Late Tsiknopempti & Pie Cutting 2026

Giannis, a 9th-grade student (with a specialization in the analysis of… souvlaki), and Naomi, the tireless Chief Smell Officer & Head of Human Observation (with certified… BBQ radar–level olfactory skills), share what they experienced at Veluda Water Filters’ Late Tsiknopempti & 2026 Vasilopita Cutting.

Two different perspectives — one teenage-enthusiastic and one… olfactorily infallible — reveal who found the coin, who burned the sausage, and who simply came “for a bit” and ended up leaving last.

Giannis, 9th grade, writes it as he lived it ????????

Yesterday I went to Veluda for Late Tsiknopempti. To be honest, I went thinking I’d sit in a corner with my phone. In the end… I didn’t get the chance.

As soon as I walked in, I saw costumes. Real carnival costumes. People I usually see being serious, in shirts and talking about work, were wearing hats, masks, and glasses that were clearly just for laughs. That’s when I realized the day wouldn’t be ordinary.

Since noon, Mr. Giorgos had been grilling. I don’t know how he managed to stand over the coals for so many hours, but he did. And every so often someone would go over and ask, “Ready?” Classic.

The DJ? He played everything. From songs I know to stuff I thought only uncles listen to at weddings. And yet — everyone was dancing. Managers, technicians, office staff, all together. No “roles.” No “I’m this” and “you’re that.” Just people having a good time. And I think for a while, no one was thinking about work.

Then they cut the vasilopita. Mr. Vasilis cut it and everyone gathered around. It wasn’t spectacular. Just… nice. One of those moments you don’t overthink, but you feel it matters.

Rosa basically turned into a full-on animator. She was running around with the kids, laughing, organizing games. She was painting our faces, blowing up balloons (and didn’t pop a single one — success), and at the end she even gave us little gifts. She didn’t look tired at all. Honestly, I don’t know how some people manage that.

What stayed with me in the end wasn’t just the food or the music. It was that everyone seemed comfortable. Like a group of friends. Like for a few hours there were no titles or jobs.

And yeah… I didn’t sit on my phone at all in the end. ????

Editor: Naomi (Chief Smell Officer & Head of Human Observation) ????

My name is Naomi. I hold the position of Chief Smell Officer and, in emergency situations, I also assume the duties of Head of Human Observation. Compensation includes petting and occasional crumbs. I accept this.

Yesterday I was transported to Veluda for Late Tsiknopempti. At 12:03 p.m. I detected smoke. Not alarming. Gastronomically promising. Mr. Giorgos was standing over the coals with a “I’m not leaving until this is done” look. Respect. The smell? If there were a Grilling Oscar, he’d win it.

Then the human ritual began.

They approached me one after another:

“What is it, my love?”

“What’s wrong, my love?” 

“What is it?”

Let me be clear: It’s not something. I don’t have something. I’m not planning a revolution. I’m just looking. Sometimes I think. Sometimes I smell souvlaki. It doesn’t require analysis.

I also observed that the humans were wearing carnival costumes. Hats with no reason to exist. Masks that offer zero protection. And yet — they were laughing. A lot. Important note: when humans laugh like that, they stop smelling like stress. Scientific finding.

The DJ? He played everything. From songs that made me wag my tail politely to things that triggered mass, uncontrolled human shaking. And the most impressive part? Managers, technicians, office staff — all dancing. No roles. No “send it for approval.” Just people trying to remember how this song is danced.

Then they gathered around a round, sweet object. They looked at it intently as if it contained life answers. They cut it. They applauded. Someone found the “coin.” I don’t know what the coin is, but if it causes that much joy without being edible, it’s interesting.

Rosa took on multiple roles. She painted faces (thankfully not mine), blew up balloons — an extremely high-risk act in my opinion — handed out gifts, and produced children’s laughter on an industrial scale. Energy level: “I’ve had three bowls of water and I’m ready.”

And I continued observing.

Every now and then, again: 

“What is it, my love?”

The official announcement from the management department is as follows: 

Everything is under control. There is food. There is laughter. There are pets. The system is functioning.

As Chief Smell Officer, I submit the final conclusion: The atmosphere at Veluda was clean. No tension. Scented with grilled food and filled with the sound of laughter. And when people set aside their “have-tos” for a while and remember to laugh like that, they’re doing something right.

Now I will withdraw. 

Managing humans is an exhausting business.

With tail in full swing and professional dignity, 

Naomi ????????