This Greek City Is the Nation’s “Capital of Cool”

During the nearly 190-mile train ride from Athens to Thessaloniki, Greece’s second-largest city, my partner Barry and I share a compartment with a friendly middle-aged couple from Athens. They soon offer us homemade spanakopita (spinach and feta pie). After an hour, they point out Mount Parnassus, known as the “home of the muses.” Just before arriving in Thessaloniki, they gesture again towards Mount Olympus—“home of the gods”—Greece’s highest peak, rising majestically as we pass by.

Mount Olympus reappears during our afternoon stroll through the city. Now a snow-capped silhouette against the hazy backdrop of the Thermaic Gulf, it overlooks us as Barry and I relax at one of the cafes along the paralia, the city’s three-mile-long pedestrian promenade bustling with couples, joggers, and lively grandmas. Behind us lies Aristotelous Square, a spacious expanse framed by gracefully curving, meringue-colored buildings. This renowned piazza, crafted in 1918 by French urban planner Ernest Hébrard, rose from the ashes of a fire that consumed the historic Greek-Roman Byzantine-Ottoman heart of the city once called Salonica.

Later that evening, as the fickle clouds shroud Mount Olympus once more—or could it be an illusion?—George Palisidis, a chef and culinary educator, pops open a bottle of sparkling white assyrtiko wine at an outdoor table of Blé Vin. Surrounded by tables crafted from repurposed tree stumps, young adults are laughing, smoking, and capturing moments of their charcuterie boards. “Ladotyri preserved in olive oil. Aged gilomeni manoura matured in wine lees,” Palisidis describes our cheeses before stepping inside the bar for a platter of vibrant red meat. “Buffalo,” he announces, “from Lake Kerkini, a reservoir in Central Macedonia.” He’s soon approached by an athletic woman in a pink dress. “Voulaaaa!” The crowd murmurs in excitement. Enter Voula Patoulidou, a local icon and Greek sports legend, renowned for her gold medal in the 100-meter hurdles at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics.

Currently serving as Thessaloniki’s deputy regional governor, Patoulidou greets us enthusiastically, immediately promoting her city. “UNESCO designated us as Greece’s first City of Gastronomy! Our sunsets rival those of Santorini, and we’re layered with culture! Thessaloniki, a city brimming with stories!” Then she adds, “It’s a city of extroverts—every night feels like a celebration!” With that, she hurries off to join a party.

I needed no convincing about this place, often referred to as symprotevousa, or “co-capital,” with a population of about a million. My intrigue with Thessaloniki’s rich history began when I read British historian Mark Mazower’s Salonica, City of Ghosts (HarperCollins, 2004). Established towards the end of the fourth century B.C.E., Thessaloniki thrived as a port and pivotal trade hub, becoming the second-largest and wealthiest city in the Byzantine Empire, a status it maintained under nearly 500 years of Ottoman rule. While Athens was merely a dusty village, Thessaloniki blossomed into a cosmopolitan epicenter where memoirs recount a “society of almost kaleidoscopic interaction” among Jews, Muslims, and Christians, as Mazower puts it.

Nationalism stands as a significant adversary to cosmopolitanism. Following the Ottoman defeat in the First Balkan War, Salonica transitioned into Greek Thessaloniki; integrated into the Greek nation-state and Hellenized, it ultimately diminished much of its diversity. By the mid-1920s, a large portion of its Muslim population had been expelled. During World War II, over 95 percent of the city’s Jewish community was deported during the Holocaust. The once-vibrant metropolis was left as another postwar Greek city, largely overlooked—until recent years, when it started garnering international interest.

The city’s resurgence can be attributed largely to its dynamic former mayor, the tattooed maverick Yiannis Boutaris, hailing from Greece’s oldest winemaking lineage. Under his leadership from 2011 to 2019, Thessaloniki emerged as a “model for all of Greece” (according to a 2014 article in the Guardian) during the nation’s severe debt crisis and austerity measures, earning acclaim for its lively street culture and tourism efforts. It also established itself as Greece’s true food capital, as a new wave of chefs revitalized the city’s culinary heritage with a focus on local ingredients and innovative flair.

I started planning my visit to Thessaloniki in 2019, but then the pandemic struck. Years later, I finally arrived, drawn not just by the Roman ruins and Byzantine churches, but also by the rich cultural tapestry. Additionally, I was eager to explore the modern meze and contemporary wines. My other goal? To meet Boutaris himself.

“Thessaloniki may just be the quintessential second city in Europe!” proclaims local art curator Christos Savvidis during lunch the next day, as he spreads goat-milk butter on bread made from an ancient flour called zea. “We faced the financial crisis and then the pandemic, yet we not only survived—we thrived.”

The friendly Savvidis spearheads contemporary art initiatives aimed at fostering social change through his agency, ArtBOX. Joining us is his associate, Lydia Chatziiakovou, who points out that with the largest university in Greece and the Balkans—hosting around 150,000 students—Thessaloniki boasts a uniquely youthful atmosphere that contributes to the city's renowned laid-back vibe in its bars and cafés. Do I know the Greek term chalara? It translates to something akin to “chill.” That’s Thessaloniki.

