If I could live anywhere in the world, Corfu would win without competition. I’m here right now, in the middle of a glorious week on this magnificent island, and I’m already dreading the moment I have to leave. One week feels laughably short. Next time, I’m negotiating several weeks, maybe months.
Here’s the thing about Corfu that nobody quite prepares you for: it’s green. Outrageously, extravagantly, almost offensively green. If you’ve been to other Greek islands — Santorini, Mykonos, Rhodes — you know the drill: stunning, dramatic, sun-bleached white and golden brown as far as the eye can see. Beautiful, absolutely. But Corfu threw out that rulebook entirely. This island is draped in endless olive groves, tall swaying cypress trees, and rolling hills so lush they look like they belong somewhere in Tuscany rather than Greece. And then, just when you think it couldn’t get any better, those hills tumble down into the most breathtakingly clear, turquoise-blue sea you’ve ever laid eyes on.
The warm, slightly humid air hits you the moment you step off the plane and wraps around you like a welcome hug. Swimming in that crystal-clear sea every day — sometimes twice, sometimes three times — feels less like exercise and more like an absolute privilege. I walk steep hillside paths, drive the hilariously narrow, winding roads that somehow fit two cars if everyone holds their breath, and every single morning, I roll out my mat on the balcony for pilates or yoga while the island slowly wakes up around me, already warm before 8 am.
I was here in 2021 and spent every day completely enchanted. I had already followed a keto diet for years and even experimented with this cheesy keto bread recipe while staying in a stone-built mini villa. Since the villa didn’t have a microwave, I prepared fathead dough in a saucepan — a method that turned out to be so handy that I’ve used it ever since. I’ve been quietly obsessed with returning to Corfu ever since. Now I’m back, and Corfu is every bit as spectacular as I remembered — maybe even more so.
In this post, I’m stepping away from my usual recipes to tell you about my week in Corfu — what I ate, where I ate it, and why eating carnivore in Greece feels less like following a diet and more like living exactly the way I want to live.
The Glass House with Meat on Spits
I arrived early Tuesday morning, and Corfu hit me immediately with all its usual glory — the green, the warmth, the light. I took a walk, did some work on my laptop, and by late afternoon hunger finally caught up with me.
The roadside grill in Ypsos is impossible to miss. A glass front reveals enormous spits wrapped in aluminum foil, slowly turning over charcoal — lamb, chicken, pork, and beef — and the smell does the rest of the work. No menu needed. No decisions to agonize over. I pointed at the lamb, found a spot, and waited.
The lamb was mouth-wateringly tender, juicy, and packed with that honest, straightforward flavor that only comes from good meat cooked slowly over real charcoal. The wooden cutlery they handed me was, let’s say, a creative challenge with that kind of meat — but honestly, I wasn’t complaining. Not even slightly. Sitting in the warm Corfiot afternoon air with a plate of lamb straight off the spit felt like the perfect welcome back to my favorite island.
Mornings on the Balcony
I wake up naturally somewhere between five and six every morning — that’s just me, no matter where I am in the world. Corfu or Finland, my body has apparently decided that sleeping in is not an option.
I roll out my mat on the balcony straight away. I alternate between pilates and yoga — pilates takes around 45 minutes, yoga easily an hour or more. When I start, the air is fresh and pleasantly warm, and I think to myself that this is absolutely perfect. Then, somewhere in the middle of the session, Corfu turns up the heat without any warning whatsoever. Suddenly, I’m sweating like I’ve never sweated before, with Mount Pantokrator watching impassively from the left and the sea glittering just beyond the road in front of me — a mere 10 to 20 meters away, which feels both wonderful and slightly taunting when you’re dripping.
The solution is obvious: straight into the sea the moment I’m done.
I never wake up hungry, and mornings are no exception. Occasionally though, after swimming, hunger makes an appearance — in which case a small bowl of full-fat Greek yogurt and a Meat Disc®, my own disc-shaped jerky product, sorts it out perfectly.
On most days, my first proper meal comes around noon or later — which suits me perfectly. And on Wednesday, that meal turned out to be one of the best I’ve had in a very long time.
Stroll Through Corfu Town
On Wednesday, before heading further, I stopped in Corfu Town for a couple of hours of wandering. The town is a pleasure to walk through — narrow streets, Venetian architecture, and an endless variety of stores selling everything from local foods, drinks, and crafts to the kind of tourist junk you find everywhere in the world. But even the more touristy spots felt clean and neat, which I appreciated.
One unexpected highlight: a store selling freshly picked wild strawberries, tiny and bright red, exactly like the ones we have in Finland. A lovely sight — though as a carnivore, I admired them from a respectful distance and moved on.
The heat was relentless, and after a long wander that took me close to the magnificent Old Fortress too, I was ready to sit down somewhere cool. I found a clean, simple, scenic restaurant in a central spot — not tourist-oriented, just a proper local place — and ordered a San Pellegrino sparkling water. It arrived on ice with a slice of lemon, and after that walk in the blazing sun, it felt the most refreshing thing I have ever tasted.
