Olympia brings delights of Greece to North Idaho
Several years ago, I unwittingly found myself blacklisted by the former owner of the Olympia Restaurant. My roommate at the time had written them a bum check, and Mr. Olympia was not going to mess around when it came to settling the debt.
The phone calls started, sometimes waking me at the crack of dawn. “Hello?” I’d croak, and Mr. Olympia would be on the other end, carrying on angrily in a thick Greek accent. “You a thief! You bring money or I call police! I put you in jail!” I’d explain to him that I had nothing to do with the situation. Either he didn’t understand or he didn’t care, threatening me with “you bring my money today or I call you over and over” before hanging up.
He wasn’t kidding. I passed the messages to my roommate, but he just laughed it off. “Tell that cranky old coot to go stuff his dolmades!”
This went on for a few weeks until one day the phone stopped ringing. The silence was ominous.
“Oh no, the cops are here!” cried my roommate as he slipped out the back door and off into the afternoon, bye-bye. Reluctantly, I answered the door, and the officer informed me he was sent by Mr. Olympia to arrest my roommate and haul him away to jail. I played dumb, saying “Oh, he’s gone. Out of town. Yeah, out of town, that’s the ticket.”
Rattled, I decided to end the nightmare myself and pay off the darned bill. As soon as Mr. Olympia figured out what was going on, he came storming out of the kitchen yelling, “You a thief! You pay me money and you go! You not welcome here anymore!”
Feeling defeated and slightly embarrassed, I didn’t have it in me to clarify. I just slipped out the door with a serious case of the sads. The Olympia was one of my favorite places to eat, and here I was banished forever through no fault of my own. So I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief when I learned that Angelo Itskos and his wife, Eva, had since taken over the place.
The transition was almost unnoticeable. As far as I can tell, the menu hasn’t changed a word. The bright, comfortable atmosphere remains intact, complete with posters of the Greek countryside and authentic music softly piping over the speakers.
Most importantly, the service is as friendly and efficient as ever. I had to chuckle when I spotted the handwritten sign posted near the cash register that reads “Sorry, absolutely no checks accepted.”
I knew what I wanted to order, but decided to tour the menu anyway. The appetizers alone are enough to make one want to pack a travel trunk full of big pants and hop the next flight to Athens.
Most tempting are the spanakopita, which is spinach, herbs and feta cheese baked in phyllo dough, and the saganaki, an intensely flavorful fondue with melty kasseri cheese sautéed in brandy and served with warm pita. Or start with a simple, delicious hummus, or a classic platter of dolmas (grape leaves stuffed with rice and ground beef and topped with a lemon sauce.)
Lunch at Olympia revolves around the gyro, a soft pita containing your choice of seasoned gyro meat, falafel, chicken, pork, lamb or souvlaki (meat with a lemon-garlic marinade). Each sandwich includes lettuce, tomatoes and onions, and is topped with creamy tzatziki (a yogurt-cucumber-garlic sauce). The salads are essentially the gyros minus the pita atop a bed of salad greens and veggies.
The don’t-miss dinner item has to be the mousaka, a Greek masterpiece with layers of sautéed potatoes, seasoned ground beef, eggplant and herbs topped with a rich béchamel sauce.
I started off with a cup of avgolemono, a soup that blends chicken bits and orzo pasta in a brisk lemony broth. One bite and I realized how much I missed this uniquely flavored treat. My chicken gyro arrived fast and was as perfect as I remembered, and as perfectly messy. Get extra napkins because these babies tend to get sloppy. Just make sure whatever you drop lands in the basket so you can enjoy every last delicious piece of tender meat.
I did notice the absence of the Greek herbs they used to sprinkle on their fries; minus this touch of personalization they were still pretty good, just slightly on the ordinary side.
The grand finale of any Greek meal is the baklava. The delicate layers of flaky phyllo, the finely ground pistachios and the drizzles of sweet, sticky honey make it the most perfect dessert on Earth. I could live the rest of my life happy as a lamb kebab eating it for every meal. Now that I’m no longer banned from the Olympia, it’s a distinct possibility.