Savvidis, Chatziiakovou, and I find ourselves at Mourga, a laid-back seafood restaurant that they say perfectly embodies the city's culinary spirit. Established by a pioneer of Greece’s gastro-taverna movement, Giannis Loukakis, it operates with an organic, zero-waste philosophy and offers cloudy natural wines. The sounds of Rembetika, often referred to as “Greek blues,” fill the air, while striking magical-realist photographs by local artist Nikos Vavdinoudis adorn the walls, capturing Macedonian figures in scenes of Dionysian celebration.

I ask my lunch companions to share more about Thessaloniki. “It’s much smaller than Athens,” Chatziiakovou replies, scooping up manestra, a type of orzo risotto packed with sweet local crab. “But it’s still big enough for things to be happening,” adds Savvidis, momentarily distracted by a bowl of smoked potatoes, flame-torched mackerel, and a pink smear of beet cream. “While Athens has multiple centers,” Chatziiakovou continues, “here everything is more concentrated, fostering networks and connections—a true sense of community.”

As we enjoy a post-lunch walk, Savvidis reflects on Boutaris's significant contributions to Thessaloniki. Just then, he spots a friend, Spiros Pengas, who served as deputy mayor for tourism under Boutaris. Pengas passionately recounts how, in 2012, Boutaris organized the city’s inaugural Pride festival. “Thessaloniki was quite closed-minded back then,” he notes. “This was pivotal for transforming its image into one of openness.”

Boutaris also worked hard to showcase Thessaloniki’s multicultural heritage. He journeyed to Tel Aviv to emphasize the city’s Jewish history and visited Istanbul to promote it as the birthplace of Kemal Atatürk, the founder of modern Turkey. As tourism flourished, the administration trained local guides and developed cultural maps highlighting Jewish and Ottoman routes—resources Thessaloniki continues to utilize. “Residents were offered free tours on weekends,” Pengas shares. “Huge crowds showed up, eager to learn about their own history.”

Despite the current administration's more conservative stance, it has embraced Boutaris's legacy by promoting the city's history and successfully advocating for Thessaloniki's inclusion in UNESCO’s Creative Cities of Gastronomy network in 2021. A series of ambitious urban projects is underway, including a new metro system and plans to renovate Aristotelous Square.

The more I learn, the more I want to connect with Boutaris directly. Unfortunately, he doesn't reply to my messages. So, I focus on my other goal: discovering delightful culinary experiences. One evening, under the blazing Aegean sun, we indulge in freshly caught mussels, shrimp, and crab at Hamodrakas, a seafood taverna in Kalamaria, just a short drive from downtown. Alongside our meal, local enologist Anestis Haitidis serves amber-hued skin-contact retsinas crafted by young winemakers from the area. Another night, at the trendy Deka Trapezia, helmed by chef Manolis Papoutsakis, we savor a lemon-glazed choux pastry filled with wasabi-infused fish roe; dakos (Cretan bruschetta) reimagined as a savory cheesecake with tangy mizithra cheese and pistachios; and tender shreds of boiled zigouri (young lamb) atop a creamy trahana (fermented yogurt and wheat).

In Thessaloniki, it's all too easy to be captivated by the vibrant restaurants, waterfront bars, and generous tavernas. Yet, within this “city of ghosts,” certain dishes tell tales of centuries of wars and migrations.

Consider bougatsa, a beloved local breakfast consisting of flaky phyllo pastry enveloping either sweet semolina custard or savory fillings like cheese or minced meat. As Palisidis shares one morning at his go-to bakery, Bougatsa Bantis, this pastry carries memories of the forced population exchange between Greece and Türkiye that followed Greece’s defeat in the Greco-Turkish War of 1919–22. Based solely on religious identity, around 1.5 million Orthodox Christians were expelled from Türkiye while half a million Muslims were relocated from Greece. Mandated by the Treaty of Lausanne, many found themselves in unfamiliar “home” countries. In Greece, this forced migration increased the population by over 20 percent. Amidst the suffering, as Leon A. Nar notes in Thessaloniki: The Future of the Past (Kapon, 2011), these refugees “introduced an urban cuisine that blended ancient Greek, Byzantine, and Oriental flavors.”

“Bougatsa is an ancient pastry, potentially dating back to Byzantine times,” remarks Philippos Bantis, owner of Bougatsa Bantis, as he deftly stretches and tosses dough until it becomes nearly translucent. “Originally, it was just phyllo—sketi, meaning plain—without any filling.” In the cosmopolitan Ottoman centers of modern Türkiye, affluent women began filling it with sweet custard for Western-style afternoon teas. Christian refugees brought their expertise to Thessaloniki, selling bougatsa from street stalls before opening shops. In the years following World War II, these shops sold dough scraps to those in need. However, it wasn't until later that the bougatsa trade truly flourished. In 1969, Philippos’s father, Dimitris, opened this bakery using recipes passed down from his father, a refugee.

