You Can Get A Secret Dining Experience At This Athens Restaurant

Forbes

5 days ago

If you're lucky you'll get invited to the family farm.
In Athens' historic Thiseio neighborhood, above a quiet cobblestone street lined with neoclassical buildings, is a rooftop restaurant called Makris. With just nine tables and a soft view of the Acropolis rising in the near distance, it offers the kind of setting many restaurants promise, but few deliver. By most accounts, Makris is one of the city's most coveted reservations. But what many diners don't know is that there's a secret dining experience not listed on the menu.
Occasionally—though not predictably—Chef Petros Dimas extends a rare invitation to a handful of guests. It isn't advertised, and it doesn't follow a script. At the end of the evening, when the final course has been served and the terrace has quieted, Dimas may simply ask, 'Would you like to come to the farm?'
That offer leads to an off-the-record experience in Ancient Corinth, where Dimas's family owns and operates a small working farm. Guests who accept are invited into the family's kitchen, where they cook over an open fire, gather ingredients from the garden, and share a meal that's as personal as it is unfiltered. There is no tour, no signage, no production. It is not a brand extension—it's hospitality in its most traditional form.
To understand how rare this is, it helps to understand Makris itself.
The restaurant is understated, located at the top of a restored neoclassical villa overlooking ancient ruins. The terrace is elegantly minimal, lit by candlelight, and framed by uninterrupted views of the Acropolis. While the view is striking, it is the food that truly defines the experience. Dimas focuses on seasonal, locally sourced ingredients—many of which come directly from his family's farm.
The menu changes frequently. Seafood is a constant: scallops with wild sea herbs, lobster with just-picked vegetables, and, in spring, edible flower canapés. Strawberries grown by Dimas's mother often appear in the dessert. Even the kombucha is brewed in-house, subtly infused with rose. Iberico pork is sourced from Greece's only certified producer. Wild herbs are gathered by hand, often on the same day they appear on the plate.
Talk about a restaurant with a view.
For most visitors, the rooftop meal is the entirety of the experience: a refined, well-paced dinner set against the dramatic backdrop of the Acropolis, framed by candlelight and thoughtful hospitality. But for a small number of guests—usually those who express genuine interest in the ingredients or the philosophy behind the restaurant—Dimas occasionally extends a private invitation to his family's farm in Ancient Corinth, where the restaurant's ethos becomes something tangible.
The farm, which supplies much of the produce used at Makris, is not open to the public for viewing. There is no formal tour, no signage, and no attempt to present it as a curated destination. Instead, guests are welcomed into a functioning agricultural space that reflects the same values found in the restaurant: transparency, practicality, and a close relationship with the land.
The food prepared there—often with the help of guests—relies entirely on what's in season and may include grilled fish, hand-picked herbs, garden vegetables, and sauces made from ingredients gathered just minutes before. Preparation is informal, taking place over an open flame or in the home kitchen, with Dimas and his mother often cooking side by side.
The atmosphere is relaxed and varies from visit to visit. On some days, it's quiet and reflective, while on others, it feels more communal, depending on who is present and what the day calls for. Meals are shared outdoors at a long table, wine is served in mismatched glasses, and conversation flows in whatever direction it wants to go. There are no set expectations, no carefully designed moments, and no attempt to impress. What the guests experience is not performance—it's daily life, offered with sincerity.
While few guests are invited to the farm, its role in the restaurant is fundamental rather than symbolic. The ingredients served at Makris are not selected from a list—they are grown, harvested, and handled by the same people who may later prepare them. The olive oil used in the lobster dish is pressed on-site. The strawberries served in spring desserts are picked by Dimas's mother. The link between the farm and the table isn't a narrative device; it's the infrastructure of the restaurant itself.
The secret dining farm visit is not advertised and cannot be requested in advance. Dimas offers it only when it feels appropriate—when a guest's interest seems authentic, and the conversation warrants it. For those who receive the invitation and make the journey, the experience tends to leave a lasting impression, not because it's exclusive or elaborate, but because it reinforces the simplicity and integrity that define everything Makris sets out to do.