Cook the Books: The Language of Baklava by Diana Abu-Jaber (Μαγειρεύοντας τα Βιβλία: Η Γλώσσα του Μπακλαβά - Νταϊάνα Αμπου-Τζαμπερ)

This post is part of the Cook the Books blog event running until February 15, 2009, hosted by Deb from Kahakai Kitchen. Read Diana Abu Jaber's The Language of Baklava, and cook something inspired by the book. Post your inspiration on your blog and link to Cook the Books.)

WARNING: contains a spoiler - if you don't want to know about the story till you have read it, don't read the post!!

The discovery of who we are and where we belong are both playing major roles in current models of ethnicity. People nowadays demand to be who they want to be (we can't be anyone else anyway), and to be recognised as such. Then there are the monocultural people (plenty of them, I'm afraid, even where I live) who can no longer avoid ignoring the multicultural aspects of their daily life and may be tempted to find out about the secret life of those who left a land with a strong culture and moved to the countries of the New World, continuing their Old World existence there through visible features of their past life, such as dress, entertainment and food. Through books like The Language of Baklava by Diana Abu-Jaber, the reality of living in two cultures side by side is being opened up to a world of people who had always wondered just what went on in the houses of those people who looked, sounded, smelt and tasted (in the figurative sense) different from what was supposedly the norm, because now we know, nothing in the present world can be considered the norm; all cultural identities in a politically correct world are now considered normal.

The Language of Baklava reminds us that food forms a fundamental part of cultural evolution. Had Diana's father not insisted on cooking meals originating from his Jordanian upbringing, and instead allowed her mother to cook according to her own family tradition (the just-add-water technique), Diana would not have been able to write her memoirs in quite the same way. Her book provides a great insight to those that aspired to monoculturalism about the secret life of their immigrant neighbour who holds barbecues on the front lawn, cooks food that sends out its aromas all the way to the next block and speaks loudly in a foreign language while maintaining a neutral tone when speaking English (which is the language that most of the New Worlds adopted as their main lingua franca).

Diana's story could be the story of the offspring of any immigrant's daughter who grew up knowing that life at home was not the same as life outside the boundaries of the four main walls of the house. Through her parents' mixed marriage, Diana was blessed with the best of both worlds, which probably helped her and her sisters to adapt themselves to any environment, except, that is, possibly that of food.

When you have been raised on real food - food that is cooked from scratch, with fresh raw ingredients, each one with its own unique taste, smell and texture - you cannot be passively uncritical of food that has been prepared for consumption in which the original ingredients have been disguised so well that it is impossible to tell whether what you are eating is flora- or fauna-derived. Here's one of my favorite excerpts from the book that deals with this subject:

"The [school] cafeteria is ... my first exposure to truly awful food: Its rotting, industrial stink permeates the room, and I come to think of this smell every time I hear the nuns speak of penance. I see for the first time foods dropped on molded plastic trays, items with names like tapioca, tuna casserole and rice pudding. These trays all hold a congealed, mealy gray mass that gazes sadly up at the ceiling."

Diana's upbringing has obviously been centred around food. Every season, every event, every feast day, every emotion has its own special recipe. Food is eaten on a social basis, with cousins, aunts and uncles featuring heavily. Whenever somebody 'comeover' (read the book to find out the special meaning of this unique phrase), they're always hungry. Food was always made for sharing, even to strangers (like the neighbours who wondered whether they should call the fire brigade at the sight of the barbecue in the front yard), and people who had already made preparations for that day's meal (like Sister at school, who ate at the school cafeteria).

The Language of Baklava is not just a story about someone's life; it is a collection of soulfully mouthwatering recipes. After reading only the first chapter, I had already decided what I was inspired to make from the book, until I read the next chapter, and decided to make two recipes instead of one, until I read the next chapter, and realised that I would either have to invite a lot of people to eat everything I had been inspired to make, or cook something from it every day until I had finished making all the food Diana describes in her book.

Diana's family's relationship with food mirrors my own. Everything just had to be: "Fuss, fuss, fuss, nothing's good enough, nothing's right, ... Only the little onions, the itty-bitty cucumbers, only the meat from his butcher." This is how Diana's grandmother described Diana's father's food fetishes. Reading about Diana's life, foodwise and otherwise, felt like reading my own biography.

*** *** ***

Although I don't often read cookbooks (my home cooking schedule is too rigid to allow for great variation), I must admit that I found The Language of Baklava to be a very inspirational book in terms of the food, and I will probably be making more recipes from it. The ingredients used in most of them are commonly found in Greece, but I think my attraction to them is probably a combination of the setting and the proximity of my own culture with that of Diana Abu-Jaber's, plus the fact that most of the cooking - ingredients, techniques, dishes - are very similar to Greek cooking. I found it impossible to make only one dish from the book, as most recipes in The Language of Baklava were part of a pair or trio that are served together.

