Why Chania could be the best place for Cretan food

Sporting a well-worn blue apron, Stelios Trilirakis moves from pot to pot, lifting the lids to give the contents a quick stir. He leans in to add a dash of olive oil to each of the flame-blackened clay vessels, which simmer over the embers of a hearth set up in the garden.

Puffs of steam escape into the crisp morning, filling the air above Drakona village with the aromas of stewing vegetables and meat. I’d skipped breakfast, as is sensible when travelling on this food-focused island. But now my stomach is snarling shamelessly.

One theory in Crete — a place named as a European Region of Gastronomy for 2026 by the International Institute of Gastronomy, Culture, Arts and Tourism — says the further inland you go and the more remote the location, the more authentic the cuisine.

And yet I didn’t have to travel too far from the coast. Stelios’s family restaurant Ntounias is just a 40-minute drive from the port city of Chania, capital of the homonymous region in western Crete. The small farm and rustic taverna lies in the foothills of Chania’s soaring White Mountains. Here, the farm-to-fork philosophy is grounded in the same simple lifestyle that’s played out on this fertile soil for centuries.

“Some say that the Mediterranean diet is based on Cretan cuisine,” says Stelios, lighting up. “I don’t know about that, but what I do know is that, for years, people here in Crete ate simply,” he explains. “They would prepare lentils and the following day they would add rice to them. They found ways to preserve food without refrigeration. They might not have consumed meat daily but, when they did, it was excellent quality.”

Stelios grows all the fruit and vegetables on his farm organically. Chickens wander freely. Goats, sheep and cattle have ample room to graze. He forages herbs from the leafy gorge at the property’s edge: wild greens and indigenous diktamo — the mint-family herb with overtones of oregano and thyme used in tea infusions.

“Almost all ingredients we use come from the farm, therefore zero miles,” Stelios says, explaining that the remainder is sourced from local small-scale producers. “And the seasons determine the food we serve.”

With a focus on traditional Cretan recipes that demand patience, everything is prepared over a wood-fired flame, both indoors and out. Stelios sprints to the kitchen, where his wife, Emmy, is tending to multiple dishes before the first of the day’s patrons start to trickle in at around 1pm. Ntounias’s raison d’être may be slow food, but given that Stelios is its farmer, butcher, cook and head waiter, he needs to be quick on his feet to ensure everything is done in time. On the stove, a pot of broccoli and cauliflower with hondros (cracked wheat) is bubbling away, to which sheep milk will be added to create extra creaminess. Flames leap from the oven, where late-season lamb is being prepared kleftiko-style, in parchment paper.

Emmy adds snails, gathered from dewy hillsides nearby, to a pot prepped with chopped red peppers, onions and potatoes. In Crete, the ubiquitous gastropod are either eaten fried or as yiachni — in a hearty stew. Rich in vitamin B12 and omega-3 fatty acids, snails have been consumed on the island since the Minoan era, from around 3000 BCE. In times of adversity, they served as an accessible source of protein.

Handiwork with a fork is needed to coax succulent, soft snail meat, sweetened by peppers, out of the shells. They’re accompanied by a traditional Cretan dakos salad served, as is customary, with chunks of paximadi (rusk), still warm from the oven. That way, the juice of crushed tomato and extra virgin olive oil seeps into the dense, tangy crumb. The main act, tender oven-baked lemony lamb with plenty of oregano, goes perfectly with some hand-cut slow-fried potatoes, so rich in flavour they need nothing more than salt.

After lunch, as Stelios shows me around the farm, he proudly introduces me to a rare ancient cattle breed found only on the island, known as Cretan gidomouskara. I ask if these lean, caramel-coloured bovines are the same as those depicted in the Bronze Age Minoan frescoes I’ve seen exhibited in the Heraklion Archaeological Museum, east of Chania. “Yes, the same ones!” he exclaims.

Stelios bids me farewell with a mantinada, an intrinsically Cretan tradition involving witty, improvised 15-syllable rhyming couplets: “S’agapo, s’agapo alla ama sto kalo.” It translates as “I love you, I adore you, but now it’s time for you to shoo!”

