It's Greek to Me (Saturday's Utah Aventure)

Due to the large-ish population of Greeks in the Salt Lake area, every year they hold a Greek festival. My dad took us long ago. I remember my first taste of gyro and loving it. There were dancers and artisans and Phyllo dough delights. So when I saw that we made it in town just in time for the last days of the festival, I jumped at the chance to go. You know, for the sake of teaching cultures to my kids.

We managed to find curb side parking and got cute little hand stamps. How could you not love a little toga wearing man dancing across your palm. I felt like we stepped into a scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The people and the conversation style was uncanny. We enjoyed the music and dancers from a distance. The kids joined in the fun at least for awhile.



Never again. Or at least I will never go on a Saturday night. We stood in a line long enough to give one the impression we were waiting for a brand new ride at 6 Flags. The food was ridiculously overpriced including the $1.50 pint of chocolate milk! My kids were half fascinated half alarmed by the lamb turning on the spit. That's right, a whole lamb. I am all for good bbq, but it was a bit much seeing the whole animal. I only noticed after Mia kept telling me about an animal that had eyes and stuff, but looked funny. Poor thing. I was choking on the smell of cheep beer and wine. When we finally serpentined our way through, I did find my gyro. The complete melt down of my kids though made it difficult to enjoy. Scratch Greek Festival off the repeat list.
Thanks to my sisters refusal to go (smart woman) Talia was saved from the late night fiasco.