Suvir Saran's samosa recipe

It's amazing who you can meet on facebook. I recently met... (deep breath)...:

"Top Chef Master, Suvir Saran, the author of three widely acclaimed cookbooks; Masala Farm: Stories and Recipes from an Uncommon Life in the Country (2012), American Masala: 125 New Classics From My Home Kitchen (2007) and Indian Home Cooking (2004). Saran established new standards for Indian food in America when he teamed up with tandoor master Hemant Mathur in 2004 to create the authentic flavors of Indian home cooking at the 75-seat restaurant Dévi in Manhattan, which received a one-star rating in the Michelin Guide New York City two years in a row."

Suvir's heritage and identity dominate his cooking style. They form the basis of how he approaches food. I could relate to his insistence to remain true to the Indian food he grew up with, as I have my similarly strong feelings about the main culinary influences in my life. I have been following Suvir's culinary expertise though his online photo albums, since I've always liked to cook Asian cooking in my home.

He recently posted a series of samosa photos, and I expressed an interest in making them, as I hadn't made samosa for more than two years now. The photos reminded me of the truly creative vegetarian (and often practically vegan) international cuisine that I miss. The way I cook at home would be even more monocultural if my family hadn't travelled to more international places. I told Suvir that I had decided to make samosa that evening. He was happy to hear this and asked me if I make my own pastry, which of course, I do, which he was pleased about. I nearly always have my home-made filo pastry dough sitting in the fridge, to be used for various purposes throughout the week. It's very versatile.

On his own initiative, Suvir sent me his recipe for a samosa filling, which comes from his latest book, Masala World:

2 lbs/910 g (about 6) red potatoes
1/2 cup/8 g finely chopped fresh cilantro/fresh coriander leaves
3 tbsp neutral-flavored oil (like canola or grapeseed)
2 dried red chiles, coarsely ground in a mortar and pestle
1 tbsp coriander seeds
2 tsp cumin seeds
1/8 tsp asafetida
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
2 tsp ground amchur (green mango powder)
1 1/2 tsp kosher salt
3/4 cup/100 g frozen peas

This recipe contains ingredients that I cannot easily get here. Red potatoes for a start: in Hania, a potato is a potato. It's always earth brown on the outside and creamy-white on the inside. We do not have red potatoes on the market. I have seen them in London (where I also learnt what plaintains and yams were), and really wanted to try them; but potatoes in my suitcase... oh well, maybe next time. Cilantro is not popular in Crete, although some organic shops are now selling it, and the chef at my workplace also uses it in salads, which is how I have become accustomed to its taste. But the night I was making samosa, it was out of my reach. I once grew it and no one appreciated its taste in our food... It's an acquired one, I guess; parsley will have to do instead. Canola oil and grapeseed oil do not figure in my household for obvious reasons: we grow olives, we produce olive oil, it's all extra virgin. Other oils could add another dimension to my food, but right now, I have EVOO by the barrel-full in our basement. It will have to do.


The good news is that fresh chili peppers are now becoming almost as widely available as fresh ginger, which is now a standard supermarket product. I place both in the freezer to ensure I don't run out. Chilis can be sliced and ginger grated straight from their frozen state. But certain spices, like green mango powder and asafetida, are simply not available in our little corner of the world. Through my interest in Indian cuisine, I knew that mango powder is sour and could be replaced by lemon, while asafetida gives a taste similar to onions.

I told Suvir that I will use onion in the filling instead of asafetida; on learning this, he warned me to use only a tiny bit of onion, and very very very finely minced at that.  Suvir believes that onions don't work everywhere, and in some recipes, they should only provide a hint of flavour that does not overpower the eater. In some cases - and particularly samosa, as he explained - the eater should not even taste the onion in the dish, which is why he suggested that the onion is very finely minced. On the other hand, I use onions and garlic in most of my dishes. We go through about 50kg of onions a year in our household.

This reminds me of a very funny story. The only other good cook who I know that does not like to use onion except in very small amounts is my mother-in-law. I had once bought some onions, which she noticed were all rather on the big side. She asked me what I would do if I needed only a small onion in a recipe; I told her that there would never be a time that I would need only a small amount onion! Then she asked me what I would do if the recipe required just half an onion; I said that the recipe was probably written incorrectly! Twelve years later, I have met my match!

Shaping samosa requires technique. I knew I could not master that in one evening, straight after work! Mine look quite flat compared to the samosa that I saw in Suvir's photo sets. It seemed that I had cut the pastry a little too small. While they are not perfectly shaped, I know that they were very tasty because they were made from scratch and I took great care to follow Suvir's recipe as closely as possible.



Cooking takes time and practice. It is not something everyone enjoys doing, but everyone has to eat. What we eat is not always an independent choice; sometimes we have to make do with what we've got. We've come to a point where the Western world thinks it can eat what it likes when it likes, but we also know how much we have been fooled by agribusiness, so that we are not necessarily eating what we think we are eating. Maybe the world has evolved to such an extent that we might have gone the full circle, and are now turning back to our past for more answers. All I know is that right now, if I want to eat samosa, I have to make it myself. And if I couldn't cook, then I'd have no samosa.

©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.

Cauliflower and chickpeas (Κουνουπίδι και ρεβίθια)

I like to believe that the food I present in my blog is honest, simple, frugal, cheap, tasty, nutritious, sustainable and respectful, food that is within everyone's reach. The simplest meal combinations turn out to be the ones most well remembered by my eaters, who are my family, of course. I don't use any special techniques or ingredients and I try not to waste, especially anything we grow ourselves, to show respect not only to Mother Earth, but also to my husband who spends a good deal of his time in the garden, making it a fertile one all year round.

Here's a dish I recently prepared for our evening meal. Because of the curry flavour, the kids didn't try it, so maybe it's for more mature tastes; as Mediterraneans, they are not quite up to curry flavour. The addition of the chickpeas was last minute - but I thought they paired well with the cauliflower because both these ingredients are curry staples. The addition of a form of bean to a vegetable dish makes it a complete meal that includes protein, carbohydrates and roughage.

