He’s been both grill man and assembler, but in recent years he’s focused on wrapping – a humble, specialized and often overlooked craft. Regulars at Lefteris O Politis know Christos Patestos, perhaps not by name, but as the familiar figure who, for more than twenty years, has stood by the little window at the far end of the stainless-steel counter, his hands moving so fast they’re almost a blur as he rolls incredibly juicy beef patties into pita-wrapped treats. (In Greek, his role even has its own name: tylichtis.)

“Two without tomato. Four with everything. Five with everything, two separately. Ten. One without onion.” Orders rain down in a torrent of numbers and preferences, but Christos stays calm, steady and unflappable. “This one I’ve wrapped the other way round,” he says with a smile – his trick to make the spicy patty version distinguishable from Lefteris’ classic beef patty. Watching him fold and hand over bundles of pita to hungry hands at midday is enough to lift your mood.

Beside him, the grill man presses the flatbreads firmly, letting them soak up the meat’s juices. It’s a perfectly tuned machine that’s been running since 1951, this institution called Lefteris O Politis, employing only people who know their craft and work with care, right in the heart of Omonia.

“What matters most is to always see the customer as if they were you.”

“When I first came here, all I knew about souvlaki was how to eat it,” Christos recalls, his hands moving with magician’s speed as he works. “Back then, the late Lefteris was here, and I was lucky enough to fall in with two real masters who taught me things I’ve held on to ever since. I know both the grilling and the wrapping. Lefteris always said that everyone in the shop should know how to do everything.

“With souvlaki, the secret is in the pressing of the pita on top of the patty. That’s where all the flavor comes from. In most other souvlaki joints, they just dunk the pita in oil – it’s a completely different thing. And of course, there’s the patty itself. Just five ingredients, that’s all, but pure and fresh every day.

“And the other thing that matters,” he adds, “is to always see the customer as if they were you.”

“I could do it with my eyes closed.”

The mirror in front of him is an essential tool. Christos spends most of his shift with his back to the crowd, especially when things get hectic and he needs to fill pitas and wrap nonstop. Through the mirror he keeps an eye on customers, exchanging quick nods, while his hands move on autopilot. “I could do it with my eyes closed,” he says. Pita, patty, tomato, finely chopped onion mixed with parsley, a pinch of salt, a sprinkle of red pepper, a deft spin of the paper, fold at the base – and back to the start. Every so often, he sweeps the station clean of stray salt, peppers and onions. If he finds two spare minutes, he’ll catch his breath and refill the saltshaker from a big jug. “Three pending. Four with everything?” – and the wrapping resumes.

“Mr. Lefteris and now Tasos (the founder’s son, who has since taken over) are the kind of bosses everyone wishes they had. I remember Lefteris coming in early, having his coffee, sitting at the corner, watching us work. He enjoyed it all, he really did. If you made a mistake, he’d never scold you. He’d jot it down on a slip of paper and at the end of the shift he’d say, ‘At a quarter to twelve, you made this mistake,’ always calmly, kindly,” Christos recalls.

“At first, my souvlaki would fall apart; I didn’t know what I was doing. But I wanted to learn. One morning Lefteris said, ‘You’ll go up front.’ I told him, ‘I can’t.’ He said, ‘You’ll do it.’ So I took a breath, stepped up, and when I looked up there was a line behind me… Oh boy! The good thing is that I didn’t freeze.”

As he speaks, he dusts one souvlaki generously with red pepper for a customer who wanted it extra spicy. On a separate shelf sits a small container with rings of horn pepper, reserved for those who ask for the extra-hot version – known, half-jokingly, as “the man’s souvlaki.”

“The thing about this job is that you have to do it well – and fast.”

“There are so many people. One customer might order 40 souvlakia, the next 17, the third just two. If you’re not quick and the line is waiting, the grumbling starts, then the shouting. The other day, the Hondos Center staff ordered 250 souvlakia during inventory – and we still had a shop full of people to serve! Sometimes we start at eleven in the morning and keep going straight through until five without stopping for a single second. That’s when you put your head down and work.”

“You have to be organized, clean, and have a good memory,” he adds. And indeed, Christos remembers faces, preferences and little details. He and the grill man tease each other, but they work in perfect sync. “That’s the secret – one completes the other. We’re like family here.”

As he wraps mine, we manage a few more quick words:

What’s the strangest order you’ve heard?
“Someone once called pepper ‘cinnamon.’ And another asked me to leave out the onion and grate in a little cucumber instead!”

How many souvlakia do you think you’ve wrapped?
“Too many… countless.”

And do you still eat souvlaki, or are you sick of it?
“Can’t you tell?! After all these years, there isn’t a single day I don’t eat at least one.”

[Editor’s note: in Athens and the surrounding region, the term “souvlaki” refers to any pita-wrapped cooked meat, rather than just the skewered cubes of grilled pork, chicken or lamb known by this name elsewhere.]

Originally published in Greek at gastronomos.gr.