Stathis Stamatakis’ pastries are Greek to me
By Liz Palisin
Sun contributor
Glen Arbor’s weekly summer farmers markets are the quintessential way to enjoy an early morning stroll. But what about the people that spend hours preparing, gathering the freshest ingredients, mixing and tasting, and toiling in the kitchen to make delicious products to sell during those brief morning hours? Meet Stathis Stamatakis.
Stamatakis hails from Crete, and knows a thing or two about decadent Greek pastries. His slow smile, salt and pepper hair and thick accent suggests I could have met him on any typical winding alley in a Greek village selling his fresh handmade pastries. Lucky for us in northern Michigan, he shares these tiny treats with us every Tuesday from 9-11 a.m.
Everything about this business and this man seem precise and to the point. His business card simply states his name, contact information and the words ‘My goal is to show you the sweet face of Greece”. This phrase embodies the essence of Sathis’ stand. Covered in the blue and white stripes of the Greek flag, his card is a tiny homage to his home country.
But what’s in the stand really matters. Tiny containers line the table with labels that read Baklava (I know this one), Ladokouloura and Kataifi. When I ask him what these words mean, he tells me, “Every Greek word has a direct meaning, you see? Lado is olive oil. These are olive oil biscuits.” Indeed, the longer I stick around the more I learn, not only about the actual pastries but about Stamatakis’ life. He moved from Greece to the United States 20 years ago when he married [WHO? his American wife]. He once owned his own restaurant, has a son that attends the University of Southern California, and makes pastries in his own kitchen from scratch. You can taste the time and effort and years of wisdom baked into them.
Stamatakis doles out bits about himself while handing out his pastries to customers with whom he has a smooth rapport.
“I come every week … here try one or I will just eat them all myself,” says a tall woman with two antsy little girls in tow, as she hands me a Kourambiedes, a Greek Christmas cookie. Stamatakis grins and replies, “That is why I sell them … so I can’t eat,” and jovially pats his belly.
I bite into the cookie and I am transported to a small cafe in Greece during the height of Christmas festivities. As the crumbs fall through my fingers I can see why Stamatakis makes these pastries with such care and attention to detail. The buttery sweetness of the morsel is worth the effort and time. I immediately appreciate the skill that goes into creating these delights.
There is a sense of kinship at this small stand. The passing of pastries seems like an ancient Greek tradition that has made its way to the small community of Glen Arbor. I buy some Baklava, and with a firm handshake and a “Best of luck to you, visit me soon” from Stamatakis, I am on my way, belly and mind full of the warm reassurance of good pastry and good company.