The okra was frozen after being prepared; I prefer not to defrost it when I cook it. Chicken livers are sold together with chicken hearts (which were cooked in another meal).

Seeking out uncommon ingredients has forever been an important part of my daily life: as a young child going on horta expeditions in Mt Victoria with my parents, as a teenager in my mother's kitchen, as a young woman living alone and cooking for myself, and now as a mother-of-two and wife-of-one (as I like to call myself). Chicken livers and okra certainly fit the bill here. They are unusual, and possibly contain an element of acquired taste.

My family's favorite okra dish - roast chicken and potatoes with the prepared okra added half-way through the cooking time.

A friend of mine once surprised me by serving what looked like an extremely simple meal of chicken livers fried with a lot of onions, which I'm extremely partial to. The recipe sounded just like Diana's "Nostalgic Chicken Livers" recipe. I can't bear to eat meat without some vegetables, so when I read about "Perfectly Tender Bamia", I knew just what to do with some okra I had frozen from the summer, prepared in the special way Greeks (and many Middle Eastern cultures) prepare their okra before cooking it so that it won't be slimy. These foods made me feel so special and lucky to be 'in the know', just like Diana; her mixed identity is so much a part of my own life, and her way of dealing with it took as much as time as it did for me to do the same thing. But I hope Diana forgives me for roasting the okra (which co-incidentally, the Greeks also call 'bamia'); I prefer mine crunchy.

The silver tray is the traditional way to be served refreshments in the Mediterranean and Middle eastern countries. It is a symbol of high aspirations, respect and decency. Silver trays have become a thing of the pat, but I'm still partial to stainless steel. My 'silver tray' holds a glass of strained Greek yoghurt with quince dessert, a chocolate, an Algerian nougat sweet (a box was gifted to me by a student), Greek coffee and that ubiquitous glass of water served with everything you may eat or even drink all over Greece. Raki is the clear spirit in the decanter.

Now all that's left is the dessert. That's simple; if you were being served these dishes at a Greek restaurant, at the end of the meal, a simple dessert of strained yoghurt topped with quince dessert might be brought to you, along with the ubiquitous raki, which is similar to the araq spirit in Diana's Jordan. In Crete, it's more commonly referred to as tsikoudia. And just like baklava, raki and araq are related, practically sounding the same. To your health - fi sehtuk!

©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.

Everything is possible (Τα πάντα γίνονται)

If you ask a child what s/he would like to eat as a birthday meal, what do you think most would answer? Mine had a hard time thinking about it, possibly because he's not really a much of a gourmet. He doesn't give a toss about what he eats as long as it's not green on the outside; for example, he doesn't do peas, but he's happy to munch on spinach pie. So when he saw me making fennel pies, he decided he'd have some of that.

The one thing he knew he definitely wanted was lentil soup. He could have that every day of the week. He even had it on Easter Day once when he was very little, because at that time, he didn't like chewing on meat. His sister is much more refined in her choices; she like Ratatouille Remy's soup, which I often make (aka leek and potato potage). Luckily, there was some left over from a previous meal.

When children are used to eating home-made food, they come to think of their everyday meals as festive meals. So I needn't have bothered adding the french fries to the menu (cooked in olive oil, naturally), but I was tempted because I (and only I) felt that the meal didn't look festive enough, probably because it didn't contain pizza, pasta and hamburgers...

Never mind. We enjoyed it all, including my famous squidgy chocolate cake. Yum-yum.

©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 Cretans are coming! The Cretans are coming! (Έρχονται οι Κρήτες!)

The Cretan people know how to make themselves get noticed. Now the farmers of the island are the top news story in the country.

The farmers of the whole country blocked the roads linking the north to the south, while the Cretan farmers blocked the roads leading from the west to the east. The government heard their pleas, and offered a 645 million euro salvage packet for Greek farmers who have lost a quarter of their income over the last decade (and from what I understand, this is a problem in farming worldwide). But this package did not include Cretan farmers.

Why? Maybe because they think we're rich(er than other Greek farmers). But we're still a part of Greece, so why did the government discriminate against the Cretan farmers whose produce feeds the country throughout the winter? I know the sunshine is free, but surely Cretan farmers also run up costs, suffer losses and work hard to produce a good crop. They certainly don't have the same field area as farmers in the north, who need a huge expanse of land to produce crops like cotton and tobacco (neither of which are eaten).

The Cretan farmers have rejected the package saying it offers too little for their region. Other agricultural groups are keeping a key border crossing with Bulgaria closed, complaining that the government assistance plan provides no long-term solution to their declining income.

