Every Sunday, for several decades, Paul Barboussas hosted a family barbecue. It was his favourite day of the week. He and wife Helen would begin preparations early in the morning. Helen would be in the kitchen, rolling out paper-thin sheets of pastry for spanakopita and chopping up tomatoes and cucumbers, fresh from the garden, for a salad. Paul would be outside, preparing the charcoal for the barbecue to ensure it was the perfect temperature to cook the meat – he usually bought enough to feed a small village.
By lunchtime, smoke would be wafting down the street, acting as a beacon to guide family and friends to their home. Paul had five brothers who lived nearby – they’d come with their families, bearing plates of food and maybe a slab of Victoria Bitter.