The quantities given for the ingredients are vague; it depends on how spicy you want your meal to be, and how many people are eating. You'll notice that i'm using ready-prepared ingredients, which have been prepped myself before I need them, eg boiled soaked chickpeas (so I must be preparing a chickpea stew for these to be hanging around) and finely chopped wild aromatic greens (so I must be preparing a spanakopita at some point soon), and

You need:
some par-boiled cauliflower florets: the amount of time you cook the cauliflower depends on your taste preferences (to be honest, I overcooked mine, which made it mushy)
1 small onion, sliced thinly
a few mixed greens, finely chopped (optional - it lends a nice flavour to the dish)
curry spices: I make my own with crushed garlic, cumin seed, chili pepper, turmeric and freshly grated ginger, something I learnt to do in New Zealand and have not changed my mix since that time
some soaked boiled chickpea
salt and pepper
some olive oil




Heat some olive oil in a low frying pan. Add the curry spices and cook till the garlic is translucent (about 1 minute). Then add the onion and allow it to wilt. Add the cauliflower and allow to heat through. Then add the mixed greens (if using) and chickpeas. Again, allow to heat through before seasoning.

Enjoy the dish with some crusty bread, some cheese and olives and a bit of wine. What could be simpler - as long as you have done your homework, that is!

©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.

The way we were: Greek girl in London (Όπως ήμασταν παλιά: Ελληνίδα στο Λονδίνο)

On reflection, I find that my ideas concerning food, travel and identity have remained quite stable over the years. So has my sense of humour. Some of the places mentioned below don't exist any more. As for the people (all names have been changed), I don't know where they are these days or what they're up to.

Thursday, 13/6/91 - 7.00am The flight from Bangkok to Amsterdam was OK, but Amsterdam-London was rather turbulent. Q met me at the airport, right after I passed through all the Zone B shit. God help those without EEC passports. Lovely vegetarian meal at an Indian restaurant. The tube was eventful - at one point, I realised that no one else was speaking except for me. Q looked relieved when I shut up. Brixton is colourful, to use Q's description, but if I had a choice, this isn't where I'd set up home in the long-term. Q says she's tired of it. She initially came to the area because it felt cool.

The bathroom in this house is on the top floor. No shower, just a bath. It's got huge windows with no curtains. Felt like the whole of London could see me naked. There's a windowless WC on the lower floor.

Friday, 14/6/91 - 8.50pm Went to a karaoke bar last night with Q. Disgusting. Q lost her purse there. Got home zonked*.

Had my first encounter with London Greeks, except that they weren't Greeks. They made it quite clear they were Cypriots. Took the tube to Haringey. Walked a fair bit because my travelcard doesnt extend to Zone 3. Strolled through Greek Cypriot territory. Greek shop signs, kafeneia, food stores, music, the lot! Talked to Barbara and another two Greek Cypriots in a bakery where I bought a flaouna (80p). Kept walking along Green Lanes. Not the most inspiring of places. Just as I was about to return up the road and leave the area, I saw a house with Greek Orthodox icons on the window. Out of curiosity, I approached it to check out the sign. At that point, somebody opened the door. He asked me if I was looking for anything in particular. Turned out to be a Romanian, and there was also a Greek priest in the room. The place was a bookstore selling Greek religious material (nothing in English, interestingly enough). They served me coffee with a kourmabie over a short chat. 

I must have been day-dreaming after I left the bookshop - I got lost in the maze of streets with similar-looking houses. At one point, I decided to take a photo of all those narrow little boxes resembling toy soldiers lined up on the road in a straight line. As I put away my camera, to my horror, I saw a whole lot of Greek men staring at me - I was standing right outside a kafeneio window! Yuk!

Attended Taize prayer group with Q. Very new-age. Shut your eyes, sway to the rhythm, peace be with you,  we are all one. Groovy. It's probably more sensual to be in a group and meditate together with others than it is to stay at home and try to do this on your own. I much prefer the latter.

Saturday, 15/6/91 - 9.30am Got up this morning to find Evan in the kitchen, making his boyfriend's breakfast. Evan's a theology student. Had a chat about the Greek Orthodox church. A few minutes later, James walks in and sits at the table. Evan brought him scrambled eggs on a plate and sat it right before him. John then joined into the religion discussion. (Q told me this one's not gay.) Says he's really well versed on the Greek church. I never expected I'd be sharing a flat in London with English men who know as much about the Greek Orthodox church as I do - I haven't even been here for a week. I thought about inviting them all to come with me to a Greek Orthodox church service tomorrow, but decided against it for fear of sounding too bold. I'm supposed to be a transit flatmate. 

Everyone here seems to do their own thing. They come in and out of the house as they please. They stay in their rooms unless they come to the living room to watch TV. They label their food in the fridge and cupboards. I bought some bread and cheese from the supermarket, but I can't bring myself to start labelling it. I just hid the cheese behind a jar that looked as though it hadn't been used in a long time. The jam had congealed around the rim. 

Saturday, 15/6/91 - 7.25pm Took a bus out to Covent Garden with Q. She wanted to go to a church fair. Browsed through a lot of bric-a-brac, as well as a nice array of food. Had some chickpea chana masala, and bought a sponge scrubber for the flat. I really don't think that brush they use gets rid of everything. The fair was held near a YHA office where there were some camper shops. Want to buy an immersion heater before I set off for Europe. 

Went to Campion House at Osterley in the afternoon. Had lunch there (very filling) and a coffee in the common room. Met up with Q's friends, Giovanni and Victor. Q seems to have a lot of gay friends. She probably thinks they're exotic. Spent the rest of the day with them at the Butterfly House in Syon Park.

Sunday, 16/6/91 - 9.00pm Had originally planned to go to the Greek Cathedral, but decided to go instead to the church in Leyton. Attended Orthos, then Liturgy, and had a cup of coffee after the service. I was given directions for the monastery near Colchester, a telephone number and contact person. Before I left, the priest gave me a loaf of prosforo. Headed back to the tube where I came across Garfunkel's. Decided to have a meal there - £4.95 (service NOT included - what a laugh!!) for the salad bar. Sounds cheap, but not if you have to pay this kind of money for each meal. It's eat all you want - I made sure to eat enough for lunch and dinner. It all tasted quite good, but it was all cold. I hate cold food on a cold day. It's rained nearly every day I've been here. Middle of June and still winter. P tells me it's definitely summer in Greece now.

Got home and did a thorough cleaning of the dishes. No one ever scrubs the inside of a mug here - they're all stained with brown rings. Don't they know about sponge scrubbers??

Monday, 17/6/91 - 8.30pm Left the house with Q. Took the tube and got off at Covent Garden. Decided to walk around the city. Ended up at St James Park, bought some sandwiches and picnicked with the pigeons. Visited Harrods - wanted to buy something from there as a souvenir, but the prices shocked me to the grave. Had a coffee in their cafe just to get a feel for the atmosphere (I miss Espressoholic's cappuccinos). 

