Orzo rice pasta with peas (Κριθαράκι με μπιζέλια)

The simplest photo can have the power to cause the most unexpected surprise. Last night, I put up this photo on my blog:

There's nothing special about this meal, except perhaps that the peas were picked and shelled an hour before I cooked them. (There would have been more peas, but they were quite tasty in their fresh state - I ate my share as I was shelling them.) But this photo caused a little bit of a riot. My facebook followers fell in love with it - I imagine they were trying to pick out one of the peas straight from the screen! My kids loved this meal so much, that I think I should immortalise it, despite it's unplanned nature and its sheer simplicity. It's also a good lenten recipe for the Holy Week that we find ourselves in.

You need:
a large cup (or two) of freshly shelled peas
5-6 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
an onion, chopped roughly
2 cloves of garlic, chopped finely
1-2 teaspoons of tomato paste
250g orzo rice pasta (half a packet - it is usually sold in 500g packs)
salt and pepper

Heat the oil, add the onion and garlic and cook till translucent on medium heat. Add the peas and stir them in to coat in oil. Do the same with the orzo. Now add the tomato paste and pour in 2-3 cups of water. Add some salt and pepper. Keep stirring over medium-high heat until the water is absorbed and the pasta is cooked. This is very important because orzo tends to stick to the bottom of the pan if left unattended. You may need to add more water. At any rate, the water will be absorbed by the pasta.

Once the pasta is cooked (it only needs about 10-15 minutes), let it stand to settle and absorb more of the liquids. It can be served both warm and cold (it goes well with yoghurt), and if you have the time and inclination, you can add other vegetables to it like cubed carrot and/or corn kernels.

©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.

Greek-style simple comfort food: Orzo pasta rice with chicken and peas (Κριθαράκι, κοτόπουλο και μπιζέλια/αρακά)

Here's a picture that won over many people's hearts on my facebook site:

The vegetables were cooked separately from the pasta and chicken: I cooked them in this way, because some of us prefer the vegetables and the others prefer the meat and pasta. If I combined everything, it wouldn't have had the same effect on the family. It looks like double the work, but it gave double the pleasure. Both dishes are made in the same way - and it was terribly easy to make.

For the orzo dish, you need:
some chicken (I used about 500g of chicken with the bone, in small pieces)
1 onion, finely chopped
2-3 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
1 tablespoon of tomato paste
1 large fresh tomato, grated
3-5 glugs of extra virgin olive oil
350g orzo pasta rice
2-3 cups water
1 large red bell pepper (optional), finely sliced
salt and pepper

For the pea dish, you need:
500g mixed peas and other frozen vegetables
1 onion, finely chopped
2-3 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
1 tablespoon of tomato paste
1 large fresh tomato, grated
3-5 glugs of extra virgin olive oil
1 large red bell pepper (optional), finely sliced
salt and pepper

Proceed in the same way as described below, for each dish: Heat the oil, add the onion and garlic, and cook till transparent. Add the grated tomato, red pepper, tomato paste, salt and pepper. Mix till smooth. Lower the heat to minimum, then add the chicken/mixed vegetables. Cook till done with the lid on - the chicken will need about 30 minutes, the peas etc about 15. Add only a little bit of water if needed, to ensure the food has enough liquids to cook in and won't stick to the pan.

For the orzo, now add the water to the chicken and then pour in the pasta, mixing carefully so that the pasta isn't clumpy. Let it cook slowly on minimum heat, with the lid off. The water will be absorbed by the pasta - turn off the heat just when the water is almost absorbed, and you can still see some liquid in the pot.

You still have time until Sunday to add your name to the draw for a natural beauty package from Aphrodite's Embrace. 

©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.

Cheap 'n' Greek 'n' frugal: Fava (Φάβα)

Prices are in euro (valid in Hania). All ingredients are Greek or locally sourced; those marked with * are considered frugal here because they are cheap and/or people have their own supplies.  

One of the simplest grain dishes in traditional Greek cuisine is fava. Greek fava mustn't be confused with the meaning of the same word in other cultures; in Greece, fava is made with yellow split peas, not broad beans (κουκιά - koukia), which are also known as fava beans. fava needs very few cooking skills to make, and it's easy to digest. Its one fo the first legume dishes that children try.

Despite being a staple traditional Greek taverna dish, the fava pea is often imported. Greek fava is also sold alongside imported fava, and it's only slightly more expensive. Fava is well known in the cuisine of the island of Santorini, as a special kind of fava bean has been grown there, without irrigation, continuously for 3500 years. It's not easy to find this variety outside the island, and it's rather expensive. But don't fret: cheaper Greek-gron fava can be had - it's grown in an area of Corinth called Feneos, which is connected with Greece's ancient history. It's available at most supermarkets, especially now when Greek consumers are more aware of choosing Greek products over imported items.

