If I Get Any Calls, I’ll Be at The Kafenio
By Jimmy Banakis
December 31, 2023
It is not the young man who should be considered fortunate but the old man who has lived well, because the young man in his prime wanders much by chance, vacillating in his beliefs, while the old man has docked in the harbor, having safeguarded his true happiness.
— EPICURUS (Of Samos)
Ah, to take pleasure in the joys of friendship. The kind of friendship leisurely enjoyed at a long dining table in the garden with musical accompaniment and a shepherd. The photo above was taken 120 years ago of my ancestors in their village of Mystra in the Peloponnese.
The occasion was the return visit of my great-grandfather and great-great-uncles 18 years after starting their American dreams. By this time, one had already started an ice cream business, and one a produce business. My great-grandfather (the one in the back row playfully holding the carafe of wine with an orange on top) and his brother-in-law, had opened a restaurant at Cicero & Lake, the last stop west on the Lake Street El.
These optimistic young men, just starting families, were unaware that in a few years one would be shot and killed by a jealous competitor. One would lose a son at Belleau Wood in the Great War. One would continue opening restaurants following the El line west to Oak Park. One would decide not to return to Chicago but stay in the village and marry his sweetheart.
Greek men have always made time to gather, bond, and enjoy each other’s company usually at the “kafenio” or small cafe. While the word kafenio is Greek, all cultures have their own variation where men gather and bond. Think of it primarily as a place for conversation and refreshment and not intoxication.
On the island of Samos where my father’s family emigrated from, Uncle Nick took me to a my first kafenio in the beautiful harbor town of Pythagorion. I was 25 years old, a young man newly married on my first trip to Greece. To call this kafenio a restaurant or even a café would be an exaggeration. It was simply a small place with a tiny outdoor kitchen run by a husband and wife. She prepared small plates and the husband was the waiter. The waiter would sit and join in the conversation when things slowed down.
I still remember sipping the rich coffee and sharing a plate of kayana, a scrambled egg dish.
On this most perfect of mornings, we watched three young men cursing, trying to load lumber on a donkey. Two cats lay sunning themselves. A small boat pulled into the harbor, and 5 or 6 tavern owners rushed over to unload crates of produce. The men on the boat then started to hand over baby lambs loudly bleating with their legs tied together to a butcher for his inspection. Two old men at the next table were playing “portas,” a variation of backgammon, and they asked me to join them and learn.
All four of us discussed politics, life in the United States, food, women, and gambling until the afternoon when we switched to tsipouro, a drink much like grappa. As we sipped, a large grey gunboat swiftly steamed into the harbor. The two old men, alarmed, jumped to their feet. Then we all relaxed seeing the beautiful blue and white flag of Hellas. I asked the old men what would we have done if that was a Turkish ship? One of them picked up his fork and defiantly said, “we fight.”
Years later on trips to Greece, gathering ideas and researching food for a restaurant I was about to open on State and Ontario, I would stop at kafenios to rest, sip frappe, and organize my notes. I realized that mostly old men gathered there. The old men were always curious to know where I came from and where I was going. I would watch them and listen to their conversations. They often talked about their children, grandchildren, told stories, sometimes they’d watch a soccer game on a small TV with terrible reception.
Sometimes they quietly sat to watch the impossibly beautiful sunsets that they probably never took for granted. These were old friends comfortable in their own silence. A few might flip worry beads in their creased hands. It was clear to me that these old men wanted nothing more from each other than companionship. When it was time to go home, they would drop a few coins on the table and carefully head back to their families. Some comfortably and confidently used walking sticks for stability.
Fast forward to this morning as I sit at my word processor, I have officially been retired for 16 hours. After a lifetime of working in, building, opening, closing, selling, buying, and even giving away restaurants, I’m done. I have no regrets. As one of my mentors once told me, “If you’re going to work, why not have fun and make money, otherwise, what’s the point?” That has always been my philosophy, and it has been fun!
Let me share some highlights of my last three days.
