Nomade et Sauvage turn the Greek countryside into a living kitchen – where nothing is wasted, and everything has meaning

I first met them in a hidden corner of the mountain, somewhere near Krioneri Korinthias.
All I had was a GPS pin and a simple note: “Dress warmly.” Among the fir trees, in a small clearing, a table and a fire were waiting for us. Around them, people who, within minutes, felt like friends. It was as if we had all been invited to a secret ritual, where food, place, and time merged into a single experience.

Their philosophy is rooted in authentic flavor, clarity, and honesty. In the Greek culinary tradition as it is revealed through the rustic recipes of the countryside. They gather wild greens, herbs, mushrooms, fruits from the landscape itself. They source game from hunters, fish from fishermen, and essentials like flour, butter, milk, meat, olive oil, and vegetables from local producers.

The locations of the meals are never random. They are carefully selected for their energy, views, light. Each of these gastronomic rituals is preceded by a journey: through forests, beside streams, over stony slopes, under shaded clusters of trees, along the coast, near ancient castles. The route to the meeting point is always unique—almost ceremonial.

And when you arrive, everything is already there: The table is set, the fire burning, the bread baking in the embers. Not just any bread – sourdough, fire-baked, with a crust that cracks like ceramic and a dense, velvety crumb. A bread you’re unlikely to ever forget.

And next to it, leeks roasted directly in the fire. White wine, rosé, red – all from Greek producers. Served without pretension, yet with intention. Not to overshadow the food, but to elevate it – as it once was.

Nomade et Sauvage – the duo of Iordanis Tseneklidis and Lefteris Karnachoritis – create nomadic meals in the heart of nature, following the rhythm of the seasons, the geography, and the offerings of each region. They transform the Greek countryside – its mountains, forests, vineyards, old factories, farmers’ markets, and coastlines – into open-air kitchens and spaces of gathering.

After that first spring encounter, I saw them again by chance, on a summer night at the Kastro of Sifnos at Loggia. They had set up another meal – this time not in the woods, but along the sacred stone paths of the Aegean. It was a night specially designed for a couple getting married the next day. The setting was magical, the light soft, and Sifnos full of scent.

They offered us a glass of wine and a slice of fragrant bread. We stayed late, singing under the moonlight. They, though tired from the preparation, never stopped smiling. They still had to pack, to clean, to extinguish the fire – and yet, their faces were calm, content. As if they knew they hadn’t just cooked a meal – they had created a memory.

And maybe that’s the most important thing Nomade et Sauvage offer: A meal that stays with you. Not only in taste, but in light, in sound, in gaze – and in the heart.

And when they said to me: “Gypsy, go your way!”
And when I did go – alone –
on my own path once again,
I came to know a sorrow deep within me,
a sorrow vast and never-ending.

The Twelve Lays of the Gypsy
Kostis Palamas

There are those who choose to walk outside the paths already paved.
Those who cook under the trees, not under lights.
Who let fire, soil, silence and time become their ingredients.
Who carry the knowledge of the land and the patience of the old.

The nomads.
The makers of memory.
The ones who remind us that food can be place, fire can be ritual, and bread can hold a story.
This is the story of Nomade et Sauvage and of the moments I shared their fire.