Key Best: Keys Fisheries (Marathon Key)

If we were planning on catching our own lobsters, then we were going to need licenses and apparently Marathon Key was the closest place to buy these. So it only made sense to stop at Keys Fisheries for lunch, since their billboard informed us that it was just minutes off the main road and touted an intriguing headliner, the lobster Reuben.

Able to be entered by land or sea, this waterfront fishermen’s shack permeated a salty sea air - both literally and figuratively. I don’t know if the lobster Reuben was worth $14.95 - actually I do and it wasn’t - but deep breaths from the surrounding ocean on an overcast day made me thankful for its crispy, grilled bread warming me from the inside out.

Old school, rocket-shaped buoys roped off the dining area and rigged an informal perimeter as to where the floor ended and water began. A wooden menu hung like a Broadway placard detailing show times with a set of blinking, purple and copper-shadowed eyes behind a sliding glass window awaiting our order.

“Song?” asked “The Shadow” in a Janis Joplin, smoker’s voice that solidified all of her fun-loving, sixty-something years. My brows knitted before realizing that she was asking us to pick a song to identify our order, instead of giving a name. How fun! But pick wisely because when, “Happy Birthday” got called over the microphone, I felt embarrassed for the lame-o lady going to retrieve her order.

Maybe lame-o would have been a little more creative if she took advantage of the frozen drinks, whose washing machine sloshes swirled in hypnotizing circles of Jolly Rancher reds and greens, behind the full bar adjacent to a crude gift shop showcasing lobster trap artwork and the condiment station with enough squeeze bottle-bouquets of tartar and cocktail sauce for the Royal Wedding.

Lobster Reuben: Nothing to stand up and shout about, but an idea that’s smart enough to lure everyone in at least once, and I had no regrets. Clearly we weren’t the only ones, since the answer to their contest of guessing how many lobster Ruebens sold in the prior month (win a free sandwich and Keys Fisheries t-shirt) ranked around 3,000.

Conch fritters: Since my favorable experience with conch chowder the day before, I had forgotten my former, grit-filled gripes against conch and happily wrapped my mouth around their briny chew. Hidden in a pillow of dough, my lips still found no grit to kiss and I was actually becoming quite fond of this local delicacy, though it was probably time for them to change the fryer oil.

Before we cut out, we posed in cut-outs! Keys Fisheries was nothing short of a good time – photo ops, novelty sandwiches, local delicacies, art, games, fabulously, eye-shadowed employees. They were comfortable in their worn, sea shanty skin and made for a laid-back lunch that was worth a drop of the anchor.

Key Best: The Wharf (Summerland Key)

There was no way Bubba and I were turning down a week in the Keys with Keri and Chris. We’d already followed them to Spain a few years before, so as soon as Bubba’s sis and her hubby dangled the carrot of their rental on Big Pine Key in front of us, we were in.

A forty-five minute drive from Key West brought us to a house that looked like a carnival attraction – the tall man – up on stilts to avoid flooding since the house sat directly on a canal leading to the ocean, which meant sea kayaking in the morning...

...and back in time to feed the wild deer dominating this Key by lunch. But Keri and Chris were also busy dominating the area, scouting out several weather(off the)beaten(path) dives and hitting high notes in every Key.

The Wharf (Summerland Key)
This place looked like it’d been hit by a hurricane – probably because it had, probably many. Weather-filled fists constantly beat the hell out of structures down here and The Wharf looked like a fort thrown together by a band of drunken monkeys. That’s why reading a Key’s book by its cover was a dangerous business because any shit shack could be a potential love shack.

Love shack, baby: Lapping water clomped against worn, wooden boards, paving the way to picnic tables, inches from the canal where mangrove trees dangled overhead from the opposite shore. The interior separated itself with a pristine air, cooled into a refrigerated haven where locals ringed around the bar and fresh fish shined like jewels beneath an iced, glass case.

Drinks, me thinks
Margaritaville: Dear Mr. Buffet, I finally understand your alcohol-soaked serenade…these margaritas were clearly deserving of their own zip code. No pre-bottled sour mix here, only nature’s version = fresh lime juice. Face-puckeringly tart and the best in my mouth’s history, they upped the ante with choices of mango, pineapple, pomegranate, strawberry, coconut, etc. All were built off the lime based original, but instead of some syrupy sweet canned nectar, it was all fresh fruit puree = healthy margaritas! The fact they were served in pint glasses didn't hurt either.