- I pick up one of my cooks at 5:30 in the morning and bring him to the restaurant because he has a DUI and can’t operate a car for a year. I really need the cook, and he’s entertaining.
- A woman calls me over to her table, and complains that her coffee is TOO HOT!
- At the beginning of lunch, my chef informs me that we MAY run out of eggs, as our foods delivery hasn’t arrived. I ask, “How many do we have left?” He replies, “two.” I ask, “two cases?” He replies, “No, two eggs.”
- My lead server tells me we need to talk, never a good sign. The kid from Colombia I’m training in the kitchen informs me through an interpreter that he’s not really into manual work, do I have anything else for him, preferably in the office.
- I’m awoken at 12:30 in the morning by the alarm company. It turns out to be a faulty wire.
- Four classmates I haven’t seen since graduating from OPRF are sitting at table 26. We catch up and promise to all get together again. It’s always been organized madness yet, as George C. Scott famously said in the movie Patton, “I do love it so.”
Throughout the years I have always carved out a special table in any of my restaurants to meet with my male friends. Sometimes they’re friends from college or high school, sometimes church,
sometimes business partners, customers, relatives, and always my 3 brothers. My grandfather always set up shop at a booth in the back of his restaurant with a bottle of Old Taylor and shot
glasses on the table.
There was always laughter and cigars. My grandfather was a great storyteller. As a kid I would sit a few tables away trying to overhear while reading a comic book and drinking a Green River. Thinking back on it now when the conversation got a bit racy, Papou would call me over hand me 50
cents and tell me to go next door and get a haircut. I didn’t mind because that was another bastion of male bonding. I miss barber shops.
The one next to Candyland had 4 chairs and catered to the doctors from the Medical Arts building, the men from the newspaper delivery office, the owner of the pet store, the guy who operated the El train gates, and an occasional cop. They all enjoyed each other’s company. They even encouraged me to jump into the conversation, as I received my “regular boys’ haircut.” I remember one telling a story about my grandfather chasing a persistent salesman out of the store with a large chef’s knife.
In the misandrist atmosphere of today, men, especially men who fought the wars, worked all their lives raised and educated kids, paid taxes, loved their wives and made their communities better and safer, are the enemies. Being a man is somehow toxic. Men wanting to enjoy spending time with other men, golfing, attending sporting events or just talking politics in a “kafenio” setting are somehow responsible for all the unfairness in the world.
Sadly, many young men today are confused and aching for the type of role models only strong fathers and father figures can provide. Forty years ago, it was rare to have single mothers working as servers. Today it’s painfully common.
For the past few weeks as my retirement was imminent, my friends began asking what are my plans? I recently read that Clint Eastwood, in his nineties, said he kept active by “not letting
the old man in.” My plan, not fully developed yet, is to do something that I always wanted to do in another life, and also not let the old man in.
I’ll spend more time at kafenios laughing and crying with the boys. We’ll tell and retell all the old stories. I’ll describe all the wonderful meals I’ve sampled to anyone who’ll listen. I’ll tell my grandchildren all the family stories I collected along the way.
Every day I’ll remember the funny, confident girl who walked into my life and, from that time forward, was responsible for everything good that has happened in my life. I will always revere the photo frozen in time of my ancestors posing proudly at the table in the garden. If time travel were possible, I’d love to climb into that picture and join them for a glass of tsipouro and hear their restaurant stories and share mine. I might even teach them to make a deep-dish pizza. As Papou always said at the end of his stories. “What a life!”
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Jimmy Banakis is a life-long restauranteur. He was an honorary batboy for the White Sox in 1964. He attended Oak Park River Forest High School, Nebraska Wesleyan University, and Chicago-Kent Law School. He claims the kitchen is the room he’s most comfortable in anywhere in the world. He published an extremely limited-edition family cookbook. He’s a father and grandfather, and lives in Downers Grove Il.