Saw a man peeing against the wall as I walked to the house after getting off at Brixton. He smiled at me as I passed him and said 'Sorry' in a sing-song accent (I guess he was Carribean). Q says this sort of thing happens all the time. 

Tuesday, 18/6/91 - 6.30pm Q's asked me to go out with her tonight. Just a quick note to remind myself of the places I visited today at Oxford: museum, St Mary's church, botanical gardens, Christ Church, Bodleian library. Liked the college grounds most of all. Students wear gowns to classes! Must be quite an achievement getting into one of the university's colleges in the first place. They need to stick out above the rest.

Wednesday, 19/6/91 - 11.15am Last night was a really late one - spent the morning sleeping it off. Eddie is coming back home tomorrow to his room, so I cleaned it up and then moved into Q's room. Did a bit of washing. Then went out with Q to her friend's house for a Twin Peaks evening. I had this idea that we'd be visiting an English person's house, but they turned out to be Australian lesbians and Cypriot bisexuals. I'm sure now that she thinks gays are exotic. I suppose it's image-boosting: "Many of my friends are gay." Having said this, Evan and James are a nice couple. They seem to be much easier to talk to than this lot. They're all gay in their own way, but the English ones appear to be more down to earth, less confused about who they are.

Wednesday, 19/6/91 - 6.40pm Decided to do my food shopping at Tony's today instead of Tesco's. The shop assistant gave me the mint for free because it was on its last legs. Also found some fennel. Brixton's shops sell nearly any food you want. The vine leaves were a little pricey. Made dolmades with cabbage for everyone. They all seem to love food with exotic names. 

  I probably didn't make lahanodolmades as good as this back then...

Thursday, 20/6/91 - 11.45pm Packed day today. Visited a number of tourist sites. Walked around Trafalgar Square, visited St Paul's. You have to PAY here to see churches!?! Museum of London (free) - very interesting. Museum of Mankind - the Palestinian costumes were more appealing than the human shrunken skulls. Tower of London - outrageously expensive, something like $20NZ to enter. We've just come back from the Phoenix Theatre: Dancing with Lughnasa.

Friday, 21/6/91 - 7.15pm Decided to be Greek for the day and visited the Archbishop. He sounded only too pleased to have me as a guest in his office. Told me not many Greeks come to see him just out of interest. I tried to explain the make-up of the Greek Community in Wellington, but I think I lost him a bit there. He couldn't understand what I meant by Greek-Romanians. I was invited to the dance held by St Sophia's church at the end of the month. The Archbishop said he'll pass on my name and number to one of the organisers.

Just as I was leaving the Archbishopric, a Greek priest from K______ came to the office. Apparently, he's in London for an eye operation and comes to the Archbishopric every day to be fed. I couldn't work out if he was begging, or just genuinely poor. The way he spoke sounded a little melodramatic, like I was watching an old black and white Greek film. Stopped off at McDonalds for a meal. Don't remember McDonalds salads in Wellingon tasting so revolting. 

Q's off this evening. Thinks she's got something going with Paolo (all her boyfriends have foreign-sounding names), so she doesn't want to waste any chances. I won't see her until after the weekend. James suggested a walk in Brockwell Park to celebrate Solstice Day, the longest day of the year. It made me a little homesick - Mum and Dad just experienced the shortest night of the year, all alone. Must remember to give them a call very soon. James was at Eton, he's visited Mt Athos, and dabbled with Orthodoxy when he got back to the UK, which is how he met Evan. He's been around a lot of men most of his life. Weird that they don't live together. Something to do with wanting to be independent from what I understood. He really liked my exotic-sounding dolmades - he ate all the leftovers when we got back to the house. It's a nice feeling knowing your food's been appreciated. 

Saturday 22/6/91 - 7.30pm Visited Greenwich today. Docklands was supposed to be on the agenda too, but the monorail wasn't working - no trains at the weekend. Had to take the bus. I prefer them because they're slower than trains and you see more from a bus window. Even the way people walk on the street looks different to me. Greenwich market is fascinating: so many goods, colours, people. Bought a pair of cullotes, even though I constantly worry about my financial situation. I don't want to overspend, but I don't want to feel like I'm bludging either.

I feel so alone today. The gays are away, but John and Eddie are both in the house. Eddie keeps to his room, John moves from his room to the TV room. I feel like I'm intruding, so I just stayed in Q's room. Maybe a youth hostel would provide more solace than this. Packing a day bag to go to the monastery tomorrow.

Sunday 23/6/91 Arrived at the monastery - not without problems! Underground was slow, missed the 8am train to K______, couldn't find a taxi at T______, couldn't even make a public phone call from the one and only phone box. A grocery was open so I asked the nice looking blond shop assistant if he could help me out. He told me the monastery wasn't really within walking distance, so he called up a taxi for me. I asked him how much the call cost but he didn't ask for money. And they say the Brits save up their coppers! Love the English countryside - so different to urban London.  It looks like a much simpler place to live in. Most people are trapped in their urban routine though.

The service was long, the church was full. Quite a few converts - Sister X told me there's an equal ratio of converts to Orthodox-born. Some people overdid the religious routines here. Reminded me of Kiria D______; they make her look benign. Also some glamour girls coming in the latest fashion - a little inappropriate for a monastery. When I told them I was from NZ, they asked me 'Are there other Greeks there?' Attending Greek church is definitely an identity thing, sticking to your own kind. They reminded me of Mum's intermarriage fears. Cyprus is only four hours away if they wanted to find spouses for their sons and  daughters, so I can't understand what their problem is. Interestingly, I found more Greeks here rather than Cypriots. The meal afterwards was completely lenten. I was allowed to stay overnight, and shared a room with two other girls, one Cypriot (English accent), the other Greek (Greek accent). They wanted to keep their conversations private, and treated me like I wasn't in the room. Apparently, they come here often, so they're used to treating stranger-visitors like myself as invisible. I was exhausted anyway, so I had a lie-down, but I couldn't help overhearing them. Caught on that the Cypriot was recently divorced from an Englishman and has a sister who's a nun in Greece. He probably got tired of too much religious mumbo-jumbo. They thought I couldn't understand their conversation in Greek because I told them I was from New Zealand. The Cypriot girl asked me what language we speak there!?! The Greek girl wasn't even interested. I think they think I'm a New Zealander, not a Greek. 

