Growing up Greek in North America does something to you. In Canada, I was too Greek. Too loud. Too much. Always getting in trouble in class… if you know, you know. In Greece, I was too Canadian. Not because of how I acted, but because of how I looked. The climate, the environment, it shapes you too. So I never fully fit in there either… But somehow, you learn to exist in both. Greek nights in Canada were our way of coming back to ourselves, where the music was louder, tables were danced on, and no one felt like too much. Where being expressive wasn’t something you had to tone down. And in Greece… it was never a “night.” It was just life. Always surrounded by people, family, friends, neighbors… it didn’t matter. And food… food was just a given. You could walk into any home and there was always something on the table. An aunty insisting you eat more, even when you’re full. Meals that turned into hours. Food wasn’t planned, it was shared. It was how we gathered, how we celebrated, how we ...