I've always found it strange that fava is such a popular taverna favorite, as it is so easy to make. I often wonder if people eating it at a taverna don't cook it at home - or do they love it so much that they eat it everywhere all the time?! Greek fava looks very much like a dip rather than a one-dish meal, but most of the time, Greeks eat it as a meal at home, while it is usually a side dish at a taverna.

Fava is sold in 500g packets - that's a  lot of fava. But I still cook up the whole packet: one day, I will serve fava as the main lunch meal; the leftovers will form a side dish with the next day's meal.

You need: 
500g split dried yellow peas (~2.00 euro)
1 cup olive oil*
3 large onions (1 euro, including those you use for garnish)
salt and pepper*
For garnish: olive oil, finely chopped onion, parsley (carrot and celery sticks are also good when the meal is a side dish rather than a main meal)

Pour the packet of fava into a pot and cover it with water. Boil the fava for thirty minutes, then drain the water away and let the fava stand for half an hour for the peas to swell a little. Drain and rinse them, and toss in the roughly chopped onions, oil and seasonings (it's that simple). Cover the ingredients with water, to level up to 2cm above the peas. Bring the pot to the boil over moderate heat, turn down the heat to a low simmering point and let the fava boil away until all the water has evaporated and the peas have gone soft and mushy. NB: the beans will stick to the pot if you forget to stir them.

At this stage, you can put the mixture into a blender and turn it into a smooth paste, or leave as it is for a crunchier texture (I prefer the latter). Pour the mixture into individual plates and sprinkle with the garnishes. Fava can be served hot or cold, or warmed up the next day. Most people add a lot of olive oil to their own dish, but that depends on how fanatically devoted to the liquid you are. When serving fava as a side dish rather than a main meal, it is good with sausages or some other spicy grilled meat or fish.

For a slight twist to the garnishes, try sauteeing the onions in the olive oil garnish and adding some capers to them, before sprinkling them onto the fava. That's called φάβα παντρεμένη (fava pantremeni - 'married' fava). It's still cheap and Greek and frugal, and it won't cost you any more than using the raw garnishes!

Total cost of meal: about 3.00 euro - 500g of fava will yield about 6 average-sized main-meal portions (about 0.50 cents per person), or 10 dip-sized plates.


©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.

Old people's food (Τα γεύματα των γερόντων)

Greek doctors killing patients, patients dying while waiting to be attended, maggots in patients' wounds, doctors and nurses having sex in the ear, throat and nose ward, and what else? Oh yes, Greek doctors saving the lives of people who wanted to die instead. That's what most people have heard about Greek hospitals.

My mother-in-law had recently hurt her leg and couldn't walk on it. It was late at night and she couldn't be convinced to go to the hospital for an X-ray, even though it was obvious that she was in great pain. Old people generally don't like being told what to do and she was adamant that she would be fine by the next day. But she wasn't. She HAD to go to hospital, she HAD to have an X-ray, and she HAD to have special pain killers; she realised this herself eventually.

Yiayia loves gardening. We believe it is probably this that keeps her in good health in her old age.

Yiayia was born one year after the last Ottoman Muslim Cretan left the island. She has lived a very different kind of life from the one most of us know. At her age, she just wants a bit of peace and quiet before the end comes. She keeps telling us that it isn't very far now. She is constantly reminded of this herself when she falls down, or develops a cold, or feels an ache or pain somewhere in her body. On her most recent fall, she probably wondered: "Is this it?"

She probably didn't want to go to hospital because she had seen the insides of a hospital too much in her life; they aren't the most enticing places anywhere. In Hania, the hospital is relatively new, so at least it has an air of modernity to it, and the signs and walls aren't defaced. But in any hospital the world over, there's the usual rigmarole of the hospital experience that everyone wishes they could avoid: the waiting time in the A&E room.

Past experiences make me think that maybe yiayia had a point. If you have to go to the A&E on a Friday or Saturday night, you are likely to have to put up with the drunks and party revellers who might have got into a punch-up and need stitches. So the A&E beds will be filled with such cases while you, the genuine patient, the one who got sick at the wrong time, will have to wait in the corridors with the pretty girls in their high heeled clonkers and revealing dresses, as they wait for their current boyfriends to come out of surgery. They bring their own entertainment with them in the form of loud ringtones for their cellphones, so this will be your chance to catch up with all the latest pop songs.

Many old people living in remote villages have to battle loneliness on a daily basis. This woman has no family to care for her, but still prefers to live alone, in the company of one other neighbour just like her. She recently burnt her face when her hair caught fire while trying to light an old-fashioned wood-fired oven in the winter.

