All this talk about islands - and I haven't even mentioned Larry Durrell's 'islomania' - is intrinsically connected with my novel, since it is set in both Sicily and, to a lesser extent, on Andros. Andros' role is crucial, however, because of the silk thread (pun intended) running through the story.

I pointed out the silk connection to the Italians I mentioned earlier, and they expressed surprise, even when I pointed out that there were still many mulberry trees on the island, and the link between Andros and Venice (which was a world centre for the trade of silk, and was at times the overlord of the island).
Silkworms like mulberry leaves the way Italians like pasta. Though several of the Italian contingent were good fishermen, my illusion that all Italians were good cooks was shattered. When they invited me to an Italian meal, I thought - great, we're going to have some wonderful food.' But the very, very al dente boiled potatoes and the soggy spaghetti quickly banished my illusions, and though the fish was okay, I have eaten a lot better in Italian homes in Sicily. Sorry, Italians, myths are hard to shatter, and maybe these were exceptionally bad cooks by Italian standards. The other Italians were all being very polite about it and saying, 'great pasta! Just like my mother does it as home!" and I thought of how like the British the Italians are when it comes to telling the truth about such things. But then again, I remember squid so rubbery you could bounce it off the floor in a Palermitan trattoria, and the cook was stunned when a bunch of angry English teachers questioned the overall standard of the food. I have no doubt he was thinking - you British, what the hell do you know about cooking? But he was also thinking: 'hell-I'm about to lose a lot of business if even British people complain about the food'. Or maybe he was just insulted, hurt, injured and wounded, his professional pride 'shattered' much in the same way as Italian footballers' pride is when they 'dive'.
Which neatly brings me back to Greek food. Now, if you want a really good, totally local meal, you could do a lot worse than squeal your tyres, or hoof on your hiking boots and make your way northwards out of Gavrion and in the direction of Amolohos. Passing through Ano Fellos, you eventually come to a turning off to Merminges, which you take with alacrity. A little way down here is a field full of horses, and the owner of these horses runs a taverna where if you are carnivorous, does exceptionally good paidakia (lamb chops), delicious meat of all kinds, and even one or two very tasty vegetably dishes, not least their melitzanosalata (aubergine salad) and their Greek salads. They are only open during the season, though, and close the moment September beckons in the autumnal breezes. Though hardly a place for vegetarians, a vegetarian proclaimed herself entirely satisfied with what she chose, and she wasn't being Italian or British about it. The Greeks pack the place, a very good sign. Dimitri is the name of the owner, and his family are very efficient at service.
Another place worth mentioning, while we are on the subject of food, is the best taverna in the Chora (Andros Town), in the plane-tree square, the Parea, where the wife of the owner is an Austrian, and she brings a very distinctive, almost Tyrolese flavour to the Greek cooking, and you can sit and look out over the view of either the beach, the steps leading down to the beach, the higgledy piggledy whitewashed houses, or the square itself. Location is important, and this is where the almost legendary Yiannouli's taverna near Ayios Petros beach, on the road to Batsi from Gavrion scores highly. The food here is also very local, and I recommend it, but try the krasi apo to vareli (wine from the barrel) as well.