Now the Cretan farmers have taken their protest over handouts to Athens today by driving their tractors into the city center at the same time that Agricultural Development Minister Sotiris Hatzigakis will be attempting to convince the European Union that the 500 million euros the Greek government wants to pump into the ailing sector does not contravene the bloc’s rules.

Despite an attempt by a prosecutor on Crete to stop farmers driving dozens of tractors onto a ferry bound for Piraeus last night, hundreds of disgruntled locals boarded the vessel and plan to drive the vehicles to the Agricultural Development Ministry today.

The farmers did eventually get to Pireaus with their tractors. Riot police blocked groups of protesting Cretan farmers from leaving the port of Piraeus, Greece's busiest, early Monday morning. The farmers, roughly 1,100 strong with scores of pick-up trucks and a few dozen tractors, disembarked from three ferry boats arriving from the large Aegean island in order to hold a protest in front of the agriculture ministry in downtown Athens.

Police used tear gas to prevent protesting farmers from leaving the port area, which is located in congested Piraeus. Tension continued for the following hours, while farmers claimed four of their colleagues were injured and several others were arrested.

My compatriots came armed (they threw potatoes at the police); they insisted on seeing the Minister of Agriculture (who was in Brussels at the time), and they tried to drive their tractors in the roads of Athens (diesel-powered vehicles are forbidden in the congested areas of the capital). I don't know what the outcome of this will be, but I can't imagine anything positive will come out of it. If anything is promised, promises are meant to be broken. And in the current economic climate, especially given that Greece is heavily in debt, surely only a fool would believe what is being promised.

In any case, the Cretans have managed so far to halt ship traffic to Crete - no ferry boat is leaving the harbours destined for Megalonisos (the Big Island, as we are nicknamed) - and the farmers are camping out at the port tonight, so there's bound to be a party going on in the evening at Pireaus. Just keep an ear out for the mantinades and you'll find them.

UPDATE: So it's back home on theTuesday evening ferry boat for the Cretan farmers, who made their presence known in Athens, which they claim was their main prerogative in going to Athens. The were met by many opposition politicians (Greece is heading for early elections, so now is a good time to campaign), while the only government officials to meet with them were representatives from the police, who used tear gas, even while one of the opposition politicians was present 'in support of the Cretan farmers' (don't forget that he is also demanding the resignation of the government and early elections).

Well, we all had our fun, didn't we?

©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.

Mizithropites - Sfakianes pites (Μυζηθρόπιτες - Σφακιανές Πίτες)

Making filo (phyllo) pastry has never been my forte. I don't really need to make it that often because I have my precious filo pastry maker working miracles for all my spanakopita, hortopita and kalitsounia needs:

But filo pastry doesn't work for marathopites, those sensually aromatic seamless fennel pies traditionally made in Hania with wild greens and a lot of fennel, my all-time favorite Greek pita. When I made some marathopites recently, I needed to make the pastry for them myself:

Put some olive oil (no more than 1/3 of a cup) in a bowl, sprinkle a little salt, pour in a shot of tsikoudia, add a cup of water, and slowly mix in a kilo of all-purpose (or strong) flour to get a smooth ball of dough. This pastry can be used for all kinds of pies and pasties: spanakopita, hortopita, kalitsounia, marathopita, mizithropita, among others.

Let your pastry ball rest for about half an hour (at room temperature) before using it.

Meanwhile, I prepared the wild greens mixture. I love this sight:

.

I made a few marathopites, which I piled one by one on top of each other, each layer separated by a cloth. I even managed to roll them out without their popping open and spilling out the filling:

I used white flour to make the dough and wholegrain to spread it for the marathopites. Wholegrain flour suits this kind of pie, which contains wild greens and pungent fennel. This savoury pita is made and cooked in exactly the same way as the mizithropita below.

The wild greens mixture ran out before the pastry. Not wanting to waste it, I decided to make some sweet cheese and honey pies, mizithropites as we call them here, otherwise known as Sfakianes pites (meaning "pies from Sfakia") because they have their origins in this part of Hania. These pites are famous all over the island. They are the best pies in the world. I know I also said that about marathopites; maybe I shoud clarify things a little: the best SAVOURY pies in the world are marathopites, while the best SWEET pies in the world are mizithropites.

The pastry method for making marathopites and mizithropites is exactly the same. Shape small balls of dough the size of a lemon. If you're making marathopites, you'll be using a ladle full of greens mixture; if you're making mizithropites, shape the mizithra (similar to ricotta cheese) into balls the same size as the pastry. The cheese must not be too damp or runny. Mix in some semolina or flour to make it firmer. Don't add any more salt than what it originally contains.