Was in for a treat - first decent shower I've had since I arrived in the UK.  

Monday 24/6/91 Today's much quieter, with all the picnickers and bride- or groom-seekers gone. Apart from church services, the nuns and monks go about duties like cooking, gardening, cleaning, reading. After breakfast, I took a walk with one of the nuns in the fields. She's a convert. Told me she lived a totally unholy life before coming here and finding inner peace. We spoke about a lot of things, all basically to do with making life choices. I kept thinking of Maslow's needs theory as I talked to her: when you've got most of the basic problems in life sorted out for you, you've got plenty of time to think about sorting out your priorities. The monks and nuns seem to like to do the talking here. I think they're trying to pass on messages, and maybe their words are more important then mine. She gave me a book as a present. It's got some nice ideas in it for Sunday School. 

Also met J, a very young-looking Greek girl who wants to be accepted as a nun and is currently undergoing training of some sort. She was due to start a PhD when she decided to come here instead. I can't believe she's doing this to herself; she still wears drainpipe jeans under her tunic.

Tuesday 25/6/91 - 7.00pm Arrived back at the house with a feeling of fullfilment which I didn't have before I went to the monastery. Everything looks strange and distant outside the Greek environment. Would like to return for a second visit. Wellington Greeks need this kind of group because it gives them a more coherent identity. 

Nikos (Cypriot) called me about the dance, church service and bible class. Interestingly, he said he was at the monastery the day before I arrived. These people are regular followers, but something drives them back to London. In or out?

Never going to those Taize groups again. The Jesus Prayer works so much better. 

Wednesday 26/6/91 - 1pm It's pouring today. Feeling like a drowned rat. Tried the Jesus prayer last night. Managed to make it last ten minutes before I got distracted. It was much easier to read the nun's book. Just about to board the bus to Swansea. 

Thursday 27/6/91 - 3.30pm Recognized G's parents immediately. They picked me up from the station and had a lunch ready for me: lasagne, salad, jelly and peaches. Feels like home! Then G's friends took me out to the Rock and Fountain where G used to work. Met up with their mates there and I had two bacardi-and-cokes. Not that I wanted the bacardi - I just felt I had to drink it, because they expected me to do so! TG they all go home early - all I wanted was to be vertical for a few hours.  

G's father showed me the office he keeps in the attic. A bit precarious allowing him to climb up that ladder at his age! Caught a glimpse of the morning paper - the headline was about a Thai butler and a dead family in Athens. OMG. Went out to Roshili, then Oxwich in the Gower peninsula. G's parents treated me to the best meal I've had out so far: a pub lunch! We came home with the rain. J and S have invited me to Mumbles on Friday night. More alcohol, I suppose.

Friday 28/6/91 - 8.10pm Too many distractions for prayers. I've only just remembered them, now that I look back on my diary notes. G's mum cooked up a large lunch today for G's cousin's arrival. Then G's cousin took me out for a drive to Mumbles - the romance of a summertime beach holiday is somewhat drenched out by the drizzle! Passed by a grocer's - intriguing array of fruit and veg. G's cousin picked up a lettuce for G's mum. As she was paying for it, I noticed the price: 5p. Back home for dinner. I do feel sorry for G's mum: she prepared another meal for us, her husband was drunk and her niece buys her a 5p present.

Monday 1/7/91 - 1.00am Can't sleep, so I'll just fill in the last few days' events. Friday night: Mumbles pub with J and S - more bacardi cokes. Felt a bit like Coronoation St coming alive. G's friends love a good gossip - they weren't surprised at all about the 5p lettuce! Saturday: took a leisurely stroll around G's village. What a delightful place. She must love coming back here. I can understand why she needed to leave in the first place. It's just too small. Took the bus back to London in the afternoon. Sunday morning: St Sophia's - very Anglo-Orthodox feeling in that church. The choir chants Byzantine verses using Anglican organ tunes! Nikos found me after the service (how on earth did he recognise me?) and suggested I stay for bible class - that went on until the early afternoon. Not even any mention of lunch! Then off to a fete in Wood Green; got a peek into a Cypriot-English wedding, and finally The Dance. Sat at a table with Andrew and his parents, who were obviously hawking around innocent young Greek girls in the churches to save their son from intermarriage. Dances finish early here so everyone can catch a train before midnight. No one even asked to chaperone me back to the station! Changed carriages to avoid a nutter in the one I got into first. Felt a little scary walking back home on my own at midnight. This is London, after all.

Monday 1/7/91 - 10.45pm Thinking of leaving London for Europe. Everyone goes to Paris, so I suppose I'll go there. Just returned from another young people's bible class that Nikos' friends had invited me to. Except that there was no bible class = it was more of a complaints session. They have similar church/priests/parish problems as we do back home. One group is obviously more educated than the other; each group sticks to their own kind. They don't see eye to eye. While there, I met up with Father D, KP's uncle - small world! He asked how she was doing. I didn't divulge what I knew about her, but he spilled the beans anyway. Apparently, he knows all about KP's problems with Dirty Den, who was supposedly a VIP during his time in London. He gets by purely on charm. 

Had a heart-to-heart chat with the priest. He told me straight out that he was angry with the youth group about hiring a Greek band to play at a concert for £350, all for just a 40-person turnout. Bad organisation all round. The way they explained it to me, I felt that they'd done nothing to promote the concert, hence the bad ticket sales. I wanted to tell them all about how we planned Wellington's Greek Week, but I was waiting for the bible class to start. Hung around for at least an hour, but nothing. Decided to head back home. Good example of their organisational skills - they run on Greek time!

Bought some chips on the way home at a shop run by Greek Cypriots. These guys looked really shady - ponytails and dark eyes. The Egyptian assistant was more approachable. Q's due home tomorrow.

Tuesday 2/7/91 - 10.45pm Charing Cross Road has great bookshops - particularly liked Sister Moon. Spent the morning reading - feels nice to get back into this habit. But I can't buy anything, because it will really be too much to carry in a backpack round Europe.

Went to see Where Angels Fear to Tread in the evening with Q - £5.50 for the cheap seats. Now I know what John Lennon meant by 'rattle your jewellery'. After the film, we decided on dinner at a Chinese restaurant. Went to Wong Kei's where we were abused, so we left and went to another Chinese restaurant in the same area. The waiter asked Q for her name, address and number. She didn't oblige, so he then asked me. I didn't oblige either. Think I'll stick to Indian restaurants from now on. TG they're all gay or attached at the house. I've never seen John and Eddie's girlfriends, but supposedly, they do have one.