Comments 28
From one Jimmy to another, I raise a glass of tsipouro in honor of a life well lived and words that were written beautifully. Congrats, my friend! We were lucky enough to live in an era where hard work and stick-to-it-tiveness (as my father used to saw) were a formula for success! You honor the men in your family in that photo in ways they could have never even imagined! God bless you!
Great piece Jimmy!
In your column you state, “My grandfather was a great storyteller”, well, so are you.
Thanks for sharing your family stories. Too many families of today do not know their roots and unfortunately do not have this connection with their ancestors. Pray your retirement has many blessings.
Jimmy, you have written a beautiful story of your life. Woven stories from your youth, family and business career couldn’t have been more spot on. I am proud to have experienced part of your life with you, cousin.
Chase the “old man” from the front door as I will!
As usual, good reading first thing in the morning with my coffee. Enjoy your retirement Mr. Banakis and maybe, keep writing? Happy New Year.
Thank you so much for the ride along today. Many engrossing details that not only grabbed my immediate attention but will also become apparent as I unconsciously ponder your piece later on. Nice juxtaposition of the closing of the year with the closing of your career. Enjoy your next phase and don’t be a stranger! I look forward to reading your next offering.
As mighty a prose exercise as any penned by Nikos Kazantzakis! What a howling great read read after morning Mass! Thank you, Sir!
Thank you for sharing !
Bravo!
Jimmy,
My family is from Icaria, a stone’s throw from Samos, and we share the same genes from those incredible islands in the Aegean. Having spent summers in Icaria growing up, I was always amazed how my male cousins gravitated each day around the kafenio playing tavlie and discussing the issues of the day. It still goes on yet today, even though my generation is dying out. I too feel bad for so many young generations of today that won’t have that rich bonding experience with others of their sex – and by sex – I mean real men, not trans or he-shes or whatevers. These “kids” today are only interested in their phone apps and how many hits or views they can accumulate, or how many stupid, inane videos they can post! To hell with the thought of intelligent conversations, face to face. Just text me, and maybe I’ll respond or simply ghost you! Such a shame. They don’t know what they’re missing. My Dad make it to age 90, but not letting the old man in, and I’m already 76 working on the same philosophy, trying to keep doing what I love, captaining boats, just like I did as a kid in Icaria!! Those genes run deep. Happy New Year, and Kali Xronia to you and Yianni.
Ahhh! Thank you! As a Greek male, I’ve heard about and seen these moments all my life. My uncle owned the Paddlewheel restaurant in RF, and my first job was there, amongst the Greek cooks and managers.
A good life.
Congratulations on your article.
It was a great read, and a wonderful story. I’m looking forward to reading more from you.
I was particularly interested in your description of the need for strong men. Yes we need more strong men. Just a side note on that women want strong men in choosing a life partner, and as a father,
Thank you.
I’m 58. Back in college, my Greek buddy Big George used to talk about how his dad and his dad’s Greek male friends would repair to the kafenio on Saturday mornings to discuss politics and whatever else had occurred in their lives the prior week. I always looked upon such an institution as the kafenio with reverence. I suppose the closest thing I have is my local bar in Winfield, Cooper’s Corner, where a cadre of regulars keep each other informed and enlightened (or, on occasion, confused). Thanks for this beautiful article.
A very good read! Thank you!
I look forward to more articles from you. Enjoy your retirement.
Sir:
This is a great article. I just returned from visiting my friends at a coffee shop . Stories are a big deal for us human beings. I am grateful to spend time with my family and friends.
Happy New Year
What a magnificent story written from the heart. This is life as it should be. Thank you Jimmy for starting the new year off with something we should all strive for.
This story is wonderful. My friends and I went to Greece a few years ago and like clockwork the men would gather drinking, smoking, and sharing tales. I wish I understood Greek, for their stories seemed quite lively!
I think in your retirement there is a book to be written. You have plenty of experiences to share that we (especially our males) need to read.