Starters
Prince Edward Island Malpeque oysters: This is the one time where we didn't go with local seafood, but these rare specimens needed to be taken advantage of – petite; buttery; rich - even Keri, a non-oyster lover, fell hard and fast.

White clam chowder : Chowder is always a gamble, even when there’s fresh seafood involved. It’s all about consistency - both definitions:
1) Uniformity: Diced veg precisely matching the clam size.
2) Viscosity: enough to coat the spoon, but not enough for the spoon to stand.

The Wharf provided #1, #2 and most importantly #3, tender dime-sized clams that were worthy of a 10.

Red conch chowder: My past, grit-filled memories deterred me, but being that we were in the Conch Republic, I had to take a slurp from Bubba’s cup. There was no sand to be found, but instead a subtle taste of the sea that had me converted to conch and a beach broth believer.

Rough(age) housing: Usually I wouldn’t even mention a house salad and this time I didn’t even order one (asked for Caesar), but their quality of vegetables (all organic) was like a garden's tasting menu of what produce was actually supposed to taste like - lettuce crunched with a hydrated crispness that played off the peppery, purple cabbage and finished with feta’s creamy tang. The homemade roasted tomato vinaigrette made me want to order a shot as a sidecar to my margarita.

Entrees
Blackened shrimp salad: Having the same lush ingredients of the house salad as the base to this entree was a great start, along with exquisite local shrimp, but there was way too much shake, shake, shake of overwhelming, blackening spices that tasted like the generic, canned mix from the grocery store.

Blackened grouper : It was even sadder to see the grouper desecrated by this heavy-handed spice blend. Besides grieving the lost meal, I grieved the loss of this gorgeous piece of grouper so unnecessarily covered up. You may need lipstick for a pig, but this fish was a fresh-faced beauty that could have pulled it off with nothing but a pair of lemon wedges.

Grilled Snapper: The day's catch was black snapper, so I had it grilled with garlic/cilantro butter. **cue carnival barker voice* -"We have a winner!!" Forkfuls of flaky meat fluffed on my tines and I believe there was a little food envy going on at the table when others saw my plate - my side of mashed potatoes only intensified those feelings. But the best part about traveling with family is that you can share, so I handed over my plate before tipping my hat.

How Lebanon gets it on - Mama’s Bakery (San Diego)

Chef Luz called me up for a quiet lunch, so that meant Mama’s Bakery for the perfect, midday hideaway with its unassuming structure camouflaged by shaggy brush and a summer coat of green paint, hidden just a few doors down from Live Wire’s dive-bar antics.

Mama’s size helped protect her incognito, mosquito net of isolation. It was as if someone had started building a Craftsman cottage and decided to stop halfway through, leaving this postage stamp sized space that only read of the dining room's snug, dollhouse fit, a tiny kitchen and a few tables out front.

Maybe the builders went on a lunch break and never came back…I could understand why - more Lebanese, please! I wasn’t all that familiar with Lebanese food before our visit and even though Mama’s menu raised some questions, Mama didn’t raise no fools. Happy to educate about the cuisine, full descriptions were listed below each menu item and effortless explanations from the staff were recited like beloved bedtime stories.

The kitchen was rolled up as efficiently as their sandwiches. The Sajj (ancient oven dating back to BC used to cook flatbread) steamed like a fog machine’s special effects and revealed a smiling, middle-aged woman behind a glass counter ready to take our order. Leaning against the glass that separated us, I looked down to see the bottom shelf lined in baklawa (spelled differently than the Greek baklava, but basically the same) and other Lebanese pastries, which time-tripped me back to the candy counters of my Jersey youth, where each shelf had a value - the bottom one being the most precious (Fun-Dip for 50 cents was always the top prize) – I guess the same rules applied here…bottom shelf = top drawer.

But maybe my nostalgic mooning was brought on by the close quarters, similar to a relative’s kitchen, where you happened to stop by and they insisted you stay for lunch. The kafta sandwich was worthy of a schedule change. Countless, bite-sized meatballs of ground beef, onions and parsley fit into a clown-car of flatbread – it was like guessing at a jar of jelly beans. I couldn’t approximate how many meatballs were in there, but they kept coming like non-stop pitches at a batting cage.