Roll out the dough into a small round. Place the filling (mizithra for sfakianes pites, greens for marathopites) into the centre of the pastry round, wrap it up pouch-like and punch the top of the 'pouch' down. You will end up with fat little rounds of dough that will now be spread out and turned into flat pies, filled with cheese or greens, with a seamless look to them. Everyone will be intrigued as to how the mixtures ended up in the pie, a bit like the ship in the bottle...

Start spreading out the filled pastry. Use flour to keep the pastry from sticking to your work surface and roll them out VERY LIGHTLY (I can't stress this) with a rolling pin or spread them with your hands. I prefer the rolling pin - can you see where my pastry burst open at the rim?

Now you know why I don't like making my own pastry - my whole kitchen ends up resembling Alaska. Try clearing up the flour with a cloth; whatever you touch with it will also get coated in flour if it wasn't in the first place. Maybe a damp cloth is better; that will end up looking like sludge. The vacuum cleaner is the most efficient tool here...

Marathopites and mizithropites can be frozen, one on top of each other, with plastic wrap (I use clean supermarket bags) between each layer. My marathopites went into the deep freeze, but we couldn't resist the mizithropites. They last up to a week in the fridge; you can have them for supper any night of the week. I made a batch of eight (before I ran out of mizithra). Heat up your largest frying pan or a skillet (they were originally cooked on something called a 'satsi' in Greece). Cook them on a hot LIGHTLY OILED pan (too much oil will fry rather than cook them) on both sides till done. When they're ready, pour a HUGE spoonful of honey over them, cut them into quarters and serve.

These pites are also made and cooked using the same technique in other parts of the southeast Mediterranean: have a look at Nihal's spinach borek and potato borek. Borek is a kind of Turkish pie. The word 'borek' is also used in Greece, but as Nihal notes for Turkish cuisine, Greek cuisine is not homogeneous: 'boureki' in Crete is quite different to 'boureki' in Northern Greece, although they both refer to some kind of 'pie'.

*** *** ***

I STILL have some dough left (and no mizithra or greens to fill them with). I must find a way to use it up; I'll just have to make some xerotigana...

©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.

Aliens in the kitchen (Ξωτικά στην κουζίνα)

Calabrese, finnocchio, kohlrabi, all grown in Galatas, Hania. Only finnochio is sold in the stores; calabrese and kohlrabi are grown, but not sold.

Any ideas for cooked kohlrabi? I only use it raw.

Wild greens revisited (Και πάλι άγρια χόρτα )

Winter is my favorite season for greens, because this season and on through to spring gives such a wide variety of wild horta. In the summer, vlita (amaranth) greens are readily available, but that's about it. It seems strange that they can grow so prolifically during the hot season - they need a lot of water to remain healthy plants. But in the winter, greens orchestrate a festival of the senses: there is a huge variety available if only you know where to look, and they each have their own appearance, taste, texture and smell. In this season, people all over Greece are getting down to their knees looking for wild greens.

Wild greens, cleaned and ready for use, have just started to appear in the fresh markets - at the hefty price of 6.50 a kilo for a mixture of wild greens. These greens are harvested from the countryside, cleared of grit and dirt (so they only need a good rinse), and sold as a mixture. Despite their weedy looks - they are hardly ever sowed as seeds, but simply grow wildly - most of them are highly aromatic. If you crush a few mixed leaves in your hand and smell them, they enervate you with an uplifting feeling, making you aware of the natural environment with their hands-on effect. Most of these greens are never sold separately, apart from the fennel, which is always sold in small bunches as a herb, in the same way as mint, dill and parsley. In Crete, wild greens are sold by the kilo, all mixed up together, which is also how they are used.

The bag I bought (I was able to fill it myself) contained: wild fennel, the Greek-type wild parsley and wild celery, wild leeks, sowthistle, swiss chard, wild mustard, hawksbeard, kafkalithres (known as hartwort, a species of Tordylium) and one or two more leaves which I couldn't identify; this shows how much progress I have made since last year, when I would buy them and never once wondered what their names were. A year on, I have even managed to track down articles in scientific journals concerning their nutrient values:

"The large variety of wildly grown edible greens differ every season ... and [are] eaten fresh in salads with plenty of virgin olive oil, or mixed and cooked with tomatoes, onions, meat or fish. They are also mixed and prepared as pies, thus increasing the daily vitamin and antioxidant intake. Edible wild plants are a common food source for the older generations of the population of Crete and continue today in families which maintain the traditional lifestyle. The Greek Orthodox religion plays an important role in the traditional diet, recommending approximately 180 or more days of fasting from meat, eggs and dairy products per year... The wildly grown Cretan greens are potentially a rich source of antioxidants in the [Cretan] diet... which plays an important role in the health of the elderly and rural population of Crete. ... The wild Cretan greens are rich sources of vitamin C, K, E and carotenoids, and capable of significantly contributing to the RDA needs of the population. In most cases, it was found that the wild greens had higher micronutrient content than those cultivated. ... further studies are required to evaluate the feasibilty of commercially growing some of the wild greens so that non-rural population can also reap the benefits of enriching their diet with traditional greens."