During the same time period, there are the road accident victims, often young people, led to the A&E via speeding or drunk drivers, or bad driving habits. They are rushed into the hospital through the A&E, their arrival announced by the urgent tone of the ambulance sirens and the screeching tyres. The A&E doctors have no choice, but to stop what they're doing, and rush off to help their colleagues in whatever way they are asked to. Your own 'emergency' loses its importance when a case like this comes up.

Another bad time to go to the A&E is in the afternoon on weekdays, or during the weekend, when people have just finished their day's/week's work, and they decide that they don't have time to visit the doctor (and pay the standard 40-50 euro fee for a consultation), so they just crowd into the A&E. Over-worked interns (who are often not being paid the overtime that they do) work their way through patients suffering from common colds, grating coughs, itchy rashes and other completely non-A&E conditions that take up doctors' time in the A&E department and could have been dealt with at a more appropriate time in a more convenient place.

By mid-morning of the day after she had the fall, Yiayia realised that she wasn't going to get any better, so we trundled her into the car and took her to the hospital.

"Mama, put on your seatbelt," I said.

"Is it OK if I don't wear it?" she replied.

"No," I answered.

"Για να μην σκάσουμε €300," replied her son.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing to the upright blue boxes on the side of the road. They were post office mail boxes, where the mailman now delivers people's letters, instead of privately to their homes. This was the first day Yiayia had left the confines of our neighbourhood in more than two years since she broke her (other) leg. On arriving at the entrance to the A&E, we asked a porter for a wheelchair. He promptly came out to meet us with a hospital bed.

"Oh, I can't climb up onto that," complained Yiayia.

"You don't need to," the porter replied. "I'll get on it, no worries." And he set about to help her up in that way that only porters and nurses know about handling people in this situation, so that they cause them the least amount of pain.

"No! No!" cried Yiayia, fearing the pain. Before she could say 'No!' again, she was lying on the bed.

"OK, Yiayia," said the porter, "we're going for a ride." He drove the bed in the direction of the waiting room. "Take a ticket from the cashier," he said to us.

The cheery lady who had seen what was going on (the stretcher bed gives a case a sense of urgency) gave me a ticket with our priority order number written on it. It wasn't really necessary that morning, because, thankfully, it wasn't busy at the A&E that day. There were actually a lot of people waiting outside the doctors' offices, but only half were patients, mainly very old frail people. The others were their carers. It's a general rule of thumb that at least two people will accompany their old relative to the hospital. The male will usually do the driving, while the female will be at the patient's bedside. There was such a case being attended to at that moment by the doctors, and one more similar case (though not on a bed) outside the surgery as we arrived. The room looked busy, but the patients were actually very few.

When this yiayia became less mobile, her sons took her into their homes. She now lives with one of them on a monthly rotational basis among her offspring. It's still a rarity (and a luxury) to put old people into retirement homes in Hania. In any case, these people are happiest when in their own home environment or their own family.

The porter was just about to knock on the door to let the doctors know that a special case had arrived. Since my mother-in-law was lying on an A&E stretcher, she had to be dealt with quickly in order to release the bed. At that moment, the door of the surgery opened and a young soft-spoken intern came out.

"What's wrong with Yiayia?" he asked us in the corridor, looking intently at her, but not bothering to take her into the surgery. The bed was bulky, there was another person in a bed too, and it would have simply resulted in a major blockage. In any case, she was surely headed for an X-ray. It is usual for carers in Greece to do more talking than the actual patients. They usually know what's wrong, and they know where it hurts. We explained the circumstances of the fall.

"Where does it hurt, Yiayia?" the doctor asked, this time, addressing the patient. "Does it hurt here where I'm touching?"

"Well," Yiayia started, "I don't feel any-- don't! Not yet! I'll tell you where it hurts!"

The doctor remained calm and continued prodding. "Here?"

"No, not there either."

"Where does it hurt, Yiayia?"

"Well," Yiayia started again, "it's a sharp pain, but I don't have it all the time, I can't stand completely still without moving, but if I take a little step and put pressure on my foot, it hurts really badly all over the place, you see,..."

The doctor looked flustered. "We need to know exactly where, so that we can give appropriate instructions to the X-ray department." Yiayia had still not defined the exact place where her leg hurt.

"She hurts from here," I explained to the doctor, showing with my hand about 10cm above her knee, "to here," pointing to 10cm below the knee. Doctors are not prophets!

Without delay, the doctor took out a piece of paper (a recycled photocopy of an old form; the old notepad with the hospital header was not being used, a sign of how harsh economic times really are in Greece), and wrote out the directions for the X-ray department. The porter, who had waited patiently with us the whole time, explained the procedure: another ticket was necessary. I had to go back to the cashier.