Captain Peacock: Mr. Humphries, are you free?
Mr. Humphries: I'm just pricing my ties, Captain Peacock.
Captain Peacock: The gentleman wishes to try on a dress.
Mr. Wilberforce Clayborne Humphries: I'm free!
Customer: It's for a fancy dress party.
Mr. Humphries: Oh yes. Thats what they all say.

Are you being served? Excerpt (12:00) from Season 3, Episode 3 

Wednesday 3/7/91 Was excited to get a postcard from Richard. It's a good feeling to know that I now have some direction in my travels with a fixed destination in mind. Will make my way to Nurnberg. Prepared a meal for all the housemates. Q and I are at the point of clashing. It's true what they say: best friends should never live together. Making plans to leave asap. 

Thursday 4/7/91 - 10.15am Left Brixton (hooray) for Paris. On train to Dover. Got a Scot and a Russian for company.  (to be continued)

*** *** ***

In June 1991, I left my home of 25 years to do my big OE, the customary work-and-leisure travel that most New Zealanders undertake at some point in their lives to experience life beyond their country's borders. In those days, most Kiwis headed for Europe via London, and often ended up in Asia before (if indeed) returning home. I bought a one-way ticket to London where I stayed for three weeks, before embarking on my continental travels through Europe over a period of two months, eventually arriving in Athens in September. I had thought about travelling through Asia on my return to NZ, but that never ended up happening because, as most followers of this blog know, I ended up staying in Europe. Maybe (probably) I ended up in Greece through a process of self-discovery - the above-mentioned 'more coherent identity' - which I found here.

Although I had kept a diary before that (albeit at irregular intervals), this was the first time I felt the need to keep one systematically. For this reason, that particular diary was the only one I ever kept. The diary sat, for many years, on the bookshelf of whichever house I was living in at the time. The notes I kept show my first glimpses of London as I saw it 21 years ago. All the excerpts above have been taken from this diary, in a slightly edited form. My photographs were taken between June 1991 and January 1992. The youtube video reveals some background to my informal education on London life and homosexuality.

*Honest to God, I don't remember ANY of this.  

Thank you to all those who read this before I posted it.

©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.

Curried Greek pancetta (Μπατζέτα με κάρυ)

It's BBQ day today - porkchops, sausages, chicken and pancetta pork cuts, which are not strictly pancetta, but the cuts of meat resemble strips of this Italian cured meat, and have adopted their name. We cook them as any Greek would do: marinated in a lemon, salt, pepper and oregano mixture, BBQed till well done (no pink meat for the Greek, thank you), all on a charcoal grill. It's good value meat, but it can get a little boring (unless you're a Greek, and you'll never get bored of eating the same food over and over).

I thought I'd try something different with a few of the pancetta cuts. I love working with different spices, but I hate the word 'curry'. It reminds me of mass-produced packaged ground spice mixtures. When using foreign spices, there is always the problem of combining the wrong spices, something that wouldn't be compatible in the cuisine of the culture that uses them regularly. For example, in a Greek kitchen, it is rare to use turmeric and ginger. To understand what they go well with, I decided to try something that sounded genuine to a particular region. I have come across an Indian recipe from Kerala which marinates lamb chops in a mixture of spices common to curries before cooking. This is not much different to what we do, except that the spices are Mediterranean (as stated above). The recipe is repeated below for convenience (with the slight changes that I made to adapt it to my kitchen):


To marinate the meat of your choice, you need:
1/4 cup olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon coriander
1 teaspoon turmeric
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
salt to taste


Mix the dry spices and salt together. Heat olive oil in a heavy pan. Turn off the heat. Add the garlic followed by the powdered ingredients. When it cools, add lemon juice. Marinate the meat in this mixture for at least an hour. Grill the meat till it is done to your liking.

It made a nice change to the regular Sunday BBQ. We had it with a tomato salad, some fried potatoes, and a few lovely cold beers. If I were making this again, I would definitely combine some fresh minced ginger into the spice mixture to give it a more genuine 'curry' flavour. This meal would have been digested even better if our son hadn't hit his head on a bathroom tile and split it open, just as soon as we had finished licking the last bone, washed down with a few beers. With alcohol on our breath and our clothes smelling of charcoal meat, we rushed him to hospital. Thankfully, he only needed two stitches. All is well.

©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."

Pumpkin soup (Κολοκυθόσουπα)

I've been making pumpkin soup since I started living on my own, and started taking charge of my own kitchen, cooking things I never ate at home, mainly due to a lack of interest on the part of the chief (and only) cook in our traditional Greek home. Mother didn't want us meddling in her kitchen. It was her 'myspace'. Now that I'm a mother myself, I understand my own mother better; I hate it when someone takes charge of my kitchen. My husband gets an earful when he chops bread and doesn't clear the crumbs, or when he drags in garden produce and strews soil all over the worktop.

I've always had a love for spicy food, so when I was given a pumpkin recently by my uncles (bachelor experienced farmers), I couldn't wait to turn it into pumpkin soup. My last round of soup-making involved a recipe by a famous chef turning leeks and potatos into something delicious called 'potage', so I was willing to give Gordon Ramsay another chance. I found a Gordon Ramsay recipe on the bfeedme website.

One thing that must be pointed out is that Gordon Ramsay's name has been used by a food blogger, who obviously hasn't tried the recipe themselves. The recipe was actually copied straight from a timesonline food article, which obviously had been misprinted: one of the biggest problems with the recipe (both timesonline and bfeedme) was that it listed apples in the ingredients, but didn't mention what the apples were doing in the recipe. Do they get browned with the onions, or boiled in the stock? Were they not supposed to be there at all? (In any case, I am not a great fan of mixing my sweet with my savoury, so I left them out all together.)

I did a quick check of other pumpkin soup recipes (as I have always called orange squash myself), and found that they were all roughly the same as Gordon Ramsay's poshly named 'lightly spiced butternut squash soup'. PumpkinPatches does a nice job pointing out that it's easy to boil and mash pumpkin rather than buying canned pumpkin mash, elise adds more heat to some mass-produced curry powder, myhouseandgarden adds potato (instead of carrot, as PumpkinPatches did) and so on, and so forth. Gordon's soup is just another variation of the others.