Pickle crunched in a satisfying, “CRACK!” like a bat connecting with the ball. Hummus brought its creamy, tahini tang with a body bigger than the Babe and became more than just another condiment – this was a game changer.

But the homemade flatbread, hot off the Sajj, was the crowning achievement: crispy, browned outside; doughy, fluffy inside. For me, bread has always been the true test of a sandwich's sanctity and Mama’s bread breathed a mote of Mediterranean into the air - just enough to add a touch of foreign to the familiar - and linked its loving arm of Lebanon around me.

Things to try next time:
Drinks: Yogurt drinks? Chai cola? I’m in!…and extremely curious.
Food: Schawarma – similar to a gyro with shaved meat on flatbread;
hot pies; baba ghanouj; feta and olives

Things Mama raises:
1) No fools
2) The roof (the builders might have stopped halfway, but Mama didn’t)
3) San Diego’s sandwich standard (hummus is the new mayo!)

Mama also caters!!
Mama's Bakery
4237 Alabama St
San Diego, Ca 92104
(619) 688-0717

Dumpling Inn - Kearny Mesa (San Diego)

Inn Good Company

“What do you mean there isn’t any good Chinese Food in San Diego?” Chef Luz shot me one of her sideways stares that could slice a man in two and then softened just as quickly, blinking her eyes in a kitty-like slant and motioned, “Let’s go.”

I could always trust my cake-baking, potaco-making pal for food advice and this time it landed us at a non-descript strip mall in Kearny Mesa at the Dumpling Inn.

Patrons were lined up outside like on-deck batters, peering into this sardine can of a space, just waiting for their turn at the plate as we snagged the last of only about 10 tables, inches from the swinging double doors of the kitchen, where our salty, seasoned waitress crashed through looking like she was about to spit nails.

“Drinks?” she seethed, daring us to be thirsty. The answer of water and tea made her bristle all the more, but her visible annoyance only endeared me to her and brought back memories of the cranky diner waitresses from my Jersey youth, whose curmudgeonly antics were all part of the charm. But she wasn’t the only salty and sour presence greeting us. The table spun a basket of vinegar, soy sauce and chili paste for personalized dipping preferences.

Pot stickers: This is usually what you think of when you hear “dumplings”, also known as gyoza (oh boyza!), fried up crispy, browned and glistening like a bronzed God stuffed to porky perfection.

Xiao Long Bao: Just as I was about to take a bite of the Xiao Long Bao, my chopsticks got swatted back as Chef Luz handed me a spoon to hold beneath, explaining that these were soup dumplings. Meaning = broth is added as part of the filling in a gelatinous state during preparation and liquefies inside when heated - genius! This meat-filled, bite-sized bowl of soup was worthy of applause and complete with finely sliced ginger streamers to top it all off.

I couldn’t help eyeballing neighboring tables that flaunted other “Inn wins” like the mammoth bowls of broth steaming and full to the brim with riptides of churning meats and veggies. I’d heard murmurings about the sea bass with black bean sauce and side orders of jellyfish, but Chef Luz finished by picking the dan-dan noodles, which immediately caused our waitress (now known as the Soup Dumpling Nazi) to stop writing. She exasperatedly asked, “Have you tried it before?”, and sighed at Luz’s nod before begrudgingly bringing a bowl of noodles that probably weighed as much as her.

Dan Dan Noodles: Dense noodles were made heavier by a sesame paste coating every piece with a consistency similar to peanut butter. I understood the Soup Dumpling Nazi’s questioning once we got it because this wasn’t for the faint of heart. Within the layer of potent paste came a charge of chili for an underlying spice that made the taste-buds sweat before the crunchy cool down of sliced cucumber.

Its hearty, stick-to-your-rib goodness stayed with you like Mom's Sunday dinner for a lump in the stomach worthy of a lump in the throat. If you’re on the hunt for spicy sesame, this is how you get to sesame street…and I’m sure the waitress would be more than happy to teach you the letter “F”.

As for Dumpling Inn, they easily earned 1-2-3-4…4 stars! But the real teacher here was Chef Luz, who had schooled me yet again in another local lesson…and let me live another day (Soup Dumpling Nazi’s got nothing on that one).