At last, Palisidis and I sample Bantis’s freshly baked creations: one filled with minced beef sourced from a local farm, another featuring cheese from a different producer, and a rich custard version dusted with cinnamon. Bantis also serves us the “original” unfilled sketi bougatsa, delicate squares of buttery layered dough. “Older customers come in, taste it, and tear up,” he explains. “It evokes memories of their past and the struggles they faced.”

The presence of the Jewish community looms large over the city, mainly comprising descendants of the Sephardim who sought refuge in the Ottoman Empire after their expulsion from Spain in 1492. For many centuries, Jews constituted the largest religious group in Thessaloniki, earning it the nickname “The Mother of Israel.” However, in 1943, shortly after the city fell under Nazi control, the majority were deported to concentration camps. It is estimated that as many as 48,000 lost their lives, leaving fewer than 2,000 Jews in Thessaloniki post-Holocaust.

In the following decades, the Holocaust remained a largely unspoken topic until the 2000s, when memorials for the victims began to take shape. On the 70th anniversary of the deportations in 2013, Boutaris and the surviving Jewish community organized a public march to the Old Railway Station, the site from which many Jews were taken away. Since then, the city has gradually been reclaiming its Jewish heritage, although only about 1,000 Jews reside here today. Plans for a Holocaust Museum near the Old Railway Station, initiated in 2013, are now coming to fruition. Thanks to efforts by the city’s tourism authorities, an initiative launched during Boutaris’s administration, Israeli tourists were the most numerous among foreign visitors in Thessaloniki in 2022.

One afternoon at the Jewish Museum of Thessaloniki, which features a “Holocaust Victims Room” that lists the names of 27,000 identified victims, Barry and I engage in a conversation with an elderly woman from Tel Aviv. She reveals that her parents were Thessaloniki Jews who emigrated to Israel after surviving the events of 1943. “They passed away without ever returning to the city,” she shares, her eyes glistening with tears. Yet, she has made annual visits for over a decade “to reclaim a past that my parents lost.”

There’s a renewed fascination with local Sephardic cuisine, a delightful fusion of Spanish, Ottoman, and modern Greek flavors that have been difficult to find outside of family kitchens. After our museum visit, we drop by Akadimia Art Restaurant situated in a historic Jewish district now bustling with bars and eateries. With Greeks enjoying drinks and meals at outdoor tables, the atmosphere seems to overlook the themes of loss and erasure. Chef Kostas Markou, who has Albanian heritage, admits he was unaware of this chapter in Thessaloniki’s history until he opened his restaurant here.

However, former residents began visiting and sharing their stories and recipes. Among them was Nina Benroubi, a Holocaust survivor who passed away a few years back at 95. Inspired by her book, A Taste of Sephardic Thessaloniki (Fytrakis Editions, 2002), and with assistance from her family, Markou started reviving her recipes. Today, these dishes feature as specials on his menu of Greek classics or are prepared upon request for advance bookings.

Markou presents several dishes, announcing their names in Ladino, the nearly extinct Judeo-Spanish language. We sample huevos haminados, eggs marbled with coffee grounds that are traditionally slow-cooked overnight for Shabbat, and borrekitas de merendjéna, fried pastries filled with eggplant, a staple in Sephardic cuisine. As I savor the food, I envision a time when synagogues populated this area, where Jewish merchants dealt in olive oil and the sounds of Ladino filled the streets.

On my final day in the city, I meet Boutaris at one of his offices. Now in his eighties, he still embodies the edgy disruptor from past photographs: red suspenders, a stud earring, and a lizard tattoo on his wrist. “How can a city forge a future without understanding its past?” Boutaris replies when I inquire about revitalizing Thessaloniki’s heritage. “Our city’s urban history spans nearly 23 centuries—a history we shouldn’t replicate, but rather learn from.” He notes that Thessaloniki is becoming more inclusive of the “other,” reflecting on his own mixed Albanian and Vlach background, a fading Balkan minority. He then lights a cigarette, reminiscing about his tenure: how Israeli audiences wept when he spoke of the Jewish contributions to Thessaloniki’s commerce and culture; his clash with the Greek Orthodox bishop who attempted to halt the Pride parade near churches; and the violent attack he faced from a far-right nationalist group.

For those visiting Thessaloniki, Boutaris recommends discovering the 15 UNESCO-listed Byzantine sites, the Archaeological Museum, the vibrant music scene, and of course, indulging in the local seafood, meze, and soutzoukakia, meatballs that reflect the city's history of population exchange. "Food is about more than just sustenance," Boutaris explains. "It embodies atmosphere, memories, and culture." He notes that even as Thessaloniki’s minorities departed, their influence remains alive in the culinary traditions.

Boutaris reflects that Thessaloniki shares the destiny of second cities around the globe. "Chicago will never be New York, and I repeatedly emphasized that we will never be Athens, nor do we aspire to be. Our goal is to be the finest provincial capital we can be." I commend him on this achievement before hurrying to the paralia for one final view of Mount Olympus.