Out of curiosity I tracked down the sources of the wild greens used in the study, and found (to my chagrin) that they were NOT from Hania, but from every other province of Crete: Rethimno, Iraklio and Lasithi; this is simply because the research was based in Iraklio, and Hania was the province most further away to the study centre, the other provinces of Crete neighbouring Iraklio. But the wild greens being harvested and eaten by the local people are the same all over the island.

*** *** ***

The urban population need not worry about how to obtain these greens - it has expensive access to them via the fresh produce counters of the supermarkets and the daily street markets. But there is also a much cheaper source for the same greens, one that is not always feasible because of the restrictions of urban living.

In actual fact, most of these greens are available in the gardens of most village dwellings. A patch of earth from our own garden revealed fennel, mustard, nettles, chickweed, making my purchase of wild greens sound rather expensive, given their availability at my doorstep. Here's the catch: think of the work required to search for these varieties among the clover flowers (which are also edible - the leaves are used in the Middle East in salad dressings when there is a shortage of lemons), clean them (they are collected at a time when the earth is still very muddy and wet), trim, wash and dry them. Now you know why freshly picked wild greens sometimes cost more than meat.

The stadium in the centre of Hania is full of wild greens. They grow around the tarmac used for track and field events, while tsohos (sowthistle) and radiki (dandelion) can be seen growing from a nutrient-packed sewer...

Just how much weed (in the legal sense) is edible all around us? What I found in my home garden alone made me realise just how much we take for granted. I also took a little tour of the peace-inspiring gardens of my workplace, and found a highly developed, sustainable - and highly edible - ecosystem. Susun Weed summarises the most common garden weeds found the world over in Western gardens if you want to find out what's edible in your own patch of earth. The most important consideration when using garden weeds as wild greens is to make sure you have identified them correctly as edible greens. Then you may also want to make sure animals haven't been treading them, because it will also mean that they've been doing other things there too. A forum discusses interesting ways to use dandelion weeds, one of the most popular garden greens growing in abundance in most people's lawns. And don't forget that these greens are probably the most organic carbon-footprint-less food you will eat in your life..

MAICh gardens: enlarge the photos to see the radiki (dandelion) and tsohous (sowthistle).

I'm not quite sure when I'll bring my own bag to collect the greens I found growing in abundance at MAICh; if my colleagues see me, they may think I've taken to the hills...

*** *** ***

These greens can be served as simple boiled greens dressed with the classic olive oil and lemon juice, accompanied by cheese and boiled eggs. I've also cooked them with rice, like a spanakorizo. In Crete, they are often turned into exotic traditional rustic dishes. They are so versatile that you could easily make a very different dish each day using the same greens.

To soften the pungent scents and tastes of the wild greens, I added some tamer greens (spinach) to the wild mixture:

For those who like their horta raw, try this mixture (with salt, pepper and olive oil added - soft curd cheese optional) on a piece of toasted bread of any kind.

This mixture was used to create the following dishes:
- calamari with wild greens and green olives (kapama) in tomato sauce, served with rice:

The greens can be used chopped or whole - we prefer them cut up into the sauce. This method of cooking greens (in a tomato sauce) is generally known as 'tsigariasto'; adding frozen calamari and olives turns the dish into 'kapama'.

- my latest round of freezing green pies (hortopita; made in the same way as spanakopita) and kalitsounia:

This tray of kalitsounia will last us about a month if served on a regular bi-weekly basis.

- and marathopites, small vegan pasties, a local specialty in Hania, my all-time favorite pie:

This μαραθόπιτα (marathopita - fennel pie) has a seamless look to it. The greens mixture is encased in pastry. This pie is traditionally cooked on a very hot oiled skillet called a 'satsi'. I added more fennel to the mixture for more taste.

This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, hosted this week by Marija from Palachinka.

This one's for Cheryl, who could make a mint by selling wild greens from her own garden.

©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.

Political dingle-dangles (Πολιτικές κρεμάστρες)

In our house, we love looking at maps, just as much as the Brits love birdwatching. My favorite map is one I picked up on the Kings Road in London from one of those shops where people pay a lot of money for a not-so-useful-but-very-artistic gift to impress their friends, and then they ask the shop assistant to wrap it up for them in some expensive wrapping paper, in this case, the map. Three pounds for a piece of paper with an old European map printed on it, showing the state of Europe in 1897, from the perspective of the USA.

