The Greeks Know How to Eat

Recently we met friends for dinner at Acropolis down in St. Pete for dinner. Our experience with Greek restaurants is mostly tied to Tarpon Springs and so we like to think we are getting some kind of "authentic" experience when we go there as we have a certain Greek restaurant WE like with certain dishes that we haven't seen other places.  I have a feeling that our Greek world view was a bit snobbish (I'm speaking just for myself here) and that I felt I knew a bit about Greek food from what we had been getting.

Ah, foolish resident tourist.  While the restaurant we went to is certainly not claiming to be authentic, it does give you a much different interpretation of eating out Greek style than what we had been getting in Tarpon Springs.  For one thing, it was a huge party.  A party that went on all night long.

It was also a fairly unique experience for a guide dog puppy, but one that I would only recommend for older puppies.  It is a VERY LOUD experience at nighttime.  And have I mentioned the napkins?

When the wait staff dance through your aisles, they are followed by the sacred napkin thrower.  This person leaves napkin chaos in their wake. Additionally, beware, if you sit in the middle of the room for napkins may rain down from the heavens like Zeus's entreaty to clean up your mess!

 Yeah.  There's a few napkins as a distraction as well. Make that thousands.  Every hour and a half.  Our friend had mentioned the napkin quirk to us, but I had blown it off in my head thinking cloth napkins.  What could be the harm in that.  But when we actually came to dinner and we had Jam under the table and hundreds of napkins are being flung into the air right in front of his nose.  Well, I think that his staying under the table and not leaping out to rampage among the wild napkins is a huge deal!

Pat on the back to you Jam!

However, all is not well in napkin land.  These are flimsy napkins.  Light papery thin napkins that the slightest breeze will make fly into the air.  So, yes, while I could clear out a napkin free zone, anytime any waitstaff would walk by, a napkin would flutter into the red zone.

Jam under the table and dreaming...of napkins

Even though I was keeping Jam directly under foot (as above photo shows), there were occasions when a napkin would enter the red zone and Jam would grab it.  I would have to root around in his mouth and pull out moistened bits of napkin. Yum.  I did miss one napkin and the table next to us waved at me and pointed down to Jam.  Yep, he had just started in on a napkin.  I thanked them and extracted it.  You have to be vigilant.

Jam giving his full attention to the belly dancer.

There was music playing as well.  The musician was amazing, but be prepared to have him come over to your table.  Fred liked this.  Jam stayed under the table and was unconcerned.  He evidently has no interest in Greek banjo-like music.  I thought it was awesome.  Jam did poke his head out when the belly dancer appeared.  Or was that because Fred moved and was so interested in her?  Hmmmm? Hard to tell! 8-)

Anyway, Fred ended up dancing with her and Jam went back to sleep.  So I guess that answers that question.

Acropolis: good food, the servers and wait staff were all kind and friendly to Jam, interesting exposure for older dogs.

She's No Slacker

Like her namesake, Her Royal Highness (HRH) Berkeley, (HRH Queen Elizabeth II is shown above in one of her smashing tea party outfits (delightful yellow suit with matching yellow sun hat rimmed with several large pink flowers)) is no slouch in the fulfilling her royal duties department. Jingle the leash and proffer the coat and HRH is up and ready to lead whomever into society. Secretly, I think she wants a little hat with flowers, if only to munch on occasionally. So it was with great spirit that that she greeted Thursday, a day filled with errands and rushing about. Not quite what QEII has to endure, but none the less is a full day for a guide dog in training. Our first stop was at Clearwater Cruises. Jennifer and Laurie have been amazing at helping us prepare for our 20th wedding anniversary (and mom and dad's 55th wedding anniversary!) Mediterranean Cruise!! I had to stop in and get some in person help and I brought HRH along with me. She was so well behaved that I let her go out of coat so Laurie and Jennifer could give her some loving. As opposed to QEII, who was caught sleeping in Germany in 2004 at an official engagement, sleeping during an errand is encouraged for our monarch. I highly recommend Laurie and Jennifer at Clearwater Cruises if you need to book a cruise. They have been wonderful. Our next stop you might think was the St. Pete Museum of Fine Art. Unfortunately, we only had time to explore the grounds outside the museum as we had a tight schedule to meet and were expected for lunch in 30 minutes at Red Mesa Cantina. It was a lovely day and I couldn't resist capturing her lovely visage against the backdrop of the huge cotton silk tree with its gorgeous red blooms. But as I was trying to set up the shot something fell on my head. I clapped my hand to my head. "Holy crap! A bird pooped on me." I am speaking to HRH of course. Out loud. In the middle of the day while there are other people walking up to the tree to take a photo. My fingers start to slide around and I'm trying to find out if it is bird poop or not. I'm also trying to get closer to HRH who is looking longingly at the little boy who is now climbing the tree. "Not your boy, my dear." I try to shove my iPhone into my pocket, look at my fingers for poop, glance at the sky for marauding, pooping birds and also lean down to pick up her leash. I teeter a little. HRH shoots me a glance. All around me I hear pops and bombs and splatters. I realize that this tree is just one giant oozing tree of nastiness. It's red flowers only a decoy to get you under its canopy so it can release its spit upon you. I don't have bird poop on me, I have tree spit on me. Better, but stickier. We. Are. Out. Of. Here. I grab her leash and march off just as a nice lady is walking up and about to offer to take a photo of the two of us under the spitting tree of red devil flowers. I smile and stalk away. Beware, my smile says, beware. The real purpose of stopping off at the museum grounds was so that HRH would have a grassy spot on which to relieve herself. She did not. She was much too concerned with the way things smelled, or the red flowers, or the way the sun sparkled on the water. I find that if the setting is not perfect, there will be no peeing. Finally, we met Theresa at Red Mesa Cantina and got a nice booth where we were able to chat and relax. HRH was able to indulge in her napkin fetish, as you can see below in the perfectly placed bite marks in my paper napkin. I hear Elvis does the same thing, only Elvis is a napkin grabber. And then we went home. Royal duties over for the day.