by Andrea Afra

I met George Molho six years ago through his cousin Dora who owns Byzantio, the Greek cafe on West Gray. She had laid a book face down on the counter while she made me a drink. It’s title was Greek Coffee, aptly named for its reader and I jokingly asked what it was about. She told me it was her cousin’s memoir, not a book about coffee so much, and that I should read it, even write a review for the paper if I liked it. I did read it and I interviewed George at the cafe soon after.

After reading a story about someone from a place you’re from, when you finally meet them, it is an odd encounter. You know them. Their story has become a part of your life and you’ve learned lessons from their experiences. They’ve spilled their guts onto the pages and you devoured them all. If it was written well there isn’t that awkward courtesy banter where you try to bite your tongue to hold back all of the mental edits you made on their pages in your head. Meeting the real George after reading his book only verified that the voice of the author was speaking the truth about the man in the memoir. He is humble, gracious, quiet— for a Greek— yet passionate as one ever was. His story of overcoming the twisted grasp his father had on his life had me crying, laughing and crying again, but in the end it really was a good story in the story-telling, page-turning kind of way.

As a reader, I was fulfilled. As a writer, I told him that really admired that he had finished the damn thing but he imparted that it had only just begun. With publishing comes marketing and as he had self-published his book, it was now time to take it to the next level.

Six years have passed. In the meantime, George took his book to several editors and finally got the nod he had been waiting for. At over 500 pages, the original story needed to be refined. As a first time author, George took the advice by the horns and he has brought the reader even closer with the new revised and renamed book, “Scarred”.

What must have been the most painful parts to write about now come sooner, as if to throw the door wide open from the start. It’s not a door you want to close until the last page. He asked me to read it before he it went to print and write what I thought about it. I was honored that he asked, as I had watched him from afar all of these years, rooting for him and knowing that someday he would succeed.

I am proud to say that he printed my review on the back cover of Scarred. Not nearly as proud as I am for him, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it is a bit satisfying. It is always a good day when a new book gets it’s wings, but it makes it a little brighter to know that your name is in print and you only had to read the damn thing to get it there. You can read my review on the back cover below.

Congratulations, George. And here’s to you leaving Palin’s memoir in the dust.

Buy it here

See the review on the back cover here

by Andrea Afra

The restaurant was supposedly on a wait when we arrived, but there were a few tables open in the bar area as well as on the patio. We sat inside first and ordered drinks, not knowing yet of the patio seating. I decided to try the michelada, but they never compare to my own, for I am a michelitist. My husband had a really great mojito and I wished I did too. I watched a large man in a white cabana shirt with a neatly trimmed goatee, also white, shift around a floor fan a few times and smile at us as he took a stool at the bar, where a large shot of tequila and what looked like a whiskey and coke awaited him, but he didn’t strike me as a whiskey man. Later on when we moved outside, he was there, shifting fans around again and walking around the perimeter of the patio spraying something that caused the diners at the table next to us to cough. He nodded appreciatively and mumbled, “This will get those mosquitoes, for sure.”

I had heard that Yelapa was known for their ceviches so we ordered two. There are several different styles, plus your choice of having it prepared ‘Peruvian’ style, which is ‘flash marinated’ in lime juice for 5 minutes or fully cooked in the juice ‘Texas’ style (code for white people.) I ribbed my husband for ordering it well done and he said he wanted to check the quality first, which is understandable considering BP’s generous dose of oily marinade it had infused into the Gulf. The first ceviche brought out was the Campechana, which is a spicy tomato based version with crab, shrimp, and avocado, and the second was the more traditional Sevichey Tejano. Both were excellent in taste, quality and presentation. We knew we were in for a treat with our entrees.

I was going to get the maiz con pollo because it had fun little things like blue polenta and huitlacoche, better known as ‘corn smut’, but I really wanted beef, so I opted for the smoked brisket barbacoa tacos, and at the waiter’s suggestion, I switched to sopes instead of tortillas. When the dish came out, there were three wee sopes topped with refried beans, pickled red onions, ‘ghost pepper mayo’, fresh cilantro, chilies, and that succulent slow smoked beef that had lured me in from Richmond Avenue. I had one bite and had to put it down for a minute. When the right flavor powers combine, an incredible thing happens in your mouth. Each bite is a full on meal. The heat and the tang and the char all on an innocent little corn flour pillow stunned my taste buds but when they gained consciousness they couldn’t get enough.In the other corner, my husband had the ‘Whole Enchilada’ with chicken instead of beef brisket, which is ridiculous, I think, but the damn thing was in overdrive with about a pound of cheese, red mole sauce and a side of sour cream, cilantro and fresh jalapenos. My fork gained ten pounds just from touching it.

by Andrea Afra

Fountain View Cafe
1842 Fountain View Drive
Houston, TX 77057-3004
(713) 785-9060

Andrea Afra’s food blog is at http://teethpicks.blogspot.com