When I whisk garlic into yogurt, I’m hardly a renegade. After all, the two foods pair frequently in such dishes as Greek tzatziki and Turkish ali nazik kebab, char-grilled eggplant and lamb sauced with garlicky yogurt. And garlic isn’t the only yogurt booster, of course. In Lebanon, labneh — that super-strained, lightly salted version — gets dusted with za’atar and drizzled with olive oil, no sugar bowl in sight. In South Asia, roasted cumin is as common a feature in the region’s raitas as it is in its cooling, savory lassis.
After years of sugaring our yogurt and teaming it not just with sweet fruit but also with actual candy (have you been to a frozen yogurt shop lately?), we Americans are finally waking up to what the rest of the world has known for eons: that yogurt needn’t be sweet to appeal. It can taste salty, or spicy, or garlicky, or just plain sour, like the fermented milk that it is. It can taste, in other words, like yogurt.
Niko Adamopoulos thinks Washingtonians are ready for an unmasked, complex-tasting yogurt made from cow’s, sheep’s and goat’s milk combined. Adamopoulos, who is Greek by birth but was raised in Florida, and his wife, Oana (who hails from Romania), run the Mediterranean Way, a bi-level gourmet shop in Washington’s Dupont Circle neighborhood that sells olive oil, balsamic vinegar and other staple ingredients from small producers in Greece, Italy and elsewhere across that region. In March, the couple began importing fresh Greek yogurt from a fourth-generation yogurt producer in Kastoria, a Byzantine town in northern Greece.
In mid-March, Adamopoulos doled out small samples of the new product for his customers to try. His two-week supply ran out in a day and a half. “Nine out of 10 people who were trying it were buying it, which is unlike any other product we sample in the store,” he said. “I was shocked. I mean, I knew it was good, but it’s been overwhelming.” He has since scaled up his imports to meet the demand.