In Crete, garlic has a status few foods can match. It is the island’s guardian, medicine, and mascot — but, ironically, not a welcome guest at most dinner tables. You will find it hanging proudly by kitchen doors, braided like a sacred charm, yet somehow never on the plate.
Ask a Cretan about it, and you will hear things like:
“Ah, garlic? It’s holy. But I do not eat it — it smells.”
The contradiction is as old as the hills. Garlic wards off sickness, envy, and the mati (evil eye), but it also wards off dinner invitations.
Garlic in the Old Ways
Before pharmacies and supermarkets, there was garlic.
It was rubbed on wounds, boiled for coughs, and left under pillows to keep away bad dreams. Farmers believed it kept snakes from entering storage sheds. Mothers tied cloves to children’s necks during epidemics.
And at weddings, a single clove might be hidden under the bride’s seat — not for flavor, but for protection. The scent, they said, confuses jealous spirits.
Even today, some villagers still place a braid of garlic over the door at Easter, when envy is said to wander freely.
The Culinary Dilemma
Here lies the paradox: Crete is home to one of the world’s healthiest cuisines, yet many traditional cooks handle garlic with tongs.
The reasoning is both practical and poetic:
“Garlic is for health, not for guests.”
It is used lightly, almost invisibly — rubbed on bread before oil, or waved near a salad bowl for “energy.” In some kitchens, a single clove lasts a week, passed around like a family heirloom.
But in a few mountain villages, the older generation still eats it raw — dipped in salt, chased with raki, and followed by stories about who fainted first.
Garlic as Spell and Symbol
Folklore in Crete treats garlic like an invisible soldier. It stands guard against illness and misfortune. Grandmothers will say that garlic “sees what we cannot,” and for this reason, it must never be thrown away casually — only buried, or burned with olive leaves.
Even the church acknowledges its stubborn power. On the feast of Saint Haralambos, protector against the plague, people once brought garlic bulbs to be blessed, alongside bread and oil.
The message was simple: garlic is not food, it is faith.
Garlic Today
Modern Cretans have mostly let go of these rituals, but the respect remains. You can still buy hand-braided garlic at open-air markets — not because people cook with it, but because it feels wrong not to have it around.
Tourists may laugh at this contradiction, but deep down, there is wisdom in it.
Garlic in Crete is not a seasoning; it is a statement.
A reminder that even something humble, earthy, and a little smelly can be sacred.
If you spend enough time in the countryside, you will meet one old man — there is always one — who eats garlic every morning with bread and salt. He will tell you that it keeps him young, his goats fat, and his wife happy (though she might disagree).
So if you visit his home and he offers you a bite, say yes.
It is not just food; it is an invitation to live as the land does — boldly, stubbornly, and with a little bite.
Για την Κρήτη και για κάθε τόπο που ακόμη αναπνέει.
Argophilia — Independent. Unaligned. Always listening.
(For Crete, and for every place that still breathes.)
