinity of his office, I’d text and we’d meet for a coffee where he would offload the troubles with his flings and I would lament about my ongoing boyfriend issues.
I joined his friends’ group on days out to the mountains and evenings clubbing, never for one moment thinking he was interested in me. I didn’t know he was waiting until I was free.
And free I became just a few nights ago when I left a voicemail telling him so and before I knew it, our first date was set.
Now I stand here paralysed from overthinking as I flick through outfits.
Too short. He’ll think I’m desperate.
Too sexy. It will attract other looks, I don’t want any attention on us, I want it to be just the two of us.
Too long. We are going to a fish taverna on the seafront for fish meze where the stray cats frequent and brush against your legs, they’ll leave me covered in hair.
Too tight. I’m planning on feasting today, date or no date, so I need something loose to cover my bulging stomach as I stuff it full.
I decide on a short-sleeved navy blue cotton semi-fitted dress with pumps. Understated, the fitted part revealing my curves and the loose part covering the planned expansion of my fish meze stomach. I do love my food.
I spray Dolce Vita and get goosebumps as I picture his face when he smells it and connects the memories.
Driving the 30 minutes or so to his apartment block, my mind goes over the last year, all the times we met, spoke, texted, looked at each other and one by one the signs begin to reveal themselves. The way he looked at me when he told me his relationship was over and that he was ready to settle down with the ‘one’ he was meant to be with only she wasn’t available yet. It went straight over my head then but now it makes sense. The way he insisted I ride shotgun in his car when we all went to the mountains together in a convoy of cars. The way he always walked on the roadside and gently ushered me to the inside to protect me from traffic. How quickly he returned every call and message. How he was always available to talk when I was down. Gosh, I never realised it all this time.
I pull up in the car park and text.
“I am here, in the car park, waiting with the AC on”
The reply takes a little longer than I am used to catching me by surprise.
“On my way”
No emoji.
Strange…
“OK, I’ll be here don’t worry” I reply and deliberately avoid adding emojis, slightly annoyed.
“OK” No emoji.
Strange…
I check my watch. Perhaps I am too early and he isn’t ready. What if he is with someone else up there and forgot our date?
I decide to go to the flat but at that moment he appears, gets in the passenger seat and can barely look at me. He is pale, almost green and not at all his usual happy excited self.
“What’s wrong”? I stammer.
“Vodka and lemonade are wrong. Too many of them last night with my friends, I am so sorry, I feel terrible, I didn’t expect to have such a reaction, I feel so sick”.
At least it’s not another woman, I think before asking
“Would you rather we leave it today”?
“No! No, no no. But, could we skip the lunch at the fish taverna? I think I might throw up if we go there”.
“OK…but I’m starving!” I contest, food never far from my mind regardless of the circumstances.
He laughs despite his banging headache and tells me to start driving, he will take me to pick up some lunch at his friend’s place.
We drive and I talk while he nods so slowly and carefully as if carrying a weight on the top of his head that he doesn’t want to fall.
We are on the dual carriageway and he motions me to pull over at the newsagent.
“Do you need me to pop in and pick something up from you here”? I ask confused
“No, we are getting your lunch here, a toasted Cypriot sandwich”
“A what now”? I protest “I haven’t eaten since yesterday! What’s a sandwich going to do?”
“Trust me, you’ll love the sandwiches at Pafitis”
I scowl and sit in the car waiting, half of me wanting to leave him there and drive home and half of me desperately wanting to be with him, although I note that he hasn’t even mentioned the perfume I am wearing, the related memory, nothing. Still, he is so hungover I am surprised he is even here but then who gets so drunk when they are about to have a date they waited a whole year for?
Just then he arrives with ‘the’ sandwich and as I take my first bite, I can’t speak. I eat and eat and make various sounds of mmmm and yummm while he watches amused.
When I finally stop to take a sip from my orange-flavoured sparkling Kean drink, all is forgiven and I am a happy girl. Begrudgingly I let him have a couple of bites to help put something in his stomach and his colour begins to come back.
I sit there in my little white Suzuki Swift, parked on the side of a dual carriageway, outside a newsagent that makes traditional toasted Cypriot sandwiches in the most bizarre circumstances having the best date of my life. We chat, we laugh, we kiss, we go for a walk along the sea and end back at his.
Several years later, when we have emigrated to England, Pafitis has passed away and we visit Cyprus with our children, the first port of call is always Viva Snacks, a little takeaway shop in Larnaca city centre, run by his cousin Irinoulla and her husband Vasilis.
Here, I watch Irinoulla prepare our mixed sandwich, and serve it with homemade pickles and Kean orangeade. I watch my children play Uno with Vasilis, and devour their sandwiches and I think of that first date happy I didn’t abandon Andreas there on the dual carriageway that day and return home.
How it’s made
You can replicate this sandwich at home with a panini press although interestingly in the 24 years I have been in the UK I never once tried to make it. It’s not the same for me, it has to be eaten there in Cyprus made by the people I love but if you want to have a go here it is.
Traditionally shops serving these sandwiches will roast a whole joint of pork, slow-cooked in the oven and then slice it thick for the sandwiches. We call this rosto.
You can choose the combination of ingredients, for example, a vegetarian one will have halloumi cheese and no roast pork but for me, it has to be a little of everything. Different shops have their versions too and Irinoulla adds Cypriot sausages marinated in red wine and crushed coriander seeds and smoked.
Method
Slice a fratzola (bread resembling a panini loaf) in half and butter both sides.
Add roast pork, cooked sausage sliced lengthways, and raw halloumi cheese
Place the open sandwich on the panini press and close it so that the bottom part toasts the bread and the upper part cooks the halloumi cheese.
Remove it from the panini press and add sliced tomato, cucumber, and sprinkle the cucumber with salt, don’t omit the salt as it really does make a difference in the overall flavour. Add mayonnaise, close the sandwich and give it a last blast if you wish to on the panini press.
Serve with any pickles of your choice and a lovely lemonade or orangeade.
And so life moves on, marked by those flavours that are forever etched on our souls.
I would absolutely love to know if you have ever been to Cyprus and tried these sandwiches but I would also love to know your food related memories if you wish to share, they bless us all.
Beautiful❤️❤️❤️
Gorgeous story and I want to eat that sandwich there