My next quibble is with the callous manner which cooks use the word 'curry', meaning curry powder. For a start, authentic South Asian cooking does not use a ready mix of spices, nor do they use the word 'curry' in the way we have associated the word with any spicy-hot Indian dish. In actual fact, meals are prepared with individual spices, not a general melee of cumin-smelling (as mild curry is usually made of) or chili-tasting (as hot curry is usually made of) powders. And for the real taste of a good 'curry' (pardon my use of the word), it is important for the cook to grind the actual spices into powder before using them. This is the reason why I never have mass-produced curry powder in my kitchen and why I like to have a well-stocked spice cupboard. It sounds so labour-intensive making your own spice mix; I've tried this before, and it really is worth the effort.


Here's a basic recipe for spicy pumpkin soup, without resorting to mass-produced powders or tinned products procedures.

You need:
2 tablespoons of olive oil
15g butter (the mix of oil and butter gives the soup a spicier taste, but you can use oil only for a lenten meal)
2 onions, peeled and chopped
3 cloves of garlic, chopped finely
2 bay leaves
a small piece of minced fresh ginger (thanks to the influx of economic migrants into Crete, this is available in most supermarkets; you can use powdered ginger if you don't have any fresh stuff)
1/2 teaspoon of turmeric powder (fresh turmeric root is not available in Crete)
1/2 teaspoon of ground cumin seeds
1/2 teaspoon of ground coriander seeds
1 teaspoon of ground dried chili peppers
salt and freshly ground black pepper (here's a tip: grind all the spices together in a pestle and mortar; it will save heaps of time)
1 litre hot chicken stock (I use stock cubes because chicken stock in our house is always turned into pilafi)
250g peeled cubed pumpkin, cut into cubes
a handful of parsley leaves, chopped (it would be great to have fresh coriander instead, but this is not readily available in Crete)
Heat the oil and butter, then add the onions, garlic, ginger and ground spices. It is important to sizzle the spices in the oil because it adds more flavour to the dish. Stir well, then cover the pan with a lid and cook over a low heat for a few minutes until the onions begin to soften. Tip in the squash and stir it around, being careful not to let it stick to the bottom of the pot. Cook for about 10-12 minutes over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the squash is tender and lightly caramelised. Pour in just enough hot stock to cover the vegetables and gently simmer for another 5-10 minutes. Fish out and discard the bay leaves. In batches, purée the soup in a food processor or liquidiser until smooth. Return the soup to the pan to reheat. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Ladle the soup into warm bowls and garnish with the parsley.

Pumpkin soup doesn't look like much, just a bowl of orange-coloured goo. That's why the flavour of the spices is so important. Some people also add cream to this soup, but pumpkin is so creamy in itself that it seems like a waste of extra calories to do this! And you know you can also freeze it in small servings, too. This soup goes really well with some roast meat - Gordon apparently serves it with pancetta, a kind of fatty rasher of pork (similar to a bacon slice). In Greece, this is a small fatty pork chop, readily available at the supermarket meat counter.

©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.

MORE SOUPS:
Chicken stock
Poached fish soup
Fennel soup
Avgolemono
Leek and potato potage
Lentil soup
Bean soup
Black-eyed bean soup
French onion soup
Fish soup

Lazy Saturday meal (Κοτόπουλο με κάρυ - Λαχανοσαλάτα)

There are many days (plenty of them) when we can't be bothered with food. Today was one of them for me. A cabbage salad with grated carrot and slivers of pointy red peppers was dressed with salt, olive oil and wine vinegar (the common variety used in Greece). This was the accompaniment to some free-range chicken browned in olive oil with chopped onion, minced garlic and some more thinly sliced pointy red peppers, all doused with a bottle of ready made tikka masala sauce poured over it, in which it simmered for an hour - free-range chicken meat is tougher than indoor-reared chicken, so it needs a longer cooking time. Crusty bread is a must for the thick sauce that is produced by the various fats in the pot. We also had a choice of rose and white wine. A very simple, and very satisfying meal.

©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.

MORE SALADS:
Summer horta
Winter horta
Lettuce salad
Salad advice
Greek village salad
Cretan salad
Beetroot salad

Banana chocolate lassi (Ρόφημα με μπανάνα)

I loved milkshakes when I was young, like my kids do now. I had no idea what went into them, but they sounded healthy because they had the word 'milk' in them. I stopped drinking milk for breakfast form a very young age, so I though I was doing myself a favour to have a milk-based drink; good for my bones, I would get myself to believe. We all know what lured me to them: they contain generous amounts of sugar and fat-based products, so that their taste is nothing like milk, and more like high-calorie addictive junk food. Do strawberry milkshakes really contain strawberries? If it's winter, strawberries will have to be imported (and therefore increase CO2 omissions), so it's going to be expensive, not to mention wasteful, to make. What about a banana milkshake? If it comes particularly yellow in colour, then it doesn't contain banana - banana flesh is creamy white, not yellow.

So what does go into a milkshake? For a start, the invention of milkshakes goes hand-in-hand with the progress in technology; no matter how hard or long you beat milk, cream, butter or ice-cream, you'll never get the lump-free smooth creamy consistency of a milkshake unless you use some kind of machine to do it. So milkshakes, unlike their name suggests, are an artificial drink. Milkshakes always contain a thickening agent like flour. The addition of (high amounts of) sugar also thickens liquids. Ice-cream is an easy option for making milkshakes, because it contains all the ingredients needed to make one: sugar and dairy products (not necessarily milk or cream), plenty of sugar and thickening agents like fat and flour. Worst of all, think how many scoops you need to fill a tall glass, as milkshakes are traditionally served in. Wouldn't you have been better off having one scoop of your favorite ice-cream rather than one milkshake? Although they had always been a treat in my youth - I don't think I have had more than a couple of dozen of them in my whole life - I stopped having them permanently once I became highly weight-conscious. My 5-year-old's having his second chocolate milkshake in his life so far.

Talking about milkshakes, why not try the lassi version instead? The Indian lassi drink is very popular these days. It's so much more trendy to say you're having a lassi than a milkshake. But it's the same thing, really, it's a milk-based shake. We've all heard of mango lassi. It was invented in a third world country, it is not a technology-based food item, and mango was the first fruit to be associated with it. But let's face it, we don't all live in countries where mangos are widely grown. Our mango tree produced just two this year, so I couldn't expect to make mango lassi the whole summer long. So why not try making lassi - or smoothie, call it what you like - with any readily avaialble fruit with a thick consistency similar to that of mango? A cheap and common alternative, despite its undesirably high level of carbon footprints required to get it to our fruit baskets, is the humble banana. I had a couple of over-ripe bananas in the house, the type that grow black spots on their skin, despite having no blemishes in their flesh. Beauty is only skin deep, but my children are too young to understand that, whereas my husband is too childish to believe it; he also scoffs at black-spotted bananas. Here's what I made with one. I did use a blender, because it makes life easier. But if the banana is really ripe, you can mash it up using a fork (I suppose).