In 1897, Finland did not exist, nor did Poland. Ireland was not a divided country, while Romania was a third of its present size. Austria was Hungary and Hungary was Austria, while Germany and Turkey both claimed to be empires. Serbia and Bosnia were separate countries, as they are now after the killings and destruction that Yugoslavia underwent to get back to the state it was in over 100 years ago.

The Century Atlas Map of Europe, 1897

100 years ago, no one knew where Macedonia was, but every one knew Constantinople. Now, you can choose the kind of Macedonia you want to go to (but not on a Greek map), whereas no one can go to Constantinople any more (you've got to go to Istanbul). Uskup was a relatively insignificant part of the Turkish empire. Now, with a slight change of name (Skopje), it's a relatively insignificant part of Europe. Greece was about as big as two Sicilies stuck one on top of each other, and it reached as far as Larissa. My beloved homeland was still considered part of the Turkish empire, but no one could decide on whether to call it Crete or Candia, despite the fact that it had in fact only just managed to free itself from hanging off the dingle-dangles of the Turkish empire in the previous year. News did not travel fast enough to the other side of the world in 1897.

I stuck my purchase up on the kitchen wall when we returned home from our trip. My husband thought it inappropriate.

"This map only confuses me, Maria, I can't find my bearings." People believe in labels. He couldn't see the ones he expected on this old 1897 version of Europe. I bought him an updated map of the continent as we know it, produced in Greece, and labelled in the politically appropriate manner as such. He was delighted.

"Now we can take the old one down," he said.

I protested. "Let's keep it there for comparison reasons."

Modern Europe, 2006 (Greek edition by Loukopoulos Bros)

*** *** ***

He was staring intently at this modern map the other day.

"One look at this map and its obvious what they want to do."

"Who?" I asked. I eventually worked out who he meant by they. You will too.

"The gas pipeline presently runs from Russia, through the Ukraine, and onto some other European nations, eventually arriving in Greece.

The present gas pipeline (approximately)

"The Russians are sick and tired of playing games with bad debtors who hang off they's dingle-dangles, so they want to build another gas pipeline running through politically friendlier countries.

The future gas pipeline (approximately).

"But they says that's not necessary, because they wants to build its own pipeline running from Kazakhstan, whose resources they uses, running through Turkey, which would then pass it on to Greece. Which all means, of course, that if we decide to use gas from they's new proposed pipeline, we'd be hanging off both they's and Turkey's dingle-dangles. And they hopes we're going to agree. Paparia!"

They would prefer it if Greece used this gas pipeline instead

*** *** ***

Politics. We've had enough of both politics and politicians as of late. Politics and politicians get involved in so much of the daily life of Greece, that Greeks simply cannot progress, and all because we allow ourselves to hang off the own dingle-dangles of our politicos. I wonder what would happen if we were simply to ignore them, and carry on with our daily business, as if they simply did not exist.

A charming middle-aged Englishman once told me on a double-decker bus in Londond that my kids are destined for the stage...

Take the Vasilopita cutting function for the Chess Academy of Chania that I attended last weekend with my children. The event was supposed to start at 6.30pm. I should have known this would have meant 'Greek time', in other words, at least 3/4 of an hour late. The only reason why we went was because my son had won third prize in an in-house tournament, and he was going to be awarded his medal on this night. The event was held at the reception area of a hotel. The admission price was 5 euro per person, sweets and drinks included, raffle tickets excluded (2 euro each). I couldn't work out why the event couldn't start on time: was it because of the strict adherence by Greeks to Greek time, or was it because all the politicians who were invited to give out the awards were adhering strictly to Greek time, hence our hanging off their dingle-dangles, in order to achieve the purpose we were there for?

The array of politicians was wide. I have never, ever, in my whole life, had the chance to see the people who run both my town and country from up so close. (And neither do I wish to have to do this again so quickly.) I was lucky (in that double sense) to be sitting near the door and could take in their individual entrances. I had my camera with me, but since none of these people had the Tsipras factor, it never occurred to me to take photos of these important gents as they arrived at this auspicious occasion, "η κοπή της Βασιλόπιτας", the cutting of the New Year's cake for the Chess Academy of Chania, an event held any time in January by all clubs and organisations, usually a social occasion to wish the members good luck. Many Members of Parliament were invited, but funnily enough, no priests, hinting that chess is a political rather than religious game.

The first politico to arrive was from the old school of politicians, Mr Skoulakis (a fellow blogger, would you believe). He has the classic Cretan looks with a thick moustache; he looks very much like my dad. His serious but homely manner reminds one of Venizelos, the famous Cretan politician who became the Prime Minister of Greece. Skoulakis entered the room like a gentleman who didn't need any introductions, taking it for granted that everyone knew him, and they did, because he's been in politics longer than I have been alive.



