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Where the cauldron never cools
The first thing you notice is the fire. It crackles beneath a blackened pot, spitting embers onto the stone floor, while the cook ladles broth into bowls worn smooth by a thousand meals.
To Kazani opened in 1978 in a restored village house, its walls thick with the scent of cumin and woodsmoke. Generations of families have gathered around its heavy wooden tables, sharing meze plates that spill over with grilled halloumi, smoky sheftalia, and wine-soaked kleftiko. The room hums with Greek-Cypriot conversation, the clink of glasses, and the occasional strum of a bouzouki. In summer, diners spill into a jasmine-filled courtyard where the air tastes of salt and lemon.