High life
Dinner with Dinna
Taki
uonda La Paloma is the only place in
New York where one can enjoy a spicy meal of the Mexican persuasion and emerge with both the wallet and the stomach unscathed. La Fonda is run by a lady called Dinna Hernandez, and it is run in a unique way — for the Big Apple that is. The customer is always right, according to Dinna, and because of this quaint new custom her place is probably one of the most pleasant restaurants in the metropo- lis. Last week, however, Dinna had her first fight with some customers, and it all had to do with . . . Greece and politics. And the Spectator. New York where one can enjoy a spicy meal of the Mexican persuasion and emerge with both the wallet and the stomach unscathed. La Fonda is run by a lady called Dinna Hernandez, and it is run in a unique way — for the Big Apple that is. The customer is always right, according to Dinna, and because of this quaint new custom her place is probably one of the most pleasant restaurants in the metropo- lis. Last week, however, Dinna had her first fight with some customers, and it all had to do with . . . Greece and politics. And the Spectator.
It seems that a large group of Greeks came to the Fonda, ordered dinner, and struck up a conversation with Dinna about Greece. That is when she made her first mistake. 'My favourite Greek is Taki of the Spectator,' she crooned, and suddenly five furious Greeks began acting like Melina Mercouri whenever she passes by the British Museum. Their eyes rolled, their Funny thing — last week I was getting stoned in Yorkshire . . tongues made slapping noises, they ges- ticulated in a violent manner, and asked for the bill. Dinna, a lady of great genero- sity and charm, told them it was house policy never to accept money from fools. She also showed them the door.
What does all this mean? Well, first of all it means that along with the eight customs men at Kennedy Airport who read the Spectator, there are also five Greeks (probably irate but nevertheless paying subscribers) and Mrs Hernandez who have something in common with Graham Greene. Secondly, it shows that Greeks will be Greeks wherever they may be, and that means their prime concern is to hate other Greeks. Ironically, I don't mind at all. After all, I go for my poor countrymen week in, week out, but this time I shall show compassion. The reason? Easy. What that clown Papandreou and his catamites are doing to my fellow Greeks (those unlucky enough to be caught inside the country) I would not want to see happen even to a Shiite Moslem.
Take the simple case of short Greeks wearing foreign-made clothes. Until re- cently most Greeks wore foreign labels because the male designers of exotic clothes managed to make people built like Toulouse-Lautrec look like black Amer- ican basketball players. As the bulk of the populace resemble the French Impression- ist, it does not need a John Kenneth Galbraith brain to figure out that all the Greek drachmas were fleeing the country in order to pay for Fiorucci jeans, Valenti- no underwear, St Laurent blazers, and the kind of shoes. Martin Amis used to wear but stopped after he became rich and famous. (Incidentally, it was Galbraith who advised Papandreou to cut the Greeks down to size by introducing a strict buy- Greek law.)
So, if you think you have it bad over here when a certain self-opinionated, streptococcus-ridden miners' leader tries to bring the country to a halt by flaunting lawlessness, think of the poor Greeks. Not only are they not allowed to strike, they are not even allowed to be educated if caught wearing foreign-made shoes. Worse, the new Draconian laws don't even allow the poor Hellenes to drink whisky, but decree that if one wishes to forget one's troubles one has to sip ouzo, the drink that made Vincent Van Gogh chop off his ear, and Andreas Papandreou lose all his hair.
All this, of course, in the name of socialism, the Papandreou kind of social- ism that has the rest of the world laughing at what once was a proud people. But never mind. It could be worse. Last week Papadoc went on record during a speech saying that the KAL plane that was so heroically shot down by the Soviets last year should have been downed because it was on a spy mission. The next day, the American ambassador threatened to embargo the Ralph Lauren jeans Papan- dreou wears on the hustings, the Greek premier recanted and said that although the plane was spying it should not have been blown up. On the third day he once again changed his mind and said that in the future — jeans or no jeans — KAL planes should stay out of Soviet air space other- wise they should be prepared to endure the consequences.
Now I ask you. Is this a way to run a country? Even more important, will this law stop deliveries of the Spectator in Athens? All I know is that my father sailed to Turkey last week on his yacht and plans to leave her in Istanbul for the winter. After all, she was built in Italy, and although the Greeks don't hate Italian yachts as much as they hate Clarks shoes, one is better off playing it safe. When I spoke to daddy he also lamented about foreign hookers, but that's another matter altogether.
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