Next in was Mr Markoyiannakis. Why he's known better as Markoyiannis, without the Cretan name suffix -akis, as one would expect of a Cretan (have you ever noticed my own name?), might have something to do with his blond looks - he definitely doesn't look like my dad. He entered the room shiftily, his furtive gaze showing on his mafia-like fatsa as his eyes darted quickly from one side of the room to the other. He was flanked by two slight looking gentlemen who, despite their short stature, were probably undercover cops with pistols hidden in the right places to be brought out as needed. Mr Markoyiannakis never actually looked at anyone, just straight through them. The icing on the cake was when he excused himself for having to leave the event early. In his own words; "There are a lot of Vasilopites to cut this evening." Shucks man, that guy works so hard.




Along comes Karagiozis in the form of Voloudakis. His eyes were large and bright, just like a college freshman's; he's new to the job. It's clearly obvious by the way he kept his hands raised waving to everyone; he looked as though he didn't know anyone in there in the first place. He waved as he entered with his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, just like a Kewpie doll. He looked like my dad - the young version, of course, minus the moustache; let's face it, it's not so fashionable these days. He carried on like this until the end of his stay at the awards ceremony, exiting in exactly the same fashion as he entered, his hands flapping wildly.

What kind of Vasilopita ceremony would it be if we didn't have Santa Claus himself making an appearance? Enter Mr Nikiforakis, Santa Claus minus the podge. He had a jolly look about him; he couldn't stop smiling and laughing. His humour was contagious - we ended up laughing with him too. He kept confusing the derivatives of the word 'skaki' (σκάκι), the Greek word for 'chess', with the word 'skase' (σκάσε), the Greek word for 'shut up'. This guy also looked like my dad (albeit after he had lost a lot of weight due to illness), and yes, he had a moustache. At one point he couldn't stop laughing when he corrected himself after saying 'skaSisitiki' (which meant "something to do with shutting up") when he should have said skaKisitiki (which means "something to do with chess"), which prompted my 8-year-old son to ask me: "Καλά, τρελός είναι αυτός ο άνθρωπος και γελάει τόσο πολύ;" (which basically translates to "Hey, why is that man laughing so much? Is he crazy?"). It is said that if you want the truth, you should ask a child.

What's that Greek saying about the roosters?

Οπου λαλούν πολλά κοκκόρια, αργεί να ξημερώσει.
"Wherever a lot of roosters crow, sunrise is delayed."

The higher the chess award, the more VIP the politician was who handed it out, and the earlier in the evening it was presented. We got our award nearly two hours after we arrived. It was presented to my son by an insignificant local councillor. At this point, both my children had developed scratchy bums from sitting too long in a chair, and we had to leave. We couldn't wait for the κοπή της Βασιλόπιτας, the intended purpose of the evening, and neither could we hang around to find out if we were a lucky winner of a man's tie, a lady's pair of gloves, faux bijoux, a keyboard (without a computer), and some other prizes, kindly donated by local businesses.

Being a mother is very hard work - I've got at least a dozen more years of this keep-up-the-appearances business to go...

*** *** ***

"The Greek map," you ask me. "Shouldn't you have one of those hanging on the wall?"

Yes, don't worry, we've got one of those too. We live in Greece, remember?
And it's still a country.
By sheer luck.

Oh my God, the food. Before the pan burns, here's the recipe for dingle dangles. All food photos kindly donated by karvouna. Publicity photos of the MPs were stolen from related websites.

©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 humour and Pad Thai Singlina (Γέλιο α λα Ελληνικά και σύγκλινα α λα Ταϋλάνδη)

I'm not too hot on TV cookery shows. They seem to be full of advice that isn't feasible, ingredients that aren't readily available, complicated recipes made to look simple, and overly slim cooks (for someone constantly involved with food). Their pantries are full of jars and bottles containing items you've never heard of, the meat they cook never looks like it came from an animal (but from saran-wrapped styrofoam dishes), and the cooks seem to have a strangely distant relationship with their object, their kitchen aprons too clean for the use intended.

The Greek equivalent of 'Ready, Steady, Cook' was quite enjoyable, but didn't last long. People at the time were probably not ready for such radical changes to their regularised cooking methods and ingredients. Some of the more entertaining food shows in Greece these days are those which report on regional cuisine cooked by locals with a hands-on approach to food. The presenters of such shows are rarely cooks themselves, acting more like facilitators (or 'glastres', flower pots as we call them in Greek, meaning not very well-informed female TV announcers).

An actor recently came on a 'morning coffee' program, and showed us how to cook a pear tart. His 'kitchen' was located in a restaurant. "That looks nice, Maria," said my husband. "We (the royal one) could try making one of those some day." Yes, we certainly could - it would be bigger, the crust would be thinner, and the fruit wouldn't look pureed; quite frankly, it looked like something made by someone who rarely spends time in the kitchen on a daily basis, has most of their cooking needs performed by restaurants and/or family members, and simply wants to impress his/her friends by cooking haute cuisine.