"Who is your NHS provider?" she asked me. I gave her the information she asked for.

"OK, that's 12 euro and 62 cents," she informed me, "and with the receipt that I give you, and the doctor's diagnosis," as she handed me a form, "which the doctor will fill out, you go to your NHS provider and you'll receive a 75% rebate." I thanked her and went back in the direction of the A&E waiting room.

The porter led us to the X-ray department, and dealt with all the procedures there. We simply waited outside until my mother-in-law was returned to us. Again, we were dealt with promptly and appropriately, with the kind of respect due to people of my mother-in-law's age.

After the X-ray had been taken, the porter wheeled her out. "We're just going to wait for a few minutes until the photos are ready," he explained. He moved away from us and helped some of the other staff who were doing the same job as himself.

"Πρέπει να του δώσεις κάτι," my mother-in-law whispered to her son.

"No," I whispered back.

"Μας βοήθησε πάρα πολύ," she said.

"Τη δουλειά του κάνει," I replied. She looked confused. Her son, who was looking at his mother, then turned to look at me.

"No," I said to him too.

"Ένα τάλιρο--."

"Are you crazy?" I said firmly. "Since when did τάλιρα drop into your hands that easily? Does anyone tip me when I proofread or translate their work promptly and efficiently? You know it's wrong, we hear it on the news all the time. When is this fakelaki business going to stop?"

My mother-in-law continued telling her son that he should pay the porter for getting us through A&E (even though there was no queue anyway!) while I kept saying "No". My husband was in two minds: to tip or not to tip? Wasn't he simply doing his job?! The idea of fakelaki is often perpetuated by the people who continue to pay it - my mother in law was born and raised with this kind of belief, so imbibed in it, that she thinks even someone who is simply doing his job well should be paid both by the state and by herself! With a dominating matriarch in the family and our close contact with nature, my family still has strong links to the ways of the old world, so that misunderstandings can easily occur because of the generation gap: just imagine a globalised 8 and 9 year old, living with their old-fashioned 40s-50s parents, whose choices are influenced by the presence of an 86-year old WW2 survivor!


The past governing of Greece was really just a case of a home-grown style of bourgeoisie class ruling over everyone in a lower order than themselves: power-wielding state employees and people in 'closed shop' professions were among the highest order, the χρυσοχέρηδες sitting on the roost, while the 'hoi polloi' pecked at their droppings. This is what is now being toppled, slowly but surely; it is definitely being stomped on, and it's a proud moment in Greece's history, completely overshadowed by the negativity surrounding the country and the fact that progress in this direction, despite being sure and steady, is slow in making itself visible.


It took an economic crisis for people to realise that there is now no turning back to the outdated and inefficient system of giving favours to get a job done, a system many historians and political analysts claim to be a remnant from Ottoman times. These dramatic changes in the way Greece's service sector is being reorganised are not ebbing waves as they were in the past whenever a new government came into power, to be swept away by newer ones - the changes in Greece are now once-and-for-all, and they also need the full cooperation and participation of ALL the Greek people. Everyone in the country has to play their part appropriately, but, as can be seen from Yiayia's case, some people are not easily able to change their ways due to personality, age, and/or other factors.

When the X-rays came through, the porter wheeled us back to the A&E doctors, where we had to wait until the patient being attended to came out. He made sure we got prompt attention so that Yiayia didn't have to suffer any more discomfort than necessary and the bed could be freed as soon as possible for the next patient who needed it. All's well that ends well; Yiayia hadn't fractured any bones, but needed some painkillers to relive an inflammation that had been causing her pain.

The porter guided us to our car. I watched my mother-in-law looking at her son and raising her eyebrows. I watched my husband putting his hand into his trouser pocket. 


"No," I insisted. He didn't say anything. He took his hand out of his pocket, only to put it back in again.

"No," I repeated.


"OK," he said. 

"I still think it's wrong," said Yiayia, as we drove away from the hospital. "Times have changed from how I remember them."

The message had got through, at least this time. We were home and dry in just over an hour after we had set out on our little adventure.

*** *** ***

Given her condition, I had to take on the extra role of cooking for her. Since we cook fresh food most days, it sounds quite easy to simply make a larger amount of food and give her a serving. This is not as easy as it sounds. She is a fussy eater in the same way that many old people are: their bodies can't digest food in the same way as a young person's, their tastes change in old age, their teeth aren't always in the best condition, and their memories of food play a role in what they consider a 'good' meal. On top of that, Yiayia hurt her leg during a fasting period, so she didn't want to eat any meat or fish, limiting the variety of food that I could have cooked for her.

