My friend Yiannis Economou, at the wheel of a gravel-spitting Audi Quattro, keeps up a running commentary as we speed south over the island of Crete, passing below the snow-clad heights of Mount Psiloritis, edging along precipitous gorges, sweeping past terraced olive plantations and tiny towns. "That's Ayia Varvara, or St. Barbara," he says, pointing to a village in the distance, "famous for cherries, very small, very sweet, in season just one week a year." We pass a roadside vegetable stand laden with big, jade-green cabbages. "It's famous for those too," Yiannis says. "The cabbages are very tender. And up that road is Gergeri, famous for really great bread." Beyond Gergeri, he says, is the cave where, according to myth, Zeus was born. Or maybe where he died.