Wine Vault: Cinco de Mayo - San Diego

Cinco stars for Wine Vault’s 10-course menu
Let’s be real. Cinco de Mayo is usually just an excuse to get bombed during the week while wearing a false mustache. But Wine Vault and Bistro (WVB) becomes Cinco’s beard for the evening, dropping their usual wine-soaked identity and switching over to “team tequila” for just one night. And somewhere in this holiday based on boozy bullshit, WVB finds a way to legitimize Cinco de Mayo by celebrating Mexican culture and breathing new life into traditional recipes.

Cinco de Plate-o (five plates: two courses each plate; paired with drinks) - $42.50

1. Yellow pepper gazpacho | cilantro
Peter Piper would have picked this pool of liquid peppers himself, the color of daffodils and washing over my tongue with the same thick, velvety quality of Adele’s voice. A lucky coin of goat cheese nestles behind the cup’s ear and strikes a necessary tart chord in this soupy, sweet serenade.

2. Prawn tostada |avocado | smoky tomato "cocktail" sauce | jicama
This sets off all the memory sensors that shrimp cocktail evokes, but adds a certain unfamiliarity with its lightly pickled cucumbers, jimaca and avocado all resting on a corn tostada. My mouth hints at the old cliche, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” before realizing I’ve just been introduced to shrimp cocktail’s edgier, elusive brother - the prawn star.

Served with: Puente Grande Añejo Tequila (1 oz. pour)

3. Marinated fish taco | pico de gallo | crème fraîche
The mahi is masterfully cooked, but with no bells and whistles, no clang, clang, clanging of trolleys. Not that everything needs to be dressed-to-the-nines or make me burst into some grandiose Garland number, but its presence is greatly overshadowed by the other offerings and takes an obvious backseat like its name is Liza.

4. Bay scallop "ceviche" | lime aïoli
Scallops are like a hot guy that I just can’t stand. I always find myself attracted to their preparation, but never like it when we get intimate. I think it’s a textural thing. Especially bay scallops, but these have a clean bite, accentuated with the citrus pop of lime aioli. And I have to admit, I was in love. Not with the scallops, but with WVB. They always give a second chance to retry ill-thought-of ingredients and even though scallops and I still weren’t a match, I was happy to say I made the effort.

Served with: Stone "Levitation" Pale Ale (4 oz. pour)


5. Chili Relleno | Pulled Pork Stuffing | Sweet Onion Fondue
Tugging at my heart strings and arteries, I could see this perfectly composed bite at every Super Bowl party – the pork popper. A cocoon of delicately fried batter envelopes the mild, green chili and mummifies its pulled pork innards for one masterfully, stuffed sarcophagus. The sweet onion fondue becomes an instant soul-mate, and I the needy lover. Its miniscule amounts of affection dotting the plate left me wanting.

6. Albondigas | Spicy Corn Grits | Grilled Scallions
Lamb albondigas (= Mexican meatballs) get comfy on a cushion of corn grits like a wide-bottomed uncle settling in for a Law and Order marathon. The lamb plays well with the acid of tomato sauce and works some game on these grits that even Flo would gladly kiss.

Served with: Yucatan Tropical Fruit Margarita

7. Mole Braised Short Ribs | Mexican Rice | Crema Oaxaca
The ribs are fork tender, though the mole is somewhat timid, as hints of chili, cumin and I’m guessing a bit of Mexican chocolate peak out. But the real distraction here is the rice. Drier than Zelda Fitzgerald’s martini and with a similar drunken disconnect, the rice remains awkwardly detached from the rest of the dish and even attempts from a gooey, liquid crema can’t keep it balanced enough to interact properly with the other composed players.

8. Tamarind Glazed Tri-Tip | Bacon Braised Beans | Salsa Verde
Like most root veggies, tamarind is sharp and earthy with a hint of loam, but this has the dual identity of Jekyll and Hyde, playing both the sour and sweet sides of the coin. Tamarind’s down and dirty glaze on the tender tri-tip is counterbalanced by an herbaceous salsa verde that strikes me more as a chimichurri with its pesto-like thickness and hue. Whatever you call it, it’s amazing. The bacon beans make me think of the “Mexican Radio” video from the 80's, where the guy’s head emerges from a pot of beans. I think I would have stayed in there for a while if they were anything like this – hunks of bacon and black beans braised in bacon fat – yes please!! Magical fruit indeed.