Yiayia usually cooks for herself, always using simple ingredients that are either available from the garden or easily stored in the kitchen for use when needed. In fact, her favorite kinds of meals could be described as 'all-season food': meals that are made from fresh-frozen or easy-to-store ingredients. Among her favorites are tinned squid in a red sauce, bakaliaro (salt cod) in an onion-leek sauce, and the one below, made with year-round easy-to-store fresh carrots and potatoes, and frozen peas.

You need:
a few tablespoons of olive oil
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
2 cloves of garlic, chopped finely
1-2 green bell peppers, chopped in thin strips (optional; we had lots of them in garden)
2 carrots, sliced thinly
4 small potatoes, cut into quarters
3 cups of frozen peas, rinsed
2 tomatoes, freshly grated (the skins make the sauce gritty; the seeds can be left in)
1 teaspoon of tomato paste (optional)
a sprig of parsley (optional; I would have added this but had run out at the time)
salt, pepper and oregano

Heat the oil in a wide saucepan. Add the onions and garlic (and peppers), and saute till transparent. Add the carrots and potatoes, tossing them well in the oil till everything is coasted in oil. Let them cook on low heat for a few minutes, then add the tomatoes and dry seasonings. Place a lid on the saucepan, and cook on low heat until the potatoes have softened. Then add the peas and parsley, and allow the dish to cook for a further 15 minutes, or until everything is soft. Old people like their food mushier than us!

Serve this tasty stew with some feta cheese or mizithra. It is very similar to the way Greek people cook fasolakia (green beans), which Yiayia said she wasn't hot on, even though the garden was full of bean vines that she'd been tending up until the time of her accident!

©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.

Athens, the Acropolis and artichokes (Αθήνα, Ακρόπολη και αγγινάρα)

Here's PART 4 of our adventures in Athens. Click here for PART 1, PART 2 and PART 3.

When I first arrived in Athens nearly two decades ago, my greatest desire was to see the Acropolis. I had first visited it in 1974 when I was eight years old with my parents on my only trip to Greece before I came to live here on a permanent basis. After I had settled in at my relatives' house in Aspropirgos, I asked them for directions about how to get to the Acropolis. My aunt had no idea, as she never went into Athens herself, conducting all her business within the seven kilometres between Aspropirgos and Elefsina. My 20-year-old cousins didn't know either; the last time they went to see the Acropolis was when they were at school.

'Athivoles' from my first time in Greece

I asked them if they had a map of the area so I could locate myself on it and see how I could go there myself. They had no map. The only thing they knew was that the dirty blue buses that plied the main road near their home had their depot in Koumoundourou Square near Omonoia Square, a central location in Athens. That was about the best advice I managed to procure from them on how to get to the centre of Athens cheaply without trying to flag down a taxi whose driver would most likely rip me off, or walk the congested polluted Holy Road myself like the ancient pilgrims did when they paid homage to Dimitra, the goddess of the Earth, at her sanctuary in Elefsina.

Waiting at a bus stop on Athens Avenue: looking towards Elefsina (left), and Athens centre.

One day, I took took one of those dirty blue buses myself - on my own; no one else was interested in going to see the Acropolis with me. Why would anyone be interested in a pile of rubble in one of Europe's most polluted cities? My aunt knew it was located on a hilly site. "Can you pick horta there?" she enquired. "Probably not," I answered. "Too much rock."

I had chosen a cloudy grey day in November, hoping that it would at least stay dry until the end of my trip. The morning peak traffic hour had passed, so that the bus could tear along at great speed, as if the driver had never seen such an empty stretch of road. I had a seat, but still had to hang onto the top of the seat in front of me to steady myself.

The route was one long boring stretch of concrete, flanked by a few low-lying hills which form the Athens basin. I was horrified by what I saw: gargantuan-sized gas works, steel works, cement works, oil distilleries, all found within metres of what looked like residential zones. Dust flew everywhere, piling on the side of the road like mud, especially outside the cement works. No one wore masks; no one seemed to care that they were inhaling dust. I wondered how my family managed to stay alive all those years of living here. Does dust not damage one's health, as my mother had raised me to believe? Maybe there isn't any need to constantly dust one's house; maybe once a year is enough.

As the bus approached the man-made Lake Koumoundourou, the scenery began to change slightly, with less industry and more bare hills on the left-hand side, while on the right-hand side I had a direct view of the sea which was filled with rusty ships. There was a small strip of land which looked like a beach area separating the coastline from the road and there were also a few signs advertising 'seaside' tavernas. The roaring traffic aside, this could otherwise have been a friendly looking place.

Not the prettiest sights on the Holy Road to Athens - isn't the sea supposed to be blue in Greece? The haphazardly placed signs outside the monastery mask its significance.

This pretty patch of forest stands deceptively like an oasis, smack bang in the middle of the up-built western suburbs of Athens and the horrendous industrial further westwards.

