Scenes From the American Working Class

The Quickest Way to People's Hearts

To Pappouli, the man who made the most of his brand new country

George puts his heart and sole into every meal he makes for his customers. After all, he knows better than anyone that food is love. It's like the old saying goes, the quickest way to people's hearts is through their stomachs.

After all, it's the quality of their food that ultimately keeps the loyal customers coming back time and time again. His restaurant is tiny with limited square footage, only room for a maximum of seven tables. Despite the fact the building has very little room, George never complains. In fact, George is rather proud of the fact that he was able to afford it after years of random jobs. When he first stepped off the boat from Greece, he considered himself lucky to get a job as a taxi driver. After all, he was in a new country with a new environment and even a new language.

Not to mention that the city of Philadelphia was one that moved at a rapid pace, almost at lightning speed. Everyone in the city always seemed to be in one giant rush. It was a pace that George wasn't used to as it was a night and day difference from his quiet, calming neighborhood in Mykonos. A neighborhood where you could walk down the street to the market and greeted all your neighbors as you passed their houses. That wasn't Philadelphia. In this city, you were lucky to get so much as a smile as you rushed down the narrow sidewalks in order to get to work on time. Most of the time though, George was not that lucky. Instead, people would shove past him and curse at him for getting in his way. It was miles off, both figuratively and literally, from his old home.

Despite the difficult adjustment, George didn't let the chaos of this new city get the better of him. Instead, he used it to motivate himself, to work harder, to keep up with the speed of the city. After all, he came to this country with a dream, and he was going to see that dream through.

That dream started with him getting out from behind the wheel of a taxi and into a restaurant. So he found a Irish pub in the middle of the city, and started working as a dishwasher. It certainly wasn't the most glamorous of jobs, but that didn't matter. It was a start, and it was just the start he needed. He quickly became the most efficient dishwasher in the kitchen. This earned him the slightly more glamorous position of both dishwasher and busboy. Eventually, he worked his way up to host, and then waiter, and then bartender, and eventually back into the kitchen, this time as a line cook.

As happy as Geroge was to finally be cooking, he didn't stop there. Although being able to cook for people was his dream, it was only a small part of it. Until the rest of his dream could be achieved, he put his heart and soul into every dish he served at the pub. He may be a Greek, but he could certainly cook like an Irishmen. As he slowly but surely worked his way from line cook to head chief, he saved up his money. Every cent he earned went to either paying his bills or put in his savings account. That saving account was the ticket to his dreams, so he was going to put as much into it as possible. This definitely paid off because after years of blood, sweat, and tears, he was able to walk out of the doors of the Irish pub and walk through the doors of his own restaurant.

It was a small building with an even smaller kitchen, but nonetheless, it was a beautiful brick building with an undeniable charm to it. There was even a window in between the kitchen and dining room that allowed the customers to watch George in action, and to smell the mouth watering aromas of his greek recipes, the same recipes that his grandmother, his Yia-Yia, had taught him in her kitchen all throughout his childhood. The simple smell of his Yia-Yia's cooking always made his stomach growl with anticipation for the upcoming meal, and Geroge had a feeling his food had the same effect on his patrons. Which is why when it came time to name his restaurant, there was only one name that came to mind: Yia-Yia's Greek Kitchen.

After all, none of this would be possible if it wasn't for Yia-Yia. She was the one that always encouraged George to continue cooking, to carry on the family tradition, to follow his dream. Now that his dream had finally come true, it only felt right to name his it after her.

And just like Yia-Yia, George put his heart and soul in every meal he makes. After all, the quickest way to people's hearts is through their stomachs.