Pesto (Πέστο)

Our house in New Zealand was filled with pot plants. The living room, the TV room, the dining room, as well as the kitchen, they were all filled with all sorts of flowering plants - I remember mainly begonias - while aromatic basil was one of the most popular that my mother grew on the windowsills. Weather conditions in the land of the long white cloud meant that not everything could grow in the garden of our Wellington home, which is why the house was forced to become a greenhouse for the greater part of the year.

Basil is the most important aromatic plant in the Greek Orthodox church. When the priest blesses holy water, he does so with a cross and a large bunch of basil. When the believers file past solemnly to be blessed by the priest, he douses the basil in the holy water, pats it on the congregation's head and gives everyone the cross to kiss. On Good Friday, basil adorns the Epitaph (the tomb of Christ), being one of the main aromatic plants. No village porch or back yard is amiss of basil, which grows in various shapes and sizes, from tiny bead-like droplets to leaves large enough to be made into dolmadakia, from bushy pot plants to large outdoor shrubs, in various shades of the colour green.



I like to brush my clothes and hands past basil as I walk alongside a bush or pot plant. It leaves behind the most alluring aroma, a short-lived whiff of expensive perfume, like a highly scented rose. I'm sure most Greeks will agree that a house without basil is like a house that never sees the sun. The aroma of basil is so strong, that if you touch even one leaf, your fingers will be scented for a good few minutes.

The culinary world knows basil well. Italian cooking uses it wherever the Greek recipes call for oregano. The Venetians left behind a legacy during the time they ruled over Crete, but it seems that their culinary practices did not catch on (which doesn't surprise me as the local people of Crete did not see eye to eye with the Venetians, as is my understanding from the literature). Given its abundance in Greece, why is it that the traditional Cretan cook does not use it more often in the preparation of meals? My Psilakis (6th edition) cookbook makes no mention of its use in any recipe. We'll go to great lengths to source Tamus creticus and Solanum nigrum (both considered poisonous to a certain extent), but we won't snip off a bit of basil from our own garden to add to our dolmades mixture, even if we're out of parsley, mint, dill or fennel, the main fresh herbs used in Crete (dried herbs are usually limited to thyme, oregano and bay leaves).



Recently, a friend of mine well versed in the culinary practices of old-time Crete served me a pesto sauce using basil that she had growing in her garden, together with a good dose of garlic and olive oil. The ground almonds made it a filling protein-filled sauce for thick tubular macaroni, as well as being an appropriately scented summer meal. As this is a no-cook sauce, the ingredients have to be as pure as possible; pesticide residues and other sources of contamination that taint the aromas of the fresh ingredients will affect this meal immensely.

Despite thoroughly enjoying the pesto meal, when wanting to copy the recipe in my own home, I still couldn't bring myself to harvest garden fresh basil for my sauce. It is used in Greece by some cooks, especially in combination with tomato and capers, for spaghetti and pizza bases. Pesto is definitely not a traditional pasta sauce in Greece, but it's becoming more popular in the context of a growing interest in international cuisine. Its colour may be off-putting to the average Greek eater; green sauces are a rarity in Greek cuisine. But it is truly delicious and light, perfect as an apres-swimming meal, especially since it can be made in literally just a few minutes while the pasta's boiling.



My pesto contains my favorite summer herb, purslane, known in Crete as 'glistrida', with widespread use in salads. It is literally rampant in our garden, growing wherever there is a plant being irrigated and in all the run-off channels. Purslane has a sweet taste perfect for salad, so for a sharper spicy taste, I also added a few rocket (arugula) leaves (known as 'roka' in Greek). My only regret about purslane is that it doesn't grow in winter; as invasive as it is in summer, so are nettles in colder weather.



I was inspired to make this after seeing the Weekend Herb Blogging round-up hosted by Briciole, which included a variety of pestos all made with different greens: asparagus, purslane, and various basil varieties.

