Two hulking beef patties are nested in a brioche bun, the meat and bread identically crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. Electric yellow cheddar cheese pales in comparison to the impossibly thick slice of bright red tomato and radioactive green pickles, all of which are outdone by the myriad of other toppings: fried egg, avocado and bacon are on the tame side compared to the constructions that feature kimchi or shrimp. The sheen of oil coats the food and your fingers, leaving you with greasy hands that impart stains on everything you touch. When you manage to unhinge your jaw wide enough to get a bite, meat juice and mayonnaise dribble down from the corners of your mouth, dripping onto your shirt to join the ketchup blotches that already mar it.

Sounds like an all-American burger, right? Wrong! Welcome to Tarantino Sandwiches & Fries, located in downtown Thessaloniki, Greece and serving behemoth burgers and loaded fries to locals tired of the “Mediterranean diet” meant to help them live longer than the tourists who pass through the city. “Well,” they might say in response if you voice your health concerns, “are you here for a long time, or are you here for a good time?”

Stepping into Tarantino feels like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. You’re transported from quaint cobblestone streets and neoclassical architecture to graffiti-covered metal and exposed brick walls adorned with (likely stolen) street signs. Patrons of the restaurant sit on storage crates and the cramped space is hot, loud and absolutely exhilarating. As a kid I would wait outside to avoid the stuffy air, but on this visit I drank in every detail of the interior, from the display shelves of assorted knick-knacks (including a Michael Jordan bobblehead and multiple collections from Memphis-based record label Stax Records) to the neon sign advertising “Free Smells.” Music was playing at the perfect volume for having conversations without being overheard, and I suspected some diners would be staying late into the night, losing track of time in that liminal space. 

Tarantino is a surprising anomaly in the Thessaloniki restaurant scene for more than its decor, though. The city is traditional to a fault, famous for preserving its past and putting it on display in the form of ancient churches and monuments, but also through its food. Unlike most major metropolitan areas, very few foreign cuisines can be found in Thessaloniki, as there simply isn’t a customer base for anything other than conventional Greek food. I’ve walked all over the city and have only found two restaurants with international fares — one Mexican, the other Chinese — and both were completely deserted during peak dinner hours. Most Thessalonians are loath to try any food item that seems to them out of the ordinary.

Which is why it’s so curious that Tarantino endures as a popular place among tourists and locals. The city’s citizens flock to Tarantino as their default dive, the worn and warm atmosphere attracting people from all walks of life. At any given time, the restaurant’s low tables could be occupied by couples on dates, guys going out for beers or solo diners: there’s no stereotype that encompasses Tarantino’s customers. Even my grandfather is a fan of their food, though he does typically stick to the basic burger — if he can’t handle soy sauce, I think kimchi is probably a bit too far out of his comfort zone.

But I’m glad to see the slow emergence of internationality in Thessaloniki. Perhaps it’s just my American gluttony speaking, but I don’t think the Mediterranean diet has to be all fish and farro — everyone deserves to try fries and a milkshake. Plus, places like Tarantino aren’t just serving foreign foods, they’re also improving them. 

There’s a convenience store by my grandparents’ beach house that converts its parking lot into a movie theater during the summer, showing an assortment of new releases and cult classics (or, at least, what I assume are cult classics in Greece, since I’d never heard of half of them). Like at a county fair, the concession stand sold popcorn and hot dogs, except they tasted nothing like what you’d get anywhere in the U.S. Both were incredibly salty, as if trying to compete with the sea that the store sat next to. I remember drinking liter-sized bottles of water to quench my thirst, then spending the entire second half of the movie fidgeting in my seat as I tried to ignore my urgent need to use the restroom (yet still I would plead for popcorn bucket refills during intermission). 

I didn’t think of those concessions as American junk food transplanted to Greece; they were an entirely new species of junk food unique to Chalkidiki, just like Tarantino’s burgers are unique to Thessaloniki. I’ve yet to find a place in the States with a comparable level of creativity put into their menu and ambience. It’s not just that the burgers are better, though I do believe that’s true. It’s that Tarantino provides a burger joint experience, one I’ve never seen from American establishments that prioritize speedy service over languid loitering. 

I hope to see more restaurants like Tarantino start to come out of the woodwork in Thessaloniki, which is likely to happen since Tarantino has been celebrated on Tripadvisor and United’s travel guide to Greece, proving that there is an eager audience for less traditional dining. Even if the initial appeal is primarily for travelers, a trendy tourist spot can also be a local late night hangout, or favorite take-out place for nearby residents. I love the innovation on international foods that has slowly been breaking through the barrier of orthodoxy, demonstrating Thessaloniki’s progress toward cosmopolitanism and bringing indulgent, rich and delicious new flavors to visitors and locals alike.