As the bus drove past the sea, I began to view evidence of a forested area, just beyond the 'lake district'. Pockets of houses had been built on some parts of the hill, making these areas look like picturesque Swiss villages, without the cows. The bus had now stopped at some traffic lights near a large junction. To my left was the mental hospital, a congregation of buildings erected in a purely functional style, while on my right, in total antithesis, were the remains of a former Byzantine monastery. The lights turned to green, and the bus driver careened out of control, rushing past the Western suburbs of Athens at lightning speed, braking hard at the bus stops to pick up or drop off passengers. Once or twice, he didn't even bother to stop when he was flagged down by a pedestrian waiting at a bus shelter. There were plenty of buses following him, going in pretty much the same direction.

After what seemed like a cartoon film strip showing the same scenes over and over again - light industry and shops surrounded by apartment blocks stretching up to the tops of the low-lying hills, one block after another - depicting the ritualised chaos that Athens serves up on a daily basis, I saw the mount of the Acropolis come into view. As the bus overtook a lorry, the view became clearer, and suddenly I saw the crumbling ruins of the Acropolis sitting at the top of the mountain. It was such a saddening sight to see it looking so lonely among the bad-taste high-rise buildings, all in different shades of filth, some brown, others grey, but most of them black. I was suddenly struck with awe as the history of the Acropolis over the ages passed through my mind. I thought of how she had been watching the wretched urban sprawl overtaking her environs for the last 2500 years and felt guilty for being a part of it. The marble edifice looked so out of place in the world as it had developed around her. I wanted to take her into my arms and cradle her, tell her how much I loved her and wanted to take care of her, that everything would turn out all right in the end, that the missing pieces from her frieze would come back and she would be intact once again. Then I felt foolish because I realised she was so much bigger than me. She wouldn't fit in my arms; I was making promises that could not be kept. What a fraud she must think I am.

Boy, those Greeks cause so much trouble ,for the loss of ancient marble

From the site of Parthenona; you would think it was a mecca
Of some kind, but wait a minute - to get in you need a ticket

To admire Greek works of art which will touch your soul and heart.

To see the Doric columns high rise above the clear blue sky

Like old stumps from olive trees. But what is missing? It's the frieze!

Yet still they stand proud on the hill where Paul preached goodwill to all,

Denuded of their jewel atop when Elgin heaved a mighty chop.

That man went to so much trouble to turn the frieze into mere rubble,

To gather and store the ancient stone so he could sell it off at home.
But no one wanted it for money, so he bequeathed it to the country

Who thought: "Good oh, now we have something that will look good with Egypt's mummy
And Chinese jade and Turkish weapons we chanced upon in foreign lands.

But where to put them - let us build the best museum in the world!"

And so they started scrubbing white the marbles so they shone in light.
Alas! Too late they realised the marbles looked like dynamite
Had ruined their outer appearance and showed signs that they were to perish

In that stately grand museum where all go if they want to see them.

And now those rabble-rousing Greeks insist on getting back those bits;

They don't deserve to stand alone with all the rest of them at home.
They need to be in company with all the other bits of frieze
Under the clear blue sky of Greece - let's have them back! Return them, please!

(A little poem I wrote a while ago)

I didn't go up to the Acropolis that day; I was too embarrassed to face the big rock. I waited for a day when I felt more at peace with myself, in the company of friends, on a sunny day, so that she wouldn't recognise me as the big-hearted ignoramus who broke her promise. She wouldn't notice me as I climbed up the smooth slippery steps; I would blend in with the crowds of visitors that had also come to see her and marvel at her beauty, basking under the Mediterranean sun under the clouds of smog that enveloped her.

*** *** ***

Have you heard the saying "Don't leave town till you see the country?" It was part of an advertising campaign in New Zealand during my youth, in a drive to get people to see more of New Zealand, instead of hopping off to the UK for their big OE (overseas experience) without having ventured through their own country first. I am just as guilty of this error in my judgment, having taken my children to the British museum on two separate visits to London to see the Parthenon marbles; you know the ones I mean - they were cut out, broken up and shopped away from Athens by a scoundrel that went by the title of Lord Elgin.

When I saw the stolen (beg your pardon, but that's what they are) marbles in the British Museum for the first time, it was as a foreign-born Greek straight from Sheepland. I visited them in that 'oh-look-that's-Greek' way that most foreign-born Greeks view elements of Greekdom in a foreign country. I may as well have been saying 'baa-baa'. But the second time, after having lived in Greece for over a decade before my visit to the museum, and having seen the Parthenon from up close, the moment I saw those parts of the Parthenon frieze hanging on a wall in a dark room, my heart felt a piercing sting, as though I was seeing someone imprisoned under treacherous conditions. Where was the Mediterranean sun to shine over the marbles like it had been doing all those centuries before Elgin came along? Some of the pieces were still just pieces, whereas if they had stayed in Greece, they could have been re-built into the main structure of the reconstructed Parthenon.

