Most people have to go to college, find a stable job, get married and buy a house before they can experience the fulfilling journey that is raising a child. Yet I think I ran that entire gamut of emotions when I returned to Thessaloniki this year and revisited my favorite pizza place to find it almost unrecognizable.

As I knew it for most of my life, Salento was a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint a few minutes away from my grandfather’s apartment. It was close enough that my dad would walk there with me when I was just a toddler, holding my hand as I barreled down the sidewalk on stubby, unsteady legs. By the time we got there, I would be shaking with anticipation, barely containing my excitement as I smelled the ashy smoke of the pizza ovens even before I spotted the small sign above the restaurant’s single window.

Salento wasn’t much to look at. Besides that window, where the kitchen took and served orders, there was a counter with two barstools, usually taken by two middle-aged men drinking and smoking cigarettes as they waited for their pizzas. The only other seating was a single table haphazardly balanced on the edge of the sidewalk, threatening to send its occupants spilling backward into the busy street. 

But my family never minded the lack of seating, since we could easily bring takeout boxes back to the apartment. Nor did we mind the long wait, as despite its small size and dingy appearance, Salento always had a line of at least 10 people stretching past the sidewalk. Though I would be shivering in the cold winter air by the time we got our food, the scalding heat of the cardboard box and my high expectations for the pizza that lay inside it would carry me through the chilly night back to the golden, glowing lights of my grandfather’s apartment. 

Soon, the small, round dinner table meant for an elderly couple living alone would be crowded with six of us, plates and napkins strewn across whatever surface wasn’t covered by our long-awaited pizza boxes. Lifting the oil-spotted lids, the aroma of smoky meat and melting mozzarella would fill the entire apartment–and wouldn’t leave for several days, much to my grandmother’s annoyance. Grubby toddler fists and wrinkled hands alike would all race to grab a slice, even though we knew there was plenty to share. 

Even now, more than a decade later and with slightly smaller company (my grandmother passed away a few years ago and my mother doesn’t join our trips to Greece anymore), the first bite of the night tastes the same.

Salento serves wood-fired pizza primarily in traditional Italian styles, such as margherita, white truffle and my family’s favorite, salsiccia. They also offer some of the more recently invented toppings, like BBQ chicken and bolognese. The pies are larger than personal pizzas but smaller than your average Domino’s box; one pizza could easily be shared by two people or devoured by one very hungry individual, as I can testify after seeing my brother inhale his entire pizza and then finish off the leftovers of my margherita. Their pizzas have a thin, bready crust that allows the charred flavor to shine and the toppings are simple but fresh, so each bite doesn’t sit heavy in your stomach but instead leaves you wanting another. 

Thankfully, this hasn’t changed: Salento’s pizza is as good as ever. In fact, most of the transformation Salento has gone through has been incredibly positive. 

Arriving at its original location, I was initially crestfallen when I couldn’t find the familiar storefront and sign, thinking Salento had closed its doors like many other businesses I’ve loved. My dad and I continued walking toward our apartment and soon approached a bustling restaurant that flooded the dark street with its bright lights and patio heaters. As we passed by, I did a double take. Emblazoned above the double doors in a chic modern font was the restaurant’s name: Salento Wood Fired Street Food. 

It turned out Salento had rebranded and expanded, moving into a new building with ample indoor and outdoor seating. And even with the increased capacity, they were as busy as ever. Both days we went, every table for dine-in service was taken and a crowd waited on the curb for their to-go orders. Delivery drivers on motorcycles would pull up every few minutes and speed away soon after, laden with pizza boxes and sandwich bags.

Like a proud parent, I gazed fondly at Salento’s diners as I waited for my salsiccia pizza and filetto sandwich. With their modern look and universally appealing menu, they had attracted an assorted audience. The table in front of me belonged to a group of Egyptian college students; the man next to me in line was African while the couple behind me spoke in Greek. 

And then there was me. A transient figure, I suppose, compared to neighborhood regulars like my grandfather or passing visitors like the college students. Coming back to Thessaloniki every few years, becoming familiar with the city only for it to change in new ways with every visit, I felt caught in a limbo between tourist and local. 

But once I carried the uncomfortably hot pizza box back to the apartment and sank my teeth into a char-spotted slice, my uncertainty slipped away. The city may have changed, my favorite places may have changed, hell, maybe even I had changed. But the food? The food stayed the same.