ASHEVILLE — As the new owners of The Mediterranean Restaurant greeted customers and cooked omelets, Pete Apostolopoulos could finally sit on the nonservice side of the counter.

For nearly 44 years, Apostolopoulos has done about every job as the owner of what's become Asheville's oldest restaurant — everything except sit and while away the time as a customer. But there's a first time for everything.

Now, eyes still alert for anything that might need fixing, he's just beginning to feel the full weight of his retirement, which manifests in a storm of conflicting emotions.

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The shiny gold plaque recently installed on the far end of the bar marks his permanent place in this casual eatery: "Reserved for Pete Apostolopoulos," it's supposed to say, but there's an extra "U" in the name. It will be fixed, said Apostolopoulos, breaking into a chuckle, eyes twinkling.

But as he talked about his departure, those eyes filled with tears.

"It's not all about me — now it's their turn," he said, gesturing toward the quartet of new owners: Samantha and Chris Kronberg, Rachel Goodman and Eli Scott, in their 20s and 30s.

"I hope Asheville embraces them like they've embraced me," he said, his voice failing.

"Tired is a state of mind"

Now is the time for Apostolopoulos, married to his wife Paula for nearly as long as he's been married to this restaurant, to hike more through his beloved mountains, to travel with his wife, to visit some of the exchange students they've hosted — to live a life not filled with 10-hour workdays, six-day workweeks.

"Tired is a state of mind," he said.

Still, the customers who have been coming here for decades have become family. "I don't have customers in here, I have friends," Apostolopoulos said, his voice breaking.

It's those friends who have convinced Apostolopoulos that it's time to walk away.

"They told me you have to walk away before your health dictates that you walk away, because if you wait until you have a heart attack to quit, it's too late. You're missing the point of life."

Apostolopoulos is retired at 70, with a heart healthy enough to bear eight-hour hikes to mountaintops and back.

Still, in a sense, selling a restaurant is like raising a child. Do it right, and your children thrive. They flourish on their own. They don't need you anymore.

The departure can leave a parent feeling empty.

The restaurant owner who defines himself through his work can have a hard time closing that door behind him for the last time.

"For me, I hope these guys do so well that I'll be the proudest man around," Apostolopoulos said. "I started something and it keeps going on."

"It's going to be OK," he tells himself and everyone who asks if he's taking retirement well.

Apostolopoulos wanted to break poverty cycle

Apostolopoulos said the loss of his restaurant has shaken him in a similar way as the culture shock that awaited him in the United States, after a 12-day journey over land and sea carried him far away from everything he'd known so well. The year was 1967, and Apostolopoulos was barely an adult.

"For me, it's déjà vu all over again from when I left Greece at the age of 18. You leave your classmates, you leave your friends, you leave your relatives, you leave the place that you were born and you come to America — and now I feel the same feelings."

But it's time to move on, he acknowledged, just like it was time for him to come to the U.S. and find prosperity.

Apostolopoulos was born Jan. 20, 1949, during the Greek Civil War. He's from Evritania in central Greece, where the terrain is mountainous and dotted with deciduous trees that turn golden and red in the fall. The scenery has similarities to Asheville, but his village held only 30 people.

He left for various reasons, but primarily this: first-generation immigrants pay the price to end what can become generational cycles of poverty.

"At some point, someone has to step up and say, 'OK, I'm sacrificing here, this is going to stop right here. I think I've accomplished that."

He's put his two daughters through college, he said, and now they have professional lives and no student loans. He's broken his family from that rut.

"And that's why this country is what it is today," he said. "We are a country of immigrants who were paying the price."

Picking up trash, learning English

Apostolopoulos decided to move to Asheville in 1969, the same year The Med, as it's often called, opened on College Street.

But back then, Apostolopoulos worked at McDonald's on Tunnel Road, clearing food wrappers and other garbage from the parking lot. "What anyone can do without speaking the language?" he recalled.

He could have continued to speak nothing but Greek. His uncle owned Athens Restaurant on Merrimon Avenue. His cousins were all there, too. Apostolopoulos said he delayed working there so he wouldn't fall into the comfortable rhythm of hearing nothing but his native tongue.

Instead, he spent his afternoons learning English from three retired Methodist missionaries at the Brooks-Howell Home.

Eventually, he joined Athens Restaurant, and worked there for a few years. Then, in 1975, Apostolopoulos bought a piece of The Med from a partner fleeing what appeared to be the decline of downtown, two years after the Asheville Mall opened.

Apostolopoulos became the sole proprietor eight years later when founder Pete "Papa" Moysakis retired.

Since then the formula has been about the same: Keep it simple. "We didn't veer too much to the left and the right or the new fusion."

But tastes have changed, he said.

"There wasn't too much hot sauce on the counters in those days," he said, recalling the early days of The Med. Now there's a bottle of Texas Pete on every table.

"But I still can't get over the idea of people mixing bacon and chocolate together," he chuckled.

The Med will stay consistent

The fresh-baked chocolate-stuffed cookies on the counter will never have bacon in them. Samantha Kronberg said she and the rest of the ownership group, also partners in Foggy Mountain on Church Street, won't fix what's not broken.

"Honestly, it's already great here. People come in and they know exactly what they're going to order and exactly what it's going to cost, and we just want that feeling to stay. Everything about this place is consistent."

Chef Eli Scott and Chris Kronberg, who acts as kitchen support, will study some classic Greek recipes, which will appear on the specials menu, along with other newer classics, like shrimp and grits.

But it's the people who will continue to dictate what the restaurant serves. "We get suggestions all day," Samantha Kronberg said, laughing, revealing a notebook full of customer ideas.

This will continue to be a place where the working people eat. This is one of the few restaurants left in town where construction workers, lawyers, public officials, meter readers, reporters and retirees all eat together.

It's that mix of humans, that mishmash of conversation, that Apostolopoulos may miss the most about working behind the counter.

"I could see the whole dining room and people would talk about politics and anything you want to hear — people would sit at the counter and would start conversations about sports, about life, all day you interact with people," he said. "An old man overheard me a few years ago and called me over and said, 'Listen, you better build a social circle before you retire, because otherwise you'll be the most miserable son-of-a-bitch.'"

He's working on it. He plans to volunteer for Habitat for Humanity and his church. He'll also delve into more solitary pursuits he rarely has time for: reading, fishing.

He knows he needs to stay busy. He also knows he's not leaving Asheville.

"Asheville has been good for me, my customers have been good for me — and the feedback that I get from people is that I've been good for Asheville."

