Corfu Town

The menu was packed with all the Greek classics you actually want to eat in Greece: moussaka, sofrito, stifado and Corfu’s legendary beef pastitsada. Meanwhile, the smell from the charcoal grill drifting across the courtyard was enough to make me forget every fancy restaurant I’ve ever visited.

Nowhere grills meat quite like Greece. My mate Lee has been telling me that for years, and standing there with a chilled rosé from Lefkada in hand, I finally accepted he’s absolutely right.

I asked Thomas whether I should order the moussaka or grilled pork. He looked genuinely offended that I even needed to ask. Decision made.

The butter beans arrived first — huge things swimming in rich tomato sauce with glorious olive oil pooling around the edges. Thomas instructed me to scoop them up with bread, and frankly, arguing would’ve been disrespectful.

Then came the pork.

Honestly, it was one of the finest things I’ve eaten in years. Beautifully charred from olive wood and charcoal, tender enough to collapse under the fork, yet still carrying that incredible smoky crust. Served simply with parsley-heavy salad, homemade tzatziki, flatbread and proper homemade chips.

That’s the thing young chefs need to understand. When the produce is exceptional, you don’t need tricks. Generations of Greek cooks have perfected simplicity. Leave the nonsense behind and let the ingredients do the work.

And for just over thirty quid, including wine and sparkling water? Outstanding.

Before leaving, I wandered into the tiny kitchen where the charcoal spit slowly turned slabs of pork for the evening service. The son proudly explained that in summer, both spits run constantly. And the chef? Mum, of course.

Exactly as it should be.