Never Lost in Wineland: A Chef’s Return to the Heart of Paris

The Ghost of the Chef Paris means more to me than just a city. It’s a place full of memories, each tied to a scent. When I walk along Boulevard Haussmann or cross the Seine, I follow the smell of fresh bread, simmering stocks, and rain on the pavement instead of street signs. For years, I called this city home—not as a visitor, but as a worker, as a chef. I learned in Paris that gastronomy isn’t about luxury. It’s about discipline and respecting ingredients until they reveal their true character. When I began alternating my chef’s apron with winemaker’s boots and returned to the mountains of Samos, I brought Paris with me in spirit. The lesson stayed the same: whether making sauce or fermenting Muscat, you can’t fool the palate.

The Cathedral of Taste Coming back to Paris as a winemaker feels like coming full circle. This time, I’m not working in the kitchen—I’m on the shelf. The photos show my wines in one of the world’s top retail spaces, the heart of Parisian food culture (Galeries Lafayette Le Gourmet). Here, only products with real character make it through a tough selection process. To be featured, a wine needs more than quality; it needs soul. Looking at the display cases, which look more like jewelry boxes than wine shelves, I see my bottles: Livia, Octave, Hupnos, Auguste. The result of our hard work in Ampelos, now shining under Paris’s bright lights. It’s a quiet win and proof that Samos’s terroir deserves a place among the world’s best.

The Forced Admission It’s not easy for a wine to earn a spot on these shelves, especially when its maker is known as a chef, not a traditional winemaker. Our wines, distributed by Culinaries, enter a world that often favors big names and familiar choices. For some, it was simpler to stick with established labels than to trust a cook’s vision in winemaking. But wine speaks for itself. It doesn’t need introductions or marketing—just a glass. For those who tasted it, made with minimal intervention to show off the stone and sea, any doubts disappeared. The quality demanded its place. Seeing our wines here, even if credited to others, feels like a quiet win. Even when others tried to take credit for the hard work on Samos’s steep slopes, the taste tells the real story. In the end, only the truth of the wine remains, revealing what’s genuine.

 Never Lost in Wineland The sign on the display reads: "Never Lost in Wineland." It’s a smart phrase, but for me, it means much more.

The wine world is huge, full of different regions, grape types, ratings, and trends. It’s easy for both buyers and makers to get lost, chasing trends

or trying to please critics. But if you have a compass, you won’t lose your way. My compass was shaped in Paris’s kitchens and fine-tuned

on Samos’s slopes. If you make wine to nourish the soul, not just to fill a glass, you never lose

your way. You end up at the right table,

in the right conversation, with the right people.

Bridge of Flavor Today, opening a bottle of Philia in Paris creates a bridge. When a sommelier or food lover pours our Muscat, they taste the Aegean wind, the schist soil, and the hard work behind it. They also taste my gratitude for Paris. Paris taught me to aim for perfection, and Samos gave me the place to achieve it. The wine connects them both.

To my fellow chefs who might see this shelf: This is what I’ve been up to all these years. I never stopped cooking—I just expanded my kitchen to include barrels, amphoras, and sunlight. We’re never lost, just discovering new flavors.