Along with the water came a small plate with pieces of cake — a thoughtful gesture, but not one for me. As I left it untouched, a small sparrow suddenly hopped onto the table and went straight for the cake, pecking away with great enthusiasm. I had to admire the confidence — and the timing. We both got exactly what we wanted: I had my cold sparkling water, and the sparrow got its cake.
Refreshed and ready, I got back in the car and drove to Mirtiotissa beach — and what a beach it turned out to be.
Mirtiotissa Beach
Mirtiotissa is the kind of beach that makes you understand why people fall in love with Corfu. A secluded bay tucked between dramatic, majestic green-clad hills, with sand — actual sand, which is more of a luxury than you’d think in Corfu, where rocky beaches are the norm — and water so turquoise, clean, and clear that you want to jump in immediately.
Which is exactly what I did. But first, the hill. Getting down to Mirtiotissa requires a somewhat steep descent that takes several minutes, and in that heat, it’s a workout in itself. The beach was busy and buzzing with people, large rocks dotting the sea close to the shore, the whole scene framed by those spectacular surrounding hills that make this bay feel almost hidden from the rest of the world.
The water was heavenly — not too cold, not too warm, just perfectly refreshing. After the walk through Corfu Town and the drive, sliding into that turquoise sea felt like the best decision of the day.
Then came the climb back up. Several minutes of steep uphill in the blazing heat, which was, let’s say, considerably less heavenly than the swim. But at the top, the car was waiting — and I had a very good reason to start driving.
Païdakia at Stavros, Ropa Valley
After about 20 to 25 minutes of winding Corfiot roads, I arrived at Stavros taverna in Ropa Valley. A large, basic building — nothing fancy about it from the outside — but the yard was something else entirely. Huge mulberry trees, their ripe berries weighing down the branches, some falling directly onto the car and leaving pink spots like splashes of paint. A hazard for the car, perhaps, but also somehow the most Corfiot welcome imaginable.
We sat outside, sheltered from the blazing sun under a covered area, and ordered païdakia — 1.5 kilograms of grilled lamb chops for two. When we arrived, we were the only customers, though soon a family settled in at a nearby table.
If you want to recreate this at home, I’ve also shared my own take on authentic Greek lamb chops (païdakia) — simple, honest, and all about the meat.
The lamb chops arrived on a large metallic plate, glistening, with oregano sprinkled on top and a few lemon wedges on the side — because in Greece, lamb chops and lemon wedges are simply inseparable. The waitress was perfectly fine with our request to skip the potatoes and rice, which I always appreciate. Anyone who has ever ordered just meat in a restaurant knows that look — that slightly incredulous, almost concerned expression that waiters sometimes give you. Here, there was none of that. Just the meat, just as we wanted.
From the very first bite, I was in heaven. The lamb chops were well done, incredibly tender and juicy, with that honest, pure flavor of good quality lamb cooked over a real grill. But the real star? The fat. That beyond-belief delicious, gloriously rich fat that makes your taste buds jump for joy. This was my first plate of lamb chops since last September in Naxos — where I ate them every single day — and Stavros taverna reminded me immediately why I had missed them so much.
Lamb Chops and a Grateful Cat in Old Perithia
On Friday afternoon, I drove up to Old Perithia — or Palia Perithia as it’s also known — the oldest and best preserved medieval village in Corfu. The roads getting there were as narrow and winding as anywhere else on the island, and the village sits high up in the hills, surrounded by dramatically high peaks with gloriously green tops. It was built inland deliberately, hidden from the pirates and invaders who once terrorized the Corfiot coastline. Smart thinking.
You can’t drive inside the village — you leave the car just outside, which is no hardship at all since it’s only about 100 to 200 meters (330 to 650 feet) walk in. And that walk is worth every step. Most of the village is ruins, ancient stone houses slowly being reclaimed by time, but some have been carefully renovated and brought back to life.
There are a few tavernas, some tourist shops — though nothing like the tourist junk you find on the coast or in Corfu Town, thankfully — a local honey and bee product shop, and a quietly magical atmosphere that feels completely removed from the bustle of modern life.
I ate at The Old Perithia taverna, sitting outside surrounded by those spectacular hills. I asked for lamb chops without bread and without potatoes. The waiter nodded.
Then arrived bread on the table, and the lamb chops came generously surrounded by a hefty portion of French fries. I left them untouched without any drama — it happens, and the lamb chops themselves were really good. Not quite at the level of Stavros taverna, but genuinely great nonetheless.
The highlight of the meal, however, might have been a small cat who appeared from nowhere, sat beside me with an air of quiet dignity and absolute confidence, and waited patiently for her share. She got it. Those lamb chops were too good not to share.
