koulourakia (original)

“These were the cookies we made at sleepovers when we were kids!” my dyed-in-the-wool Greek-American friend sighed, her voice wrapped in nostalgia as we eyed the endless trays of koulourakia destined for the annual bake sale.

In Greece, these are the cookies—everyday, unassuming, casually dunked in coffee, never demanding too much attention. Where I grew up, the closest equivalent might be a classic chocolate chip—no fanfare, just a quiet, familiar comfort when you need a little something sweet. Koulourakia are the supporting characters of the cookie world. They don’t steal the spotlight, but they’re always there, steady and reliable.

It almost feels like sacrilege to show them alone, without their ever-present companion: a cup of dark Greek coffee. But they deserve their own moment. On a stark white background, nothing else in the world. A tribute to their quiet heroism. Their delicate, hand-shaped twists—formed by instinct, by hands that know the motion without thinking. Their perfect crumble, practically begging to be dipped into hot coffee or tea. The broken bits, casually popped into your mouth mid-conversation.

There will be crumbs. There are always crumbs. But the best part? Savoring the crumbs.