You need:
3-5 cloves of garlic, according to taste, minced finely
a wineglass of ground almonds (they are more impressive without their skin)
a small glass of olive oil
at least a cup of fresh pesticide-free purslane and rocket leaves
a teaspoon of balsamic vinegar
salt (pepper is optional; the rocket is spicy enough)

Whizzed everything together in a mini food processor, the well known multi-mouli, the time-saving arthritis-delaying kitchen gadget no cook can be without: voila, there's your sauce. Serve over tubular macaroni with or without grated parmesan. This meal needs very little else, apart from a good chilled white wine.

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Lunch at Elafonisi (Τραπέζι στο Ελαφονήσι)

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Every year, Aleko comes to Crete to spend the summer in a run-down house built by grandfather in a small village close to one of the most impressive nature spots on the south-western coast of Hania, Elafonisi, which also sports probably the most aesthetically alluring beach in the region of Hania: crystal clear water, whose rippling ground-level waves roll onto coral-pink sand, tucked away in a remote area of the province which was once extremely difficult to access. The wind always blows hard here, making the water icy cold, even in the middle of summer; maybe it's done on purpose, to keep too much development away from the area, on which point of course it has succeeded.

To get to Aleko's house, we drive off the main highway onto very narrow country roads, passing a few sleepy villages, like Topolia, which is famous for the freshness of its water. It is located on a rise, so that the melting snow from the mountains surrounding it passes the area before it gets to the town of Hania itself. We sat under a walnut tree in the central square and cooled ourselves off with some of that refreshing water, with which people fill up plastic containers and take home with them (it's legal).

The plaque at the square reads as a mantinada, a form of Cretan poetry:
Drink water from Topoliana,
which Nature freely gives,
the whole of our community
welcomes you to our village.



From this point on, the road narrows to a single lane, as it passes through the Gorge of Topolia (not the famous Samaria Gorge, but a narrow chasm nevertheless. A tunnel was built through the mountain. The traffic lights indicate which direction of the traffic has the right of way: only one car fits its width.



The tunnel leads directly to a hillside containing a cave of archaeological importance, turned into a shrine dedicated to St Sophia. Church services, even wedding ceremonies and baptisms, are held here, especially when the family concerned has been ''promised' to the saint (another meaning of dedicated: 'ταμένος').



The road then passes through the village of Elos, which gets its name from 'swamp'. It used to be a breeding ground for malaria, but is now one of the most verdant villages in Hania, home to the oldest vineyard in Crete, and an environmentally important eco-system with native flora and fauna. Water runs freely in this area, the tall trees and dense foliage being living proof of this.



The region also has one of the biggest chestnuts plantations in all of Greece.



Whenever we visit him at his house, he and his wife always make us feel very welcome: traditional Cretan festive fare is the norm - kalitsounia with mizithra, kalitsounia with vlita, summer salad, boiled chicken with pilafi, pork steaks and potato chips, all followed by a juicy watermelon. he was only sorry that we oculdn't sit outside because the wind was roaring upwards of 7 on the Beaufort scale today (the plastic chairs were flying off the verandah).



On the way to Elafonisi from Aleko's house, the road takes you past the monastery of Hrisoskalitissa (meaning 'the Virgin of the golden steps') built on the rocks above the roughest coast of the western shoreline of Hania; it stands like a sparkling gem, glistening under the glorious sun. There is a port close by to Hrisoskalitissa monastery; the area once played host to a large customs office, due to the area's inaccessibility to Hania. These times are now long gone, with the coming of extensive road networks.



The sandy dirt road leading to the beach has been widened since the first time I came to Elafonisi, but nature is still in its rawest form here. The hills rise high and dry above Elafonisi, while the coast is bordered by low dense shrubs resulting from the high winds which do not allow trees to gain any height. The trees have taken the shape of an upside down witches broom, being swept to one side as the wind blows hard against them. The water is shallow for a long way out, and you can walk all the way to an islet in the middle of the sea, from which the area takes its name, the 'nisi' in 'ealfonisi' means 'island', while 'elafo' comes from the word 'elafi', meaning 'deer': I didn't see any!

