FEBRUARY 7, 2026 – Yesterday evening we opted for take-out from Dino’s Gyros, the local Greek fast-food joint. I ordered the grilled chicken plate with sides of falafel and tabouli salad. Among the “sauce” selections, I chose tzatziki—I’m sure I did—but when I got home and pulled everything out of the bag inside the bag inside the bag, no tzatziki sauce was to be found. To double check, I peered into each bag, and seeing nothing, placed them on the kitchen counter and used the flat-hand method I’d deployed on many occasions to locate missing pens hidden among the papers on my office desk before I went . . . paperless. No tzatziki sauce.
Miffed but not willing to bother with driving back to Dino’s, I improvised with honey mustard salad dressing from the refrigerator. Bad choice. I decided I’d have to return to the establishment and demand the rest of my meal—namely, the all-important tzatziki sauce. To compensate myself for the trouble, I thought, I’d pick up a serving of baklava. Unfortunately, by the time I re-entered Dino’s, a queue had formed. Ironically, in reflexive politeness I’d held the entrance door for one of the newly arrived customers—in natural response to a previous patron having done the same for me. Now, I grumbled to myself, I’d have to reheat the falafel, which by the time I returned with the sauce, would be stone cold. Who knows what 30 seconds in the microwave would do to the crust, let alone the taste, of the five falafel balls waiting for me back at the house.
I felt the onset impatience (see yesterday’s post). And forget the baklava, I thought. If the staff had been too harried, too inattentive to include the critical tzatziki sauce, why should I reward them with the purchase of a dessert? At the same time, I felt compelled to play Minnesota Nice, especially given that in the face of Minnesota ICE, we Minnesotans have learned the importance of truly living up to “Minnesota Nice,” at least among people who aren’t ICE agents or border patrol personnel. Besides, the staff working their butts off behind the counter aren’t Greek. They’re Latinos, and lord knows they and their family and friends have been through hell and high water lately, on top of life’s usual demands. In other words, I didn’t want to be impolite and go to the head of the line. I didn’t want to be Minnesota Not-Nice.
On the other hand, the thought of cold falafel acted as a counterweight to “Minnesota Nice.” Also, I rationalized that once people observed why I was going straight to the counter, they’d mentally retract their initial silent disapproval.
Catching the eye of the cashier, who was the same woman who’d handed me the bag with the bag with the bag of food upon my initial appearance some 20 minutes before, I explained my need.
“The tzatziki sauce was left out of our order,” I said, trying to avoid a tone of criticism.
“Was it the large container or small one?” She said as she moved toward the cooler housing containers of various sauces and condiments.
“No, small,” I said.
She looked at the food preparers behind her and said something in Spanish plus “tzatziki.”
Instantly, a covered serving of the sine qua non for falafel appeared in the palm of the head chef, as if he were a prestidigitator. Ever so gracefully, he slid the plastic container down the shiny counter, right into the hand of the cashier. She then presented the condiment to me. The whole affair from request to tzatziki in my hand took less than 10 seconds, but by this point, who was counting?
“Thanks,” I said with a smile. “I appreciate it.”
“Wait a sec . . .” With that, she stepped over to the stack of pre-packaged baklava and reached for a container. “Here you go. It’s on us.”
“Wow!” I said, mindful of all the other (patient) customers behind me. “Thanks much! You’ve certainly earned my loyalty!”
All in all, for both Dino’s and me, the effort over the missing tzatziki sauce was a classic case of making lemonade out of a lemon; “Minnesota Nice” in action.
When I reached our driveway, I looked up at the eastern sky and saw Jupiter, the Roman name for the Greeks’ Zeus. Brighter than all the other stars, Zeus . . . er, Jupiter . . . was nevertheless no more than a bright speck of light, but for a few seconds, the earth stood still while I admired the celestial light and made a wish. I swear that I saw a smile on the distant face of the ancient god.
Subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
© 2026 by Eric Nilsson