This is why I love Ilias Mamalakis' shows (and Jamie Oliver's for that matter). For a start, they both cook food suitable for all ages. Ilias knows food at the grass roots level. In his travels around the country in search of regional specialties, he targets real food made on a regular basis by the locals, using locally produced specialties. His shows are foodalogueamentaries: a mixture of armchair travel, documentation and hearty meals prepared for eating in social environments, a very important characteristic of Greek cuisine. He also takes trips abroad showcasing foreign cuisine, at the same time teaching us how to adopt it into our Mediterranean kitchen using local food items. He did this very well last weekend with a food trek across Thailand, interjected with plenty of Greek humour, which may sound slightly insulting to the uninitiated. It takes a little getting used to, but it is genuine, and there is no intention on the part of the entertainer to offend. Sometimes, it's just a case of stating the obvious, which is not always done in the politically correct world. But honesty is the best policy, and it doesn't hurt to laugh.

When Ilias arrived in Thailand, the locals probably thought he was Buddha reincarnated. A short, stout man with his big fat cuddly teddy bear looks, and a constant smile on his face, he epitomises contentment with the world around him. Ilias was infatuated with the exotic sights and sounds of Thailand, as any open-minded person would be upon entering a new environment:

of the tropical rain: "when it rains here, γίνεται ο χαλασμός του κόσμου" (it's like the end of the world).
of the local people: "if you want to hear them, ask them to talk to you as if they need to be heard through a tropical rainstorm" (that χαλασμός του κόσμου that he was talking about above).
of the elephants: "finally, someone who eats more than I do."
more on the Thai people: if you smile and speak softly, you'll be guaranteed a pleasant reception from them (ελπίζω να μην μας έβρυσε, he also added - "I hope he wasn't swearing at us").

Ilias explained some of the new flavours he was lucky to try in their authentic home environment while he was there, and gave us an idea of how we can substitute local items if we don't live near Evripidou Street in Athens, where most of these items are readily available (the largest variety of non-Greek food items in the country are located here):
dried hot radish - "use freshly grated Daikon radish which has a spicy flavour"
palm sugar - "use plain sugar, adding it little by little to suit your taste buds"
tamarind - "it tastes of sour lemon"
fish sauce - "σχέτη λύσσα" (so salty it will make you rabid); use salt or extra soya sauce
rice vinegar - use a mild Greek wine vinegar for a similar effect.

We all take delight in the sensation of trying something new, but if you live away from the main centres (Athens and Thessaloniki), these exotic ingredients will be hard to come by. My local supermarket stocks a good range of BLUE DRAGON products, but if you use only one mass-produced brand of Asian bottled/canned/packaged food, in this case you will end up making a meal that resembles a blue dragon rather than a real Asian meal. It's better to make an effort to find local products that you can substitute for the real tastes to re-create this meal in your own home, and this can be done. There are few cuisines in the world that do not have a range of herbs and spices that can be used to create a desired flavour.

So where's the humour? Here's how Ilias explained some other ingredients to his Greek viewers:
tofu - μια σχέτη αηδία (absolutely sickening): no matter how dairy-free or vegan or healthful tofu is, it is usually tasteless;
tomatos - as ripe as a stone - you're better off using Greek ones (he's probably right).
sesame oil - ha ha, very funny, olive oil can't be beat (of course, he's right);
dried shrimps - OK, they have so much shrimp available that they run out of storage space in their freezer;
chili - έχει βάλει αρκετό ώστε να εκτοξευθεί ένας πύραυλος - they use enough to fire a rocket into space.
Not funny to you? Lost in translation...

The 15 minutes dedicated to making pad thai was not enough to really understand the technique involved in making this dish. The internet features a short but very descriptive video of pad thai being made on a floating market (pretend you didn't see the cook rinse her cleaning rag in the river) but the best account is given by Chez Pim. She explains how ridiculous it is to give precise instructions on making a dish often made with whatever is on hand, and whose success depends on the taste buds of the eaters. She also notes some abominations in recipes available on the internet for pad thai that will guarantee failure - no doubt, we could all mention a few gems of this sort for other recipes...

It goes without saying that pad thai was on the menu during Ilias' trip. As my husband watched the Thai chefs deftly shaking their woks, his mouth watered at the range of items being constantly added to them, layer by layer. "Can you do that?" he asked me.

Men will be men. The last time I did that was when the children complained that this kind of makaronada was not to their liking. Not being very sympathetic to fussy eaters, I hate cooking more than one meal for lunch to suit different tastes. It isn't feasible. Good thing there was some leftover spag bog for them today.

My kitchen benchtop was