Approved by locals

The rugged, unforgiving mountains of Sfakia, in Chania’s far south, are known for birthing tough characters. And yet Chrisostomos Orfanoudakis, a stocky, soft-spoken fiftysomething who grew up in this remote region, couldn’t be a gentler soul. He spent a lot of time with his father, a livestock breeder, so the joys and challenges of agricultural life were ingrained in him from a young age. Today, as a self-taught cook inspired by his mother’s recipes, Chrisostomos gets most ingredients for his eponymous restaurant from Sfakia. The homely tavern is set on a quiet street near one of Chania’s Venetian shipyards, away from the main harbourside restaurants. When I arrive for lunch, regulars are sitting outdoors, soaking up the sunshine, chatting and lingering over long, multi-course meals.

My own culinary marathon begins with hand-kneaded sourdough with lashings of velvety stakovoutyro, the clarified Cretan butter staple made with sheep or goat’s milk, or both. An array of mezze marches out next, led by hohli bourbouristi (snails fried in fresh rosemary), earthy, pungent and vinegary. Chrisostomos encourages me to dip bread into the fruity olive oil lining the plate.

Small crisp pies known as kalitsounia are next, filled with spinach or soft white local mizithra cheese and made to a family recipe. Bureki, a layered dish of potato, courgette and mizithra, tames the intense flavour of the diced siglino (smoked pork). I settle back into my wooden chair as a succession of diners, clearly also Chrisostomos’s close friends, pop in to greet their host with a peck on the cheek.

The feast is far from over — next comes tsigariasto. Christostomos tells me that this traditional western Crete dish entails slow-cooking pieces of lamb or goat — produce reared by his family — on the bone, in olive oil and salt in a pot. The sparsity of ingredients allows the quality of this lean meat to shine — no flourishes, just fried potatoes on the side. The meat is crisp on the outside, gamey and tender inside. I know I won’t be able to replicate the dish at home — not without the mountain-roaming, wild-herb-munching primary ingredient.

Mizithra makes one more appearance, at dessert, in the small flat sfakiani pita pie, lightly fried and then drizzled with honey. The mild, delicate cheese, Chrisostomos tells me, is fashioned into a dough-wrapped ball, then flattened by hand. “It’s a mystery for people who don’t know how it’s made. They wonder why it has no edges or seams.”

Early the following morning I seek out more exemplary pies. No journey to Chania is complete without stopping in at Iordanis. The simple cafe-bakery is a culinary institution set on a commercial street just south of the Old Town. It’s been serving just one item — bougatsa — for more than a century. The flaky pie is handcrafted on site, filled with soft white cheese then dusted with cinnamon and sugar. Patrons sit at simple wooden tables to enjoy it with a thick Greek coffee or grab a slice to go. Iordanis’s bougatsa, however, is the antithesis of fast food. “Each pie takes 30 minutes to make and 30 minutes to bake,” says Charis Akasiadis, the slim, dark-haired fifth generation co-owner. “We only bake to order and sell what’s needed each day.” What makes this bougatsa different from other types in Greece is its filling. “We use pichtogalo, which is produced only in Chania,” Charis explains.

PDO-classified pichtogalo chanion is a soft goat’s or sheep cheese, with the consistency of thick yoghurt and a pungent aroma of fresh milk. It tastes buttery and slightly acidic — a marked difference to the more custardy, sweet pies found elsewhere in Greece. Along with pichtogalo, only local flour and olive oil are used in the pies.

I’m transfixed by the dynamic movements of Iordanis’s bakers. Pastry-maker Giannis Tzanidakis repeatedly lifts, twists, stretches and slams the dough on the stainless steel countertop until it’s paper-thin.

After 38 years, Giannis is a master of his craft — and views it as an act of creation. “I love the fact that it’s something few people know how to do.” Charis’s kindly, petite mother, Ioanna, tells me it can be difficult to find people among the younger generations who want to learn the craft. “Just to prepare the dough, it takes two days,” she says. Katerina Fragiadaki, who’s just completed culinary training, is the bakery’s newest recruit. “It’s an art form,” she says. “It’s difficult and takes patience. You have to be good with your hands.”

Biting into a bougatsa fresh from the oven, it’s easy to see why Iordanis’s pies stand out. The savoury cheese contrasts spectacularly with the cinnamon and sugar. I enjoy its warmth, gazing up at walls decorated with mantinades. The short, rhyming couplets central to Cretan folk culture are often improvised and set to music, but here, they’re framed as prints, written by patrons and dedicated to Iordanis. “We have customers from all walks of life and of all ages,” says Ioanna, smiling nostalgically at this treasured collection of odes, scribbled on paper napkins.