Served with: Cadillac Margarita on the rocks (salt on the side)
*cue music* “We’re going riding on the freeway, of love, in my pink Cadillac (margarita)!”…um, I don’t think either of us would be driving after this. Whew! They aren’t skimping with the tequila and even Bubba was looking a little whoozy. I felt like Marion in Raiders of the Lost Ark when she out-drinks the men in the Siberian lodge, but I was about to fall over - time for a pot of coffee…but first, pots de crème.


9. Churros | Gianduja Pots de Crème
I imagined something similar to a Nutella crème brulee (gianduja = chocolate with hazelnut paste), but this pots de crème comes across more like a potent, hazelnut butter. It’s as if the nuts were roasted too long - not that it tastes burnt, just overwhelmingly nutty and canceling out any chocolate essence. But the churro saves the day with its cinnamon-sugar shield over taunt and tanned, fried dough.

10. Dulce de Leche Cake | Sweet Potato + White Chocolate Mousse
I’m not a huge fan on my cakes soaked (unless its tiramisu) and I saw the duo of sauces as overkill (the white chocolate wasn’t very stiff and more like a sauce than a mousse), but I appreciate their idea of subduing white chocolate’s cloying profile with the more subtle sweet potato.

Served with: WV&B's Legendary Mexican Coffee (3 oz. demitasse)
Time to straighten up with a cup of Joe, but it was a cup of Jose who met us instead, which meant more tequila, and Kahlua…and coffee? I guess there was coffee in there. Either way, its good to the last drop.

I can’t think of a better reason to celebrate a fake holiday than 10-courses of creativity. There’s no question that WVB serves up San Diego’s best style of Cinco…with an extra side of Mayo *hiccup*.

Colima's Mexican vs. Riki Sushi - San Diego

The Take-out Toss Up: Heads or Tails
Every weekend it comes down to a coin toss. Not a super, freaky coin toss like in, No Country for Old Men where someone’s life’s on the line, but one that still makes my stomach churn knowing what’s up for grabs. Friday night’s all about take-out, and lately we’ve ditched our weekly pizza practice and landed on two equally crave-able sides of the coin.

Colima a little closer – Colima’s Mexican Food
You’ve probably driven past Colima’s squatty, worn exterior multiple times while flying down University Ave because it’s not exactly the type of place that seems like a fixed destination. But that’s when you have to envision what Walt Disney glimpsed in those miles of Florida swampland or what the architects of Vegas imagined in the open desert - possibility. And at Colima’s, they deliver that same type of unexpected possibility by blowing away the competition when it comes to one particular item.

Roast pork burrito: There’s a pedestal in my mind where this resides. I always hold my breath in anticipation worried I’ll be disappointed, that somehow it won’t be as amazing as I remembered like a child finding out their parent isn’t the hero they thought. But this has the consistency of Ward Cleaver and secures the certainty of knowing it will always be there, especially when I need it most (even a little bleary-eyed at 12am).

Moist clumps of rice flecked with corn and peas hide the tender, squares of carnitas and force my teeth to unearth hunks of pork like a spoon digging for candy treasure in a Ben and Jerry’s pint. The tortilla is enormous, buttery and surrounds this precious, pork-filled package like a newborn’s security blanket - and believe me, I was one proud mama. Damn, with the way I was going through these, soon to be one proud Mama Cass.

They provide enough salsa to stock an Apocalyptic prepper’s fallout shelter and enough satisfaction to make Mick rethink his lyrics. They’re quick, affordable and spot-on every time. The carne asada burrito also holds up, but the roast pork version is the reason to visit - standing “heads” and shoulders above the rest.


Riki don’t lose that number – Riki Sushi
Sub-par sushi joints have hit North Park like a plague in the last five years, so when Riki rolled into town, it was no surprise they started raking it in – fresh fish and clever rolls that didn’t blow the bankroll – this was the cure we’d been looking for. Riki began offering $6, $8 or $9 specialty rolls when they first opened, but now they’ve raised it to $8, $9 and $10 – I don’t blame them. They know the demand is there. They still offer rolls starting at $3 and increase in dollar increments, where every dollar amount has its own choices (i.e. $4: hamachi maki, $5: spicy scallop roll, $6: caterpillar roll, etc).

