Opa!

Relishing the Big Fat Greek staple Papa Cristo’s during L.A.’s Greek Week.
by Lucinda Michele Knapp

I didn’t really understand Greek food until now. Feta cheese, yeah. Big whoop. Grape leaves, blah. Weird yogurt—OK. It’s all fine and dandy. But I didn’t get it.

When I went to Papa Cristo’s to celebrate L.A. Greek Week (Sept. 8-10), I was converted to a new faith: one that likes cheese paired with meat of mysterious origins. The Zen of perfect potatoes. The grace inherent in a blue and white-checked tablecloth.

I don’t know why I’ve never been to Papa Cristo’s—the dedicated Los Angelephile that I am—because it’s a local fixture and a pilgrimage destination for foodies citywide. In one incarnation or another it’s been here for over 60 years. Sixty years! That’s the sort of time frame that just doesn’t happen in L.A. Since 1948, this same corner of Pico and Normandie has housed the C&K Importing Company, where the original owner Sam Chrys (whose son now runs the business) brought foodstuffs and sundries to the vibrant Greek population in the area at the time. A zillion kinds of olives. Ouzo. Dried Mediterranean fruits. More ouzo. Even Huell Howser has come to genuflect, pronouncing it “Amaaaaayzing!” during a dedicated California’s Gold special; and while that word is a bit overused in the Howser lexicon, it’s perfectly apt to describe this place. Papa Cristo’s is amaaaaayzing.

In the early ’90s, Papa Cristo’s Taverna was opened inside C & K Importing. Now the market and deli is bracketed with a walk-up counter kitchen where you can order by either mispronouncing the Greek names of the dishes or by awkwardly gesturing at the lovely photographic menu. I recommend the latter, as I am apparently unable to pronounce “moussaka,” “spanakopita” or “tzatziki” appropriately. Who knew? Sadly, none of these products have ever entered my home with phonetic pronunciation guides on their Trader Joe’s boxes. The gentleman (and he was—kind, funny, polite) taking my order subtly corrected me on each word.

This whole experience was complicated by the fact that as I’d pulled into the parking lot my water bottle spilled half its contents on my lap, making me look like I’d had an unfortunate accident. After jumping up and down in the parking lot for a while (I don’t know why I thought that would help), I decided to dump the remainder of the water on my jeans, thereby making the giant, soaked spot less … localized. It wasn’t all that convincing. The order-taking gentleman thoughtfully averted his eyes.

In the dining area, everyone does notice, regarding me with the thinly veiled terror reserved for the insane that find their way into public buildings. My dining partner and I sat ourselves at a long table—the entire dining room is lined with family-style tables, and they actually host a “Big Fat Greek Family-Style Dinner” here every Thursday. The layout allows total strangers to mix and mingle over their dolmades and souvlaki, creating the sort of community experience you don’t see often in Los Angeles anymore.

Our food arrives with the warm dishes ensconced in searingly hot ceramic. A Greek salad’s elevated by sublime olives straight from C&K’s imported foods section, meltingly sweet feta, and a vinaigrette with a light, not-oppressive anise overtone. My moussaka (emphasis on the last syllable, in case you, too, remain uneducated by Trader Joe’s), thick with fragrant onions and beef, is layered with eggplant so infused with the rich oils of cheese and meat that its savory texture melts away on the tongue with the same alacrity as the other rich ingredients. I’m a wuss and decided not to go for the octapodakia appetizer, but the “sizzling shrimp Santorini” come flash-sautéed with feta, those gorgeous olives, tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes (the glory!) and a wallop of garlic. The chicken kebab is packed with flavor and juicy, which is hard to do with lean, white-meat chicken; a lemony, slightly peppery tang winds its way through all of the meats offered here, keeping them from descending into the guttural caveman depths in which so many “meat-on-a-stick” places find themselves.

The spanakopita is a heavenly core sample of buttery, savory phyllo dough and cheesy spinach, the vegetable bright with freshness and undimmed by overcooking, which can often happen when you stick greens inside dough. The sumptuous strata of light, crispy, paper-thin puff pastry crimp delicately along the edges and melt in your mouth. I would have stood and done a happy dance except, well, my pants.

Dessert was the clincher. I ordered from the deli section, which displays cases of baklava, candied gelatin flavored with orange and licorice, and traditional cookies with the glee of a retro candy shoppe—which I guess C&K is, partly. The folks behind the counter smiled and chatted with me like I was family as they carefully slid baklava dripping with honey and nuts into a to-go box. And if any of them wonder about the wet pants thing, like family, they couldn’t care less.

Papa Cristo loves me anyway. LAA

Location: 2771 W. Pico Blvd. at Normandie.
Phone: (323) 737-2970.
Vibe: Grandpa? Is that you?
Price: $1.99-$9.99.
Etc.: Holy crap, get lost in those imported-foods aisles! And…is that an entire wall of Ouzo?
Overall: 5 out of 5