Life in the main centers of Crete do not have that air of island life that many of the smaller islands in the Aegean Sea do: fantastic beaches, seaside cafes, peace and quiet. Like many other south-west coastal towns of Crete, Elafonisi reminds you that Crete is in fact an island, even if you do have to drive a long way out to prove it.



Aleko was born in the inter-war period and raised in the village of Vathi. In his youth, there were 120 children living there; now, there are about forty permanent residents in the whole area, and they're not at all young. The houses are all still standing, but the owners have moved away to Hania, or they have immigrated to the New World, for obvious reasons: the industrial boom, better working conditions away from the fields, a higher standard of living, better chances of education for the young.

During the war, he witnessed many atrocities, not just against the people of the village, but also against what they held dear to them. Hrisoskalitssa monastery became the Nazi headquarters in the area, where supplies of weapons were also kept: guns, bullets, bombs, grenades, mines. One day, a group of Cretan resistance fighters attacked some Nazi soldiers and one of them was killed. In revenge, the enemy began to raze the village, and started rounding up the men. Aleko's house was not in the village centre, but his family could see the Nazis coming down the hill. It was mid-August in 1943, and their helmets shone like light bulbs in the sun. The family left the house and hid in the fields.



Aleko's father wasn't with his family at that moment; he'd been visiting someone in another area. He managed to get away just in time and reach his house. He found it empty and suspected what had happened. He dressed up in his mother's clothes and made his way to the fields. The Nazis paid no attention to him as they passed him on the road. When the family finally made their way back to the house, they found it burnt down, the rocks and stones in the walls in ruins. They salvaged what they could and moved their belongings into the barn where they kept their animals. Above the barn was another room, the 'onta' (a word of Turkish origin, used to denote a room above the ground floor), where the family remained until the mid-60s.



At about this time, everyone had gotten tired of living like paupers. The end of the war saw peace, but it also saw great hardship and poverty. One by one, the members of the family started moving away. Aleko's sister went to Athens, where she married and had a family. His brother went to New Zealand, and did likewise. The simple room of the house is filled with photographs of relatives abroad.

Aleko was interested in astrology, watching the moon travel from one side of the sky to the other, observing the patterns the stars make, looking out for lights in the sky that move like a comet and whizz across the darkness. His liking for star-gazing is perfectly understandable; after dusk, there was no light int he village, as it was not electrified until the mid-70s. The stars and the moon in the sky always led the way. It was only in his village that he could see the stars; wherever else he lived and worked, there were too many artificial lights obscuring the view of the clear night sky.

But there was no call for paid work of this kind in the village, so he too had to leave and get a job, like everyone else who left the area. His first job was in construction in Hania. He hated it. He grabbed the first opportunity to get on board a ship bound for New Zealand where his brother lived, leaving behind his blind and widowed mother, who eventually moved into a retirement home in Hania.

During his time in New Zealand, he wondered who would look after his trees: apart from the ubiquitous Cretan olive trees, there were fig trees,



almond trees,



and cactus figs in his back yard.



Aleko moved back to Greece with his family in the late 70s after working for a few years in New Zealand, with the intention to restore the family home in Crete and live there. Are you crazy? said his sister. What are you going to do for a living? Pick olives? Against his wishes, he stayed in Athens and found work in the ship building yards, earning just enough to make ends meet. But he never forgot his parents' house. Every year he came down to see his mother in the old people's home, and stayed at his 'patriko', restoring a wall here or a window there, adding a few bits of furniture where necessary. Now that he's retired, he can enjoy the whole Greek summer in the house where he was born. And we are very lucky that we can spend a part of our summer where nothing can be heard except the wind and cicadas.

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.