This column originally appeared in the IJN, April 16, 2004. It is reprinted now in memory of and tribute to the late Pete Moutzouris, who died July 26.
When I return to Denver for holidays or vacations it is always so wonderful to see and spend time with my family. It always makes going back to Jerusalem that much more difficult.
Coming back home is also fun because when I’m here I’m back in the days and times of “yore” — when I was growing up. It’s always fun to come back and see old friends. It’s especially nice when the people who were part of your neighborhood are still here in the same places. They provide a sense of continuity, a connecting arc between the past and the present. And despite the fact that we are all older, or precisely because of it, to meet a familiar person in the same place and context is comforting. For me, one of these people is Pete Moutzouris, known simply as “Pete” of Pete’s Fruits and Vegetables, at the corner of Holly and Cedar Sts., right across from my shul — EDOS.
I remember when I first moved to Denver from Israel, in the sixth grade. In Jerusalem we had been used to small neighborhood groceries — the “makolet” — that could be found at the corner of almost any given street in Jerusalem. The makolet was small and intimate. The grocer knew us; going shopping was almost a personal interaction.
Although the makolet was tiny, it seemed to be like a Mary Poppins bag filled with endless items. Freshly baked breads and pastries, a huge fridge full of dairy goods, candies and sweets, canned goods and house cleaning solutions, toys for children and frozen dinners, pastas and sauces, fresh olives and pickles out of a barrel, fresh herbs in bags, hot drinks — and on and on.
At the makolet in my present neighborhood in Rechavia, I sometimes ask if a certain item is available, skeptically, knowing it most likely won’t be in the makolet, but hoping that out of convenience — buying everything on the list in one shot —it will be. Mostly the answer is a nonchalant “sure,” and then Gabbi or Eli points to some far off shelf at the corner of the store near the ceiling, or bend downs to pull it out from a drawer hidden behind the back shelves.
All of us in the neighborhood are friendly with Eli and Gabbi. On Purim they were definitely included in my shaloch manos list. Gabbi had a funny mask on, with trays of sweets and hamentaschen out on the checkout counter for all of us. When it snowed, at Eli’s there were hot Middle Eastern drinks known as sachlav out for anyone who passed by and came in.
When we moved here to Denver and shopped in the big supermarket it felt kind of sterile and we missed that personal touch of the makolet. That is, until we met Pete.
Pete has a medium build, is strong and slightly stocky, with a head of thick curly gray hair. He’s low-key, always warm, welcoming and smiling. He always takes an interest, inquiring about my grandmother or about what we are cooking for Shabbos with the ingredients we are purchasing. His little store seems to be like the makolet in Israel — with endless products beyond just fruits and vegetables.
Pete is Greek and he always carries gourmet Greek foods and pastries like baklava, as well as other gourmet ethnic foods and products, including lots of new and interesting kosher ones.
At the checkout counter a variety of fresh flowers are crammed into various containers, set up like bleachers in rows of bright yellows, reds, oranges, purples and pinks. Behind him at the cash register is a colorful and exotic poster of his home city in Greece, Finikouda, with currency from all over the world framing it.
When I was little I felt shy about going to Pete’s because my mother insisted that Pete, and only Pete, had to be the one to pick out the melons and cantaloupes. For most of the other items I usually asked one of Pete’s assistants outfitted in green aprons. I always saved the melons for last, until I mustered the courage to go up to Pete and ask him to select the melons for me. After a while, as soon as Pete saw me in the store he would ask me how many melons I needed and then proceed to pick them for me. Eventually, he taught me to check and see whether the melon had a pale pink-peachy tone and whether it smelled sweet. Also, I think he had mentioned something about shaking the melon and listening for the seeds.
When I shopped there with my mother and sisters, often Pete would treat us each to the little Haagen- Dazs dixie cups that came with individual wooden spoons. We each got to choose the flavor we wanted. The best was when he had dixie cups divided down the middle with both chocolate and vanilla ice cream.
At a certain point we noticed that my brother Mattis was always happy to volunteer to run errands at Pete’s. After a while we caught on; we noticed that Mattis always volunteered to go just when there happened to be a sports game on. We noticed that the trips to Pete’s were becoming kind of long. We didn’t grow up with a TV at home and Pete always had one on above the freezer. Apparently Mattis felt pretty comfortable hanging out there. To this day when I visit Denver Mattis asks me to send regards to Pete and Pete in turn always inquires about Mattis and his two young sons.
Pete seems to be particularly fond of babies and kids. That’s the age we were when he used to always treat us to ice cream. Nowadays, from time to time, he asks my mother, my sisters or me — whoever happens to be at his store on the minimum three visits we make on the eve of any given erev yomtov — to select a bouquet of flowers. Sometimes he’ll just offer on his own a bouquet of irises or daffodils because he already knows how much my mother likes them, and then in a flawless Hebrew or Yiddish, wishes me “Good Shabbos” or “Good Yom Tov’”!
With time we got to know different members of his family, like his lovely sister Potah, and saw his little boys grow up into young men. They seem to be carrying on the tradition. Just the other day on my way out one of the boys said to me “hey — have a great chag!” He said it as naturally as wishing me a great weekend.
It truly has been a great chag and now I’ll be on my way back to Israel where I’ll pick up an extra 10 shekel bill so I can add it to Pete’s poster, please G-d, on my next visit home here in Denver.
© IJN 2026