My heart turned to stone, not because the British had damaged the marble by trying to scrape it white (in Greece, it would have turned black from the pollution anyway), but because the room where the marbles were kept had that semi-dark appearance, rendering it barren and lifeless, completely removed from the cultural heritage it belonged to. If someone visits Elgin's marbles and not the Parthenon itself, they will simply never understand the reason why the marbles should be returned to the original setting. But if they first visit the Parthenon and then see Elgin's marbles, they will realise what a heinous crime he committed against the Greek people 200 years ago, while he was acting as ambassador of England during the last few years of the Ottoman regime. He didn't even need to ask the Greeks themselves if he could 'take' anything - the governing powers at the time were against them in the first place.

"Is this the Acropolis?" my son asked me when we visited the British Museum in London.

The genuine parts of the Parthenon frieze are in London... while the fakes are in the Acropolis metro station in Athens. Britain has the originals, while Greece has the phoneys.

Another shot from the metro station: compare this with the top left-hand one;
same figurines, different capital city.

When we visited the British Museum, we told the children that these marbles had come from the Acropolis. But since they had never been to the Acropolis, it meant very little to them. I realised that it was time to see for me to take them to see the original site before I took them to another foreign museum again.

This caryatid looks out of place here without her sisters, not to mention very lonely.

I took the children out of school for two days to make this trip to Athens. When we arrived in the capital city, we discovered, to my great dismay, that the temporary employees at the Ministry of Culture had been blocking the entrance to the Parthenon, barring all visitors to the site, in protest at the loss of their jobs, working on a contract (rather than permanent) basis, and back-pay that they had not yet received. The day was cloudy and rain was forecast. I wasn't sure if the strike was over, so I decided not to make the trip, in case I disappointed them and the trip fell short of their expectations. We took a stroll on Ermou St, where all the famous brand-name clothes shops are located in the inner city. We could see the holy rock rising above the city skyline as we dodged the rain; there was no sign of life on it. Whether it was the strike or the rain, I shall never know.

It's hard to make a living in a big city; can you spot some of the people 'selling air'?

Although Marks and Spencer has opened a store in Hania, the range of clothes is not as wide as in the Athenian branches. As a way to shelter from the cold (cold in Greece? you ask), we entered Marks and Spencer, more to browse rather than buy. Such a wide choice of goods, what to choose first? I found the street views more enticing than the high street fashion: a gypsy girl playing an accordion, a chestnut roaster, the human statue, the laterna player, the policemen (they seemed to be everywhere) and their motorbikes. Such is life in a big city...

The Acropolis stands tall and proud, even in the rain.
I took this photo from the rooftop restaurant at the Hondos Centre.

It did end up raining after all. When we couldn't tolerate the drenching any longer, we nipped into the Hondos Centre at Omonoia Square where there is a rooftop restaurant serving good Greek food at low prices. While we looked around the dining hall to find a table, the children spotted the Acropolis from the window which was covered in droplets of rain. The downpour did not obscure our view of the holy rock. Even during the pouring rain, it stands astute, bearing witness to the devastation of the rat-race and urban development that has taken place around it, notwithstanding the cruel blows it has itself been dealt by the various incursions savaged on it, leading to its desecrated appearance today.

In this weather, the new open-top sightseeing buses in Athens aren't the best option.

"I'd like to go up there one day," my son said. "But not when it's raining."
"Good idea," I replied.

*** *** ***

The Hondos Centre has a self-service restaurant which serves Greek snacks like tiropites (cheese pies), which my children ordered, and family meals such as biftekia and potatoes (my husband's choice) and artichokes in a lemon sauce (my choice).

I had a bit of my husband's biftekia with my peas and artichokes; I can't imagine any child in Greece who hasn't been brought up to honour a good tiropita.

This meal is simple and light. It is best paired with cheese and some bread. It is perfect as a lenten meal, especially for the Holy Week before Easter; the peas and potatoes provide plenty of carbohydrates, while the dill and lemon juice give it its tangy flavour. Note that in Greece, artichoke hearts are not frozen with the stalks, nor with the leaves, but they can be used if the artichokes are tender enough. This meal can be made with either frozen or fresh artichoke hearts. Canned Italian-style artichokes (they are usually small and have some tender leaves stuck to them) are not suitable for this dish.