As for my two favorite rolls here, I couldn’t have designed them better than if I picked out the pattern myself. They encompass all I love about sushi. Granted, I’m not the most, well-versed sushi student and I usually choose relatively tame options, but the number of choices configured in every price range make it easy to mix and match new styles without worrying too much about the bill. But these are my go-to choices:

Yellowtail special roll ($8) – Inside: spicy tuna, cucumber. Outside: sliced yellowtail, raw jalapeno
With its almost spread-able lusciousness, the spicy tuna’s smooth texture provides great contrast to the fat slab of yellowtail propped on top. Cucumber acts as the crunchy cool down from jalapenos’ heat, and both act as buffers between the two types of fish, allowing them to retain their own identity.

Tijuana roll (TJ roll - $10) – Inside: soft-shell crab tempura, spicy tuna. Outside: eel, avocado
I’m a total softy when it comes to soft-shell crab. It brings me back to my Jersey youth and eating at the Circus Drive-In, an age-old landmark in my neighborhood that only opens for a few, summer months and has the best soft-shell crab sandwiches around. Reconfigured here, the soft-shell still crunches with the same memorable taste of the sea mixed with the supple swell of spicy tuna. The sweetness of the eel and natural creaminess of the avocado complete the package into more than a mouthful, but a bite that’s worthy of unhinging your jaw.

Condiment compliments: I know some of the sauces aren’t authentic, but damn if I don’t love to dip. I’m addicted to spicy mayo (yes, ugly American, party of one), but the thinner Japenese mayo (made with rice vinegar) mixed with Sriracha brightens every bite – at no extra charge. Then there’s the molasses-y, eel sauce that has the viscosity of turpentine, but my new favorite is Riki’s inclusion of a thin, peanut/chili sauce with a spice that’ll slap the sass out your mouth with its violent, but loveable heat – giving a new meaning to the term “lip-smacking”.

Roll with it: They don’t have a website and their paper take-out menu is useless because it only lists the names of rolls with no description. They have some hard-to-see photos on their facebook page, but you might want to venture inside the first time, though the usual standard for take-out requires a getaway car equipped with driver. That way the pick-up happens smoothly without the hassle of fighting to park on 30th St on a Friday night.

They offer a "large beer and hot sake" for $5.25 all day, everyday, which is fitting since the rest of the menu is so reasonably priced. Affordable, clean, fresh, inventive and generous – Riki proves that success is all in the de-“tails”.

Olympic Cafe - North Park (SD)

Greek God
The familial embrace surrounding Olympic Cafe is stronger than an uncle's playful headlock. Waitresses come forth like a colony of aunts, as if to say “eat up” with their encouraging smiles, and in classic diner fashion, deliver chocolate milk unstirred - the inch of Hershey’s syrup and my spoon clanking against the glass sent me directly back to my childhood in Jersey. Olympic definitely captures an east coast vibe that could contend with the Garden State's traditional, Greek diners and has become my go-to while living in San Diego.

Greek diners = gyros. Whether it’s breakfast (gyro omelet anyone?), lunch or dinner, Olympic shaves thin strips off a rotating carousel of mixed meat (none of those frozen, nitrate nightsticks seen here). Warm pitas overflow with this lamb/beef hybrid, fully loaded with lettuce, tomato and onion. But these additions pale in comparison to the homemade tzatziki sauce - the best I’ve ever had. Why? Olympic's version is thinner and a bit more tangy, similar to a vinaigrette vs. the lumpy, thick condiment that's the usual suspect.

And I’d been hitting the (tzatziki) sauce pretty hard. I even started ordering it as a side with extra pitas for superfluous dipping, but my addictions didn’t end there. Olympic’s mashed potatoes were worthy of recreating the scene from Scarface where Al Pacino sticks his nose in a pile of coke and looks up with his face covered. Switch me with Al and the cocaine with potatoes, and this is my habitual experience here (lemony, chicken gravy makes it all the messier). When I started ordering two helpings, I knew I had a problem.

That’s why I thought I’d detox with their signature Olympic salad because eating these greens doesn’t even feel like a sacrifice. Playing-card-size slabs of feta, pulled from a briny bath, set the stage for some acidic anarchy with kalamata olives, pepperoncinis, and of course, a generous helping of gyro meat on top is better than any crouton. The option for take-out and the addition of homemade baklava give Olympic the edge, and their attention to authentic, irreplaceable details prove it's all Greek to me.