A Day Trip to Paxos and Antipaxos
Saturday was a spontaneous one. At 9 pm the previous night, I decided — just like that — to book an organized boat trip to Paxos and Antipaxos. No long deliberation, no careful planning. Just a late-night decision and a reservation paper in hand on the same evening.
The day started early, as my days tend to do. I woke up at 5:30 am, did an hour of yoga, swam in the sea, packed my things, and walked 15 minutes through Ypsos to the meeting point. The mini bus was supposed to leave at 7:30 am, but got going closer to 8 — a sign of things to come, organization-wise.
At Lefkimmi port, we were deposited without ceremony, without instructions, and without anyone seeming particularly interested in telling us what to do next. Eventually, we worked out that the reservation papers needed to be exchanged for boarding passes — information that would have been useful approximately thirty minutes earlier.
The boat was full, around 40 people, with plenty of open space on the top and sides for those devoted to maximum sun exposure. I, however, had secured the best spot on the entire vessel — inside, close to the door, shielded from the sun with a refreshing breeze flowing through for the entire crossing. The trip to Paxos took at least an hour, possibly more, and I enjoyed every minute of it.
Our first stop was the Blue Caves — actually two of them — extraordinary natural sea caves carved into the cliffs. We visited by boat for photos, and I now understand why people travel specifically to see them. I have seen turquoise water in many places, but nothing — nothing — like this. The color was so intensely, almost impossibly turquoise and clear that it looked almost supernatural. Like someone had decided that regular turquoise simply wasn’t enough and turned it up to maximum.
Just look at this beauty!
From there, we headed to a small beach off Antipaxos — a breathtaking stop where the boats anchored, and we jumped in, or climbed down the ladder if jumping felt too adventurous. The water here was every bit as spectacular as the Blue Caves — turquoise, immaculately clear, with a bottom of pure white sand that made it glow from below.
There was also a small, shallow cave nearby, the kind you could just walk into, which felt like a wonderful secret. We spent an hour there, swimming in that glorious water, with warm but not overwhelming sunshine overhead.
I should mention something here that I find genuinely remarkable: I have fair, Finnish skin — not exactly famous for its sun tolerance — and yet since starting the carnivore diet, I no longer use sunscreen. Or sunglasses. And I don’t burn, even on days like this one, spending hours in strong sunshine close to water that reflects and intensifies every ray. Carnivore diet benefits come in many forms, and this is one of my favorites.
After Antipaxos, we sailed to Paxos itself and had two hours to explore. By this point, I had been awake since 5:30 am, done yoga, swum twice, and hadn’t eaten a single thing all day. I was ready for lunch.
I ended up at Taka Taka, a seafood restaurant — which, as a carnivore, is an interesting choice of restaurant. I’ll be honest: I was tempted by the seafood for a moment. But seafood tends to be lean, low in fat, and not particularly filling. Lamb chops, on the other hand, are nutritious, satisfying, and have that glorious fat that my body genuinely thrives on. Païdakia it was.
The portion was on the smaller side, but perfectly enough for my hunger. The lamb chops were not as well done as at Stavros or Old Perithia, and a little tougher, but still very enjoyable — and that fat layer. Always, always the fat layer. Worth every bite.
The return journey was as loosely organized as the rest of the trip — the mini bus had mysteriously become a large bus, and again nobody told us which one to take. The ride back took considerably longer than expected as the bus wound through Corfu dropping people at their hotels. But honestly? I didn’t mind one bit. When you’ve been driving yourself around Corfu, you spend most of your time staring at the road rather than the scenery. This time, I could just sit back and watch Corfu roll past the window, all that extraordinary green and those dramatic hills, and enjoy the views properly for once.
Back at the accommodation, I finished the day with a small bowl of Greek yogurt and a Meat Disc®. The fridge, however, had other plans — it had been running so cold that the yogurt was frozen solid. Carnivore-approved frozen yogurt, as it turns out, is an excellent way to end a day like this one.
Perfect Final Day
Sunday starts like every other day in Corfu — yoga on the balcony in the early morning, cool, before the heat ambushes me mid-session, and then straight into the sea. By the time most people are having their morning coffee, I have already done more than many do in a full day.
Now, it’s time to sit down and publish this very blog post you are reading now. There is something deeply satisfying about writing about a place while still being in it, with the sea just meters away and the memories still fresh and vivid.
In the afternoon, I will head to the West coast — one last beach, one last swim in that impossibly turquoise Ionian water. Corfu’s West coast has some of the most dramatic and beautiful beaches on the island, and it feels like the right way to say goodbye to this place.
And then — because some decisions are very easy — I will drive to Ropa Valley one final time. Stavros taverna. Païdakia. That fatty meat. Those lamb chops were the best I had on this entire trip, and a farewell meal deserves nothing less than the best.
It is, as endings go, a pretty perfect one.
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