You need:
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large onion chopped chopped roughly
2-3 cloves of garlic (optional)
2 large potatoes chopped in large chunks
8 large artichoke hearts cut in halves
2 cups of peas
a small bunch of dill, finely chopped
the juice of 1-2 lemons
salt and pepper

Heat the oil in a pot and sauté the onion and garlic. Mix in the potatoes till they coated in oil. Add the artichokes, peas and seasonings and pour in just enough water to cover the vegetables. Place a lid on the pot and let the vegetables cook until the vegetables have softened. The potatoes may break up at this point, so be gentle when stirring. Now add the dill and lemon juice, stirring them evenly into the pot. The broken potatoes will act as a sauce thickener. Cook for another 5-10 minutes and serve hot.

I made this dish as soon as we got back from our trip. My artichokes look a rather dull brown colour; this is because they are from last year's garden, and I froze them at the end of their season. Commercially frozen ones are usually whiter (they are processed in some way).

This dish is made in the style of artichokes a la polita. Carrots, spring onions and leeks can also be added or used to replace another vegetable that you may not have on hand. This meal can also be made using tomato juice (add it to the pot instead of water, and don't use lemon); while we were in Athens, one of our cousins served us freshly-made soutzoukakia-style meatballs in tomato sauce, into which she had added commercially frozen artichoke hearts.

At the roof garden restaurant at the Hondos Centre in Omonoia Square, we ordered two tiropites, a serving of artichokes and peas, a serving of roast potatoes and biftekia, 2 sodas and 2 beers. Total cost: 25 euros.

It's the start of the Holy Week today in the Greek Orthodox church. With this kind of meal, you won't even realise you are fasting.

This post is for you, Sifi.

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Greek comfort food (Γεύμα παρηγoριάς)

Just look at our weather today:

There were signs warning of the ominous weather yesterday, despite the sunshine; that was just a ploy to keep the tourist activity alive. People were still walking around in their summer clothes, and we even managed to go to the beach. But the rain couldn't stay away for too long and by all means, it's more than welcome. We've had more than the average rainfall for this time of year.

Of course, I love it. It's cooling, refreshing, cleansing, invigorating, like a battery recharger, unlike the summer's stifling heat, which saps the energy out of you, leaving you with a feeling of suffocation, as if the heat is drowning you. It's still humid, but at least we've cooled down by a few degrees. And we don't need to water the garden any more; the rain does a great job. Maybe it slows down the growth rate, but the coffers are full anyway; there's little more room in the deep freeze. The perfect weather to stay at home. The best weather to cook a hearty meal and still have the stamina to eat it in the midday sun, which was well hidden today amongst the puffy rainclouds.



I found a rather large piece of beef at the butcher's the other day. If you like your meat, then you may have experienced this feeling some time in your own life: its colour (dark red) seemed to be screaming out to me: "I'm fresh, I'm tender, EAT ME!" There were very few marblings in this cut, which means very little fat; a very lean cut of beef, all meat. Greek beef tends to be rather tough to cook and eat, which is why we don't often buy or cook it in our own home (except for minced beef). It was my lucky day. This recipe - beef in tomato sauce with peas and carrots: μοσχάρι κοκκινιστό με αρακά και καρότα - is very popular right around the country, especially in this weather.

You need:
lean beef, approximately 800-1000g, cut in small chunks
1/2 cup oil
4 large onions, cut in medium slices
2 large cloves of garlic (optional), chopped finely
1/2 glass of red wine
4 large tomatoes, pureed (I used my own preserved summer tomato sauce)
1 teaspoon of tomato paste
salt and pepper
500g frozen peas (something we might try growing this winter)
2 large carrots, cut into chunks or sliced into rounds

Heat the oil in a large saucepan. Add the onions and garlic, and coat till they are well oiled. Cook for a few minutes (do not burn), then add the beef chunks. Let them cook till there is no red colour on the meat, turning them over to make sure all sides are coated and cooked in the oil, over a moderate heat. Add the wine, and let the meat cook for another five minutes to soak up the flavour. Then add the tomatoes and seasonings. Turn the heat to very low, place a lid on the pot, and don't open it for at least an hour; if this is Greek beef, it will need at least two hours to cook thoroughly (which is why we often buy French beef from the Carrefour supermarket, or locally raised beef from a nearby village; they are fed and slaughtered differently, creating tastier beef).

After the first hour has passed, take the lid of the pot (everything should be looking creamy and saucy), add the peas and carrots, place the lid on the pot and let the vegetables cook away, until the beef is also tender, according to your taste spectrum. I cooked this beef for two hours; we like it to fall away from the knife. This recipe is an adaptation of stifado; beef can also be cooked in that way, the main difference being the addition of spices and whole onions. Instead of the carrots and peas, a local alternative to vegetables is a handful of green olives, in which case, this red sauce is called kapama (καπαμά).

The traditional way to serve this meal is with fried potatoes and a green salad. A healthier alternative is to present it on a bed of plain steamed rice.

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