You need:
a ripe banana
1/2 cup low-fat milk
1/3 cup thick yoghurt (of course I used Greek strained yoghurt, but if you can't get that, try using more yoghurt than milk to get the right consistency)
1 teaspoon of honey (or more if you have a sweet tooth)
2 teaspoons cocoa (or children's chocolate milk powder - this is optional; I add it to make a more child-friendly version of a milkshake)
Make sure the banana, milk and yoghurt are very cold. Put all the ingredients into the blender. Blend till the banana leaves no lumps in the mixture. Pour into a tall glass. A straw helps.

©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.

MORE HEALTHY SNACKS:
Banana cake muffins
Apple cake
Carrot cake muffins
Chocolate walnut pancakes
Kalitsounia
Ladenia pizza
Marathopites
Prasopita
Fruit crumble
Sfakianes pites
Spanakopita
Tiropitakia
Dakos rusk
Corn fritters

Mango lassi (Ρόφημα με μάνγκο)

Lassi is a kind of yoghurt drink originating in Asia. Milk is added to make it runny, and honey and/or spices are added for taste. I checked out a range of lassi recipes on the web (Jamie Oliver, elise, indiasnacks, bbc) and found that they all contained runny yoghurt and milk, the remaining ingredients all being a matter of individual taste. I enjoyed the drink in a Pakistani restaurant in London, but it didn't seem to taste the same in my own home. I tried making it with some tinned mango pulp, but it didn't taste that spectacular. Another time, I made it with fresh mango pulp from imported mango; very nice indeed, but I wouldn't say any more genuine. I wonder what the difference is between the yoghurt used in Asia and the runny Greek cow's milk yoghurt (a local variety produced in Crete) that I used. I could taste the tangy flavour of the mango (unlike with the canned variety). It made a refreshing breakfast. I whizzed the ingredients (along with some honey to sweeten it) in a blemder, and put the drink in the fridge. We have a mango tree of our own in one of our fields in the village - it gave us two mangos this year. For the sake of mango lassi, I hope it prospers.

©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.

MORE HEALTHY SNACKS:
Banana cake muffins
Banana lassi
Apple cake
Carrot cake muffins
Chocolate walnut pancakes
Kalitsounia
Ladenia pizza
Marathopites
Prasopita
Fruit crumble
Sfakianes pites
Spanakopita
Tiropitakia
Dakos rusk
Corn fritters

London cuisine (Η Λονδρέζικη κουζίνα)

On our recent trip to London, we went to town food-wise. The previous year, we cooked some meals at my cousin's home to save money, and also because we visited at a time when it got dark very early and it was bitterly cold - most days averaged around 5 degrees Celsius, highly unsuitable temperatures for my two kindergarten children. But this year, as we were staying in a hotel, it was clearly not feasible to be preparing our own meals. Besides, my children were now at primary school, so they were easier to deal with. So we would take a picnic lunch on some days on our daily excursions (or buy takeaways when our Cretan mizithra and paximadi ran out!), and on most nights, we would eat out. On our first night, P led us to the famous (if slightly infamous) Wong Kei on Wardour St in Chinatown, the rudest China diner in London. We were lucky to find a table on our own (most people were sharing tables wherever there was a free seat). The most memorable dish was the crispy fried duck, cut and boned with a spoon(!) and the thin eggy pancakes. Apart from noodles, Aristotle and Christine ate 'souvlaki'; that's what the crispy fried duck in a pancake resembled! I must congratulate them on their relaxed attitude to foreign food. They have a more mature outlook concerning international cuisine than most Greek children their age.

On Sunday night, P wanted to meet up with us in Brick Lane, so after leaving Platform 9 and 3/4s at Kings Cross, we passed by the Ten Bells pub (aka Jack the Ripper's haunt), and ate at Preem. We ordered some curry dishes, which resembled saucy Greek meat casseroles and stews, the main difference being the hot and spicy additions. No wonder Indian people are overweight like the Greeks; I do believe that there must be such a thing as Indo-European cuisine, not just languages! Coincidentally, we had eaten exactly across the road from this place last year at a restaurant called Shampan; the meal there differed very little from the one we ate this time round.

On Monday, we ate the leftovers of yesterday's restaurant meal (all packed up for us in a doggy bag) at a park near the Imperial War Museum. The long weekend had tired us out, so we didn't want to go out that night. Our hotel was just round the corner from Earls Court underground station, where there is a plethora of fast food restaurants. The children chose Burger King; they also asked us why there was a man lying on the ground in a sleeping bag outside the premises, so we had to find a way to introduce so sensitive a topic to them such as homeless people. We bought burgers and chips; not exactly healthy, but the kids loved it. We also ate breakfast there once as we did not get up early enough to have it at the hotel, and I swear the coffee tasted like murky water.

On Tuesday, we waited for P at Shoreditch, and went to Whitechapel to a restaurant called Lahore. The staff made our children feel very welcome, and they even had a TV blaring loudly - there was a major soccer match being televised on the night we went. Some of the diners looked as though they couldn't have cared less about the food, as much as they cared for drinking alcohol while watching a televised sports of event of a national sport. Aside from the kitsch, this was Pakistani cuisine at its best. We started off the meal with a mango lassi, and went on to eat the most succulent BBQ lambchops I have ever tasted in my life, spiced up in South Asian style. We were also able to view a tandoori oven close up; the naan bread was heated up in it, simply by being stuck to the side of this oven!



On Wednesday, I had the clever idea to stay at the hotel and prepare a meal in the kitchen because we were due for a long trip out to Cambridge the next day, and I wanted to be fully prepared for it and have an early night in to get up very early the next day to catch tubes, trains and buses to Duxford Air Museum. I regret not going out instead, as our dinner that night consisted of canned giant beans and meatballs in tomato sauce, which I'd carried in our suitcase in readiness for a cheap night in at the hotel. I can now understand why people might go off Greek food; at least they weren't baked beans! But never again - in London you can eat anything you want at the price you want.

