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A famous lyratzi (lyrist) was coming over from Crete to play to a full house of thousands. I, the lead dancer of this Cretan dance troupe, felt the weight of my father’s life and history upon my shoulders. I led the troupe onto the stage and we began to dance to the lyratzi’s accompaniment. In the middle of the performance, all the other dancers stepped back and I took center stage.

Debbie placed an empty glass bottle on the floor in front of me. I jumped up onto the bottle and balanced myself. And then I started to jump and dance. I was doing the figoure—I was doing my figoure. Debbie placed a full bottle of metaxa, Greek brandy, and an empty shot glass on the floor next to me while I continued to balance all of my weight on this single, empty glass bottle. I did a jump in the air, landed on the mouth of the bottle, balanced on my right leg, and bent and tucked my left leg behind my right knee. Then I bent down, picked up the bottle of metaxa, poured a drink into the shot glass, placed the glass on top of my head, stood up, and again started to dance.

I was so engrossed in my dancing, I was so consumed by the music (which sounds like a mix of Arabic, Indian, and Turkish folk music) of this famous lyratzi, that up until that point I had not realized that my father was standing there, front and center, directly before me as I bent down to pick up the glass. At my past performances, my father had always been there. He always came backstage and he always watched from the audience, but he never stood up front. He was not one to draw attention to himself.

I looked at him and saw that his cheeks were streaked with tears. I had never seen my father cry before, and I never saw him shed a tear after. Our eyes locked, and I could read the depth of pride and emotion in his expression. I knew my passion for Greek dance made my parents proud, but I could not have anticipated the profound effect it would have on my father and, as a result, on me. I realized at that moment that to my father, this dancing was the most important thing I ever did in my life. Then I was again consumed by kefi and the spirit and soul of the dance.

My grandparents, parents, their brothers and sisters, and all of my relatives—they worked so hard. And when it came time to celebrate, they celebrated with all of their hearts, bodies, minds, and souls. Wine, beer, and spirits—ouzo and metaxa—these, just like the food overflowing from the tables, were integral to our celebrations and to our culture.

With the recipes that follow, I hope you’ll take the opportunity to celebrate your lives with some of the drinks and spirit suggestions I have included and be sure to whip up some mezes to complement the drinks too!

FRIED PORK & BEEF MEATBALLS

SOUTZOUKAKIA

MAKES ABOUT 28 MEATBALLS

These meatballs are a crowd-pleaser and were awarded Best Meatball of 2007 by both the New York Times and New York magazine. They are time-consuming by nature, but they are loved by grown-ups and children alike and are equally terrific for family gatherings and big parties.

FOR THE CHUNKY TOMATO SAUCE

1 (15-ounce) can whole plum tomatoes, with all the juice

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

½ large Spanish or sweet onion, thinly sliced lengthwise

6 cloves garlic, smashed

½ cup red wine

1 fresh bay leaf or 2 dried leaves

Large handful basil leaves

1½ cups water

FOR THE MEATBALLS

15 slices Wonder bread (crusts trimmed off)

1½ cups milk

1 pound ground beef

½ pound ground pork

½ large Spanish or sweet onion, finely chopped

½ cup finely chopped parsley

2 tablespoons dry Greek oregano

½ cup grated graviera cheese

1 large egg, lightly beaten

Kosher salt and cracked black pepper

All-purpose flour

Blended oil (90 percent canola, 10 percent extra-virgin olive), for shallow-frying

¼ cup olive oil

2 whole scallions, sliced

2 plum tomatoes, seeded and roughly chopped

12 cracked, brined green olives, pitted and torn

12 Kalamata olives, pitted and torn

12 cloves Garlic Confit (page 264, optional)

15 small, picked sprigs parsley

15 small, picked