Making phyllo by hand
can take up to four hours.
The superthin, layered dough is used
in many dishes in Greek cuisine,
like the famous baklava.
And at 86 years old, Giorgos Hatziparaskos
is one of the few bakers in Greece
that still makes it manually.
He started baking as a teenager
and was able to buy his own workshop in the 1960s.
At one point, bakeries like his were all over Greece.
But the rise of cheap and efficient industrial baking
meant that many mom-and-pop shops just couldn't stay afloat.
Giorgos found a way to stay in business
by focusing on the tourist trade,
and employing only his wife, Katarina,
and his son, Paraskevas.
We visited their half-century-old bakery
to see how it is still standing.
Every day around 8 a.m.,
Giorgos opens the doors to their workshop,
and Katarina hangs signs to draw people in.
The 17th-century Venetian-style house
stands in the heart of the old town
in Rethymno on the Greek island of Crete.
To start the phyllo dough,
Giorgos just three ingredients into a large mixer:
flour, water, and salt.
Half an hour later, he transfers the mixture
to this roller machine to be flattened and stretched.
Paraskevas portions out smaller pieces
that need to be exactly ...
While father and son
knead the dough balls, mother cooks lunch.
Giorgos rolls each piece by hand,
shaping them into disks.
Then, it's time for the toss.
There is a reason behind this eye-catching technique.
The dough is stretched over and over again
until the whole table is covered.
It becomes so thin, you can read through it.
Katarina covers each dough layer with linen
to absorb moisture slowly without losing elasticity.
Then, the family repeats the process layer by layer
until there's several tissue-thin sheets
stacked on each table.
Going round and round the table
is so physically demanding
that Giorgos has to rest in between turns.
Once the dough is slightly dry,
it's ready to be folded.
For the Hatziparaskoses, it's almost like a dance
with precisely coordinated movements,
including a dusting of flour
to prevent the sheets from sticking together.
The phyllo leaves are then cut to size
to be stored in the fridge until they're sold.
But all this work doesn't guarantee big sales.
So the family's profits rely mostly
on the sweets sold to tourists
that come in curious to see how phyllo is handmade.
Machine-made phyllo is cheaper and faster.
Efficient industrial production lines
can churn out 100 to 300 kilograms of dough an hour.
The stiff competition doesn't deter Giorgos.
He also makes kataifi, a shredded pastry
that is even more taxing for the 86-year-old.
It takes him three hours, and it sells for even less
than the traditional sheets of phyllo.
Paraskevas is actually an engineer,
but he found himself without a job
after the 2010 economic crisis in Greece.
So he decided to help his parents with the family business.
Just as Giorgos' business depends on tourism,
he too loves to travel when he can.
If it weren't for the COVID-19 pandemic,
he would've visited the Netherlands to see friends he made
when they visited his shop year after year.
Greece was quick to control the spread of the virus
from the spring through the summer.
The cases have spiked in the fall and brought the country
to a nationwide second lockdown in November.
Tourist traffic to the Hatziparaskoses' workshop
has dropped significantly in 2020.
Lines to get in weren't uncommon in better years.
But it still remains
an important landmark for the community,
and locals will say it's the town's main attraction.
A 17th-century inscription above the door
has been there since long before the family moved in,
and it serves as a reminder of the importance of their work.
"In virtue, a house shines."