Thankyou Jim, heartwarming story. I was a young police officer in the old Austin 15th Dist. from January 1969 through the summer of 1977. There was a large Greek community in the southwest end of the District. I frequented many a Greek owned Grills, restaurants, Kafenios on Madison, Lake st., Armitage and Cicero, and especially Gus’ flagship at North ave. and LeClaire!!! Great memories and great admiration for the hard working, life loving Greeks. Happy New Year Mr. Banakis and thanks again. Phil Callozzo cpd ret.
Jimmy Banakis is his stunning debut column knows what many writers never learn or refuse to learn: that to connect to readers you must give of yourself. it’s what restauranteurs know as they feed and care for their guests. What good Greek hosts know: filotimo
defined as a love of humanity, empathy, compassion, and generosity without expecting anything in return, taking pride in doing what is right and honorable and being humble at the same time. That’s from the internet, but finally the internet gets something right.
My people would say it is doing what’s honorable.
Jimmy Banakis is all about filotimo. I pray and hope he’ll continue writing, and writing here.
Beautiful column this morning, rich in so many ways.
I love the opening quote from Epicurus.
My own Family’s background is Irish, German and French but this picture
reminded me of my Father and Grandfathers.
Working men of all races and cultures built this country with their hands, heart and camaraderie. Yes, women, too.
Men do need to share time with each other, as women need time to be with other women.
I am tired of today’s downgrading of men.
We need to build up men for being men, and as husbands and Fathers and friends.
Boys, especially, need a man in their life and there are too many fatherless boys today.
You have a great Heritage, Jimmy, tell your children and grandchildren their Family stories – and write down the names, dates and places of the past.
Congratulations on your retirement – Enjoy!
What a beautiful article and family story. It makes me happy to read of Jimmy’s happiness. In spite of all of today’s nonsense, we have to be happy. Thank you Jimmy and John.
Great column with beautifully written scenes from your life. Best of luck in your retirement.
As to the Clint Eastwood quote, the story was that he was playing golf with his friend Toby Keith in 2018 when Clint was 89 years old. Clint told him he was directing and acting in a movie called “The Mule.” Toby was amazed and asked him how he has the energy to keep working. Clint responded, “Don’t let the old man in.” Toby then said I like that and I’d like to write a song for the movie. He did write and record the song and Clint put it in the movie.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yc5AWImplfE&pp=ygUjdG9ieSBrZWl0aCBkb24ndCBsZXQgdGhlIG9sZCBtYW4gaW4%3D
Michael Orlando
Mr. Banakis: Wonderful job! I’m not Greek, but my Mother was from Italy and the memories you shared about your Family were close to my own memories.
You have also accomplished something that Mr. Kass has been doing for the many years I have read his work- you have made your Greek ancestors proud.
We have a small group of locals who meet early mornings most days at Starbucks. Some are retired, some work.
I will take your article for all to read. They will love it!
We have shared many stories together and the SB patrons picking up their “To Go” orders often stop over to take a peek of our table of fellowship. Our conversations are legendary. The coffee is secondary.
Great piece. Thanks.
Hi Jimmy,
Great piece. Love your history. Thank you.
Did you grow up on Wesley Ave in Oak Park? We may have been neighbors.
Jim Sweany
I leave this beautiful essay thinking, life is good.
Jimmy,
Thank you for your writing and sharing from your life and family history! I am not a restaurantuer, but a food scientist, yet I also enjoy being in kitchens (where great stories are often shared). Enjoy retirement, the wisdom of experience and the companionship of family and friends and investing in them! I look forward to some other stories you might want to share!
Not a Kafenio, but a restaurant owned by my buddy Peter Dedes and good friend Yorgo Tzoubris, the Captain’s Quarters in Glenview. I would stop in after work at about midnight for a libation, good conversation, and watching George play tavli with Tommy Koutoupis, affectionately known as arkoúda, or bear, because of his imposing presence. They played three backgammon games in succession: portes, plakoto, and fevga. I watched an learned enough to shout dortia when two fours showed up, and diplas for doubles. I miss those man-to-man nights.