On Thursday, after a very long but interesting day-trip out of London, I decided that we would not have time to eat out or even buy takeaways, as our train left from Cambridge at 7pm, and arrived at Kings Cross at 8pm, after which we had to make our way to Earls Court by tube. So we did what I suspect most London commuters do when they're too tired and bothered to prepare a meal after a long working day: before we boarded the train at Cambridge, we popped into the Marks and Spencers Simply Food outlet at Cambridge station and bought ourselves a variety of sandwiches, a salad, some corncobs, two tropical fruit juices, some carrot sticks in a dip, a couple of packs of crisps and a dessert. My husband's idea to eat once we got home was tossed out the (train) window when we saw what our fellow ommuters were doing; we tucked into our meal, and my most memorable part of that journey was watching my very tired children eating as if they had never seen food before. They scoffed the lot. In fact, they were so well revived by the meal that they didn't feel sleepy when we reached the hotel, despite having been on the road since 7am, and spending over six hours walking around a huge open-air museum. We could have gone out for walkies at this point, save the fact that we were in our PJs!

On Friday, it was pissing with rain, so we decided that we would have to visit a museum, where we would stay till closing time, and then meet up with P. We ended up eating a rather early lunch close to St Pauls' in the City at a cafe called Piccolo's, a place which served lots of ploughman's lunches for burly construction site workers, as well as more refined meals like chili con carne and curried chicken. Quite a few businessmen also had lunch or coffee there, while they were constantly on their cellphones. The food there was very hearty, and I liked its light taste. It filled you up and it wasn't too oily. The dining room area was the most intriguing part of the visit. It reminded me of Charles Dickens' Christmas story; with its red brick-built walls, it looked like an underground sewer that had been drained and turned into a dining room. The roof was covered in brick arches, and in one corner, there was a disused fireplace. All that was missing was a poor Victorian family huddling around it. I could imagine a family of wretches living there in the 1850s; either that, or it could have been the kitchen area where the cook would prepare meals downstairs, then put it in the hatch (there was one above the fireplace) and ring the bell for the servants to pick up upstairs and serve it to the lady and the lord who lived there. There were no windows, so whoever lived or worked there could never see the sun, or get any fresh air. Spooky if you have never seen this sort of place before. The waitree, interestingly enough, was Portuguese. Being a bold traveller, I asked her about how she ended up in London, and what her future plans were. She opened her heart out to us; I suppose she didn't often see families coming in to this diner and she could relate to us as fellow Mediterraneans. She had left Portugal with her husband because of the high unemployment they both faced there. They were both working in various jobs, trying to save as much money as they could in order to go back home for good one day. She had gotten very depressed lately, because of the high cost of living in an overcrowded city with a bad housing situation - she and her husband lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment, which cost them most of her own pay from working at the diner. She couldn't even think of having children becuase of the expenses and the lost income. She also complained about the food; Portuguese specialties were not easy to obtain of course, and when they were available, they were quite costly. She told me she didn't know how long she would be able to endure London life, and being away from her family. I felt sorry for her. She reminded me of my parents who left their villages in Crete because they were poor and knew that they had no prospects of self-improvement in their own homeland. My own success in this globalised world is due in part to their sacrifices.


On Saturday, after another long day-trip (how we managed to visit both Kew Gardens and Hampton Court Palace in one day, and then stroll right along the South Bank from London Eye past Waterloo Bridge and back, together with two toddlers, only I will ever know), we felt like a quick pizza meal. We wanted to eat in, and we actually managed to find a pizza chain - Perfect Pizza in South Kensington - that served up mainly deliveries and takeaways, but it also had two (just two) tables with five stools (in total) if anyone felt like eating in. Talk about cramped for space! We ordered the works: a pizza, coleslaw, baked potatoes and fried chicken wings. Good value stodge, washed down with fizzy drink. My husband said he'd neved eaten such good pizza before. I tend to view all junk food as junk, so I couldn't see his point.

On Sunday, after a beautiful day out, walking around the camden Town markets and sampling all sorts of international food-stalls by the canal where we ate Argentinian, Carribean, Chinese, Indian and English (if there is such a thing) food, we went for a walk to Hampstead Heath, where we climbed up to Parliament Hill and got a birdseye view of Lodon. After that, we went to Wetherspoons in Finchley Road at the O2 Centre, for a taste of pub atmosphere. This pub chain is well known for being kid-friendly, which upmarket London restaurants are, unfortunately, generally not. I'm not one for roast meat dinners, but I was in for a treat when I ordered steak and kidney pie. I hadn't had one of those in ages, and it tasted just like the steak and kidney pies we used to eat in New Zealand; I loved it.

On Monday, we found ourselves inundated by tourist traps. We wanted to eat at South Kensington at Bella Italia where we had had a super meal on our last visit there, only to find it closed. So we headed off to White City - it seemed logical to take the tube and stop off wherever we knew a lot of people were heading to - close to the BBC buildings, but the food there seemed wholly unappetising. We then took the tube to High Street Kensington, where we felt like fish out of water because we didn't know the area very well. When you can't avoid eating junk, you may as well eat safely in a well-known pizza or burger bar. We chose Pizza Hut, where we ordered very little, but at the end of the meal, we felt like stuffed potatoes - that's what fake food does to your stomach. The kids loved it.

On Tuesday, sadly, it was time to say goodbye. Our last meal was a Chinese buffet lunch at the China Red restaurant, again in the O2 Centre on Finchley Road. That place seemed to epitomise London life for me; long busy roads full of shops, and red double-decker buses constantly coming and going. I bought some raspberries from a stall vendor who spoke in that alluring Cockney accent which we find so irresistable; he had balckened teeth to match it. Another example of Victoriana! He was surprised when I told him I was taking this fruit on the plane. He simply melted when he heard we were from Greece, and told us how lucky we were to live in a sunny place. Would you ever move there, I asked him, like many Brits who are making their home on our island? If I could, he said, I'd be out of this place as fast as possible! Why, I asked him, what is it that you don't like about it? London's changed, he said, it's all drugs and knives and crime now, he said. It's hard to explain this sort of thing to my husband; he is only now beginning to realise that the London we saw was only the small part that is well-policed.

I can't find a photo of China Red on the internet; has it closed down since we were last there? My husband was very impressed with the wide variety of dishes that were on offer. Being familiar with the worst kind of food from this internationally renowned cuisine, I felt it was a sad conclusion to an otherwise fabulous round of the finest cuisine London had to offer.

©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.

MORE REVIEWS:
Akrogiali
Anemomilos
Aroma
Agora
Paleohora cuisine