Family traditions

One afternoon, I head west of Chania to the village of Voukolies and the family-owned and operated restaurant Eleas Thea. Its name translates as ‘olive grove views’, reflecting the setting above a wide, open valley and rolling olive-tree-studded hills. I’m greeted by exuberant, bright-eyed manager Anna Goumenaki and her staff, who are setting tables in preparation for dinner; her mother, Katerina Apostolaki, is busy in the kitchen.

I settle below a mulberry tree at an olive-wood table hand-carved by Anna’s father, Giorgos, an olive oil producer and farmer. He says he opened Eleas Thea for his children and is “happy enough that one of my two daughters chose to work here”.

The Goumenakis family prides itself on preserving traditional Cretan recipes and my table soon fills with exemplary dishes. I spread soft zilokoupi goat’s cheese on bread. Made with milk from the family’s goats, olive oil, spearmint and lemon, it’s delightfully tart. Mushrooms lend a nutty warmth to xinohondros — cracked wheat infused with soured milk. Tender rabbit stifado (stew) with chestnuts melds sweetness with a vinegary bite.

In the blink-and-miss-it village of Papagiannakides, a 30-minute drive west of Voukolies through a landscape of olive tree-carpeted hills, I meet bearded twin brothers Ioannis and Antonis Papagiannakis in their olive groves. The third-generation extra virgin olive oil producers maintain a family practice spanning more than 80 years.

“We grew up here. Our goal was to stay and continue the tradition. We’ve passed on this way of thinking to our children, in the hope they choose to do the same,” Antonis says. Their business, Idiosmos, cultivates around 10,000 trees bearing Koroneiki, the fruity olive variety predominant in Crete. Harvest season spans October to January, and around 50kg of olives are needed to produce just 10 litres of oil, Antonis explains.

On lush, low-lying slopes, the deep blue Kissamos Gulf in the distance, workers navigate olive groves. They wield handheld, motorised rods with rotating rubber fingers to prise the fruit off branches, which lands in nets on the ground. To this crop, Ioannis and Antonis will apply state-of-the-art cold pressing technology to create low-acidity extra virgin olive oil. Chania produces some of Crete’s finest oil, but Antonis finds it difficult to find employees to work the fields. “Many Greeks don’t want to stay in the village. They prefer to work in the city rather than harvest their family’s olives,” he says.

Idiosmos introduced bees to its groves 25 years ago. “Bees work better together than humans do,” says Antonis. “They are a community.” Today, they manage some 3,000 beehives, moving them around Crete for the colonies to feed on different flowers. “Step by step, we learned about beekeeping. Now we produce eight varieties, with thyme being the king flavour of Cretan honey,” he says.

Idiosmos hosts olive oil- and honey-tasting and, this being Crete, samples are served as part of a generous spread. Rusks, graviera (Crete’s take on gruyère), cherry tomatoes, olives and a shot of local pomace brandy, tsikoudia (raki), are delivered by Eleftheria, sister to Giannis and Antonis. “We treat our guests to a glass of raki, no matter the time of day,” she says. “It’s never served straight or on an empty stomach.”

Idiosmos’s Arbutus (strawberry tree) honey has bitter caramel undertones, while the carob honey is chocolatey. The heather variety is woody and smoky, while the herbal, peppery thyme honey pairs deliciously with graviera. It’s near-impossible to pick a favourite to take home. I leave with bags laden, and my own version of Stelios’s cheeky mantinada ringing in my ears: ‘Crete, I love you, I adore you, but now it’s time for me to shoo.’

Three Chania food stops to visit

1. Salis

Set in Chania’s old harbour, Salis has earned its place on every culinary traveller’s must-visit list. Chef-restaurateur Afshin Molavi delivers an experimental Mediterranean menu, while co-owner Stelios Kalyvianakis sources organic produce from their farm. Standout dishes include tuna belly with burned grape molasses and pickled watermelon rind, and buffalo ravioli.

2. Periplous

Chania’s most romantic dinner spot, this upscale yet welcoming restaurant is housed within a chic hotel on the site of former tanneries in the Tabakaria neighbourhood. Chef Nikos Mylonakis leads a talented young team that creates sophisticated fish and seafood dishes, such as lobster orzo, which reinvent traditional Cretan recipes with understated flair.

3. Farmers' Market

Locals and visitors converge on the farmers’ market strung along Chania’s Minoos Street every Saturday. Stalls are bursting with local cheeses that can be vacuum-packed, unusual tomatoes, olives, honey and antioxidant-rich malotira mountain tea, blended with marjoram, along with wild greens including stamnagathi (wild chicory) and askolymbri (golden thistle), some foraged from the White Mountains.