Amuse bouche... Holiday snob

Amy nearly died of embarrassment when Piper spat out her hummus onto the tablecloth in the taverna. Conor said that it was fine, poor Piper was only three and didn’t know any better. Piper said the hummus was yocky and “not home hummus”.

Amy was always very proud of how Piper ate hummus at home, but clearly Tesco hummus was different to Kos hummus. Still, spitting was disgusting and Amy was mortified in front of the other dining holidaymakers.

“Why don’t we just get her some chips?” Conor asked.

“We didn’t come to Greece to eat chips,” Amy whispered.

And despite Amy’s whisper, there was the waitress at her side: “You want chips?”

Amy could have sworn the waitress was smirking. They’d found this taverna on the first night of the holiday and had been back every night since. It was the only taverna in the village that didn’t seem to major in deep-fried full-English breakfast, and the menu wasn’t composed exclusively of photographs.

Amy came to Greece to eat Greek food, and that’s what Amy was doing, even if it wasn’t easy.

While Amy scooped up taramasalata on flatbread and held it up to Piper’s closed mouth, she noticed the child gazing at the other tables and their chips. Piper turned up her nose at the proffered fishy dip. “It’s pink,” pleaded Amy. “Unicorn pink.” Piper’s mouth stayed closed.

“I don’t really like it either,” said Conor.

“Really?” said Amy, tucking into the taramasalata like she loved it, daunted by the bowl that she knew would probably feed a Greek family for a week. Gobbling the lot in one sitting wasn’t exactly authentic, but Amy persisted.

“This is Irish stew,” Conor said, when the shared main course Amy had ordered came. “Like, it’s lamb and potatoes. The olives are a bit different and the lukewarm is weird, but it’s Irish stew alright.”

Amy wished Conor would make his cringey comments a bit more quietly.

“I’d love a kebab,” Conor announced. “They’re on the menu. What, Amy? A kebab’s about as Greek as you get.”

“Jesus, Conor, you’ll be looking for chips next,” Amy said, her eyes filling up, sick of taramasalata and Piper’s hungry whingeing. The child hadn’t eaten much all holiday. Amy blamed the heat. And the different hummus.

“Did you say chips?” asked the waitress, suddenly beside them again and definitely smirking. “Chips!” chirped Piper. “Yes!” said Conor. “Yes,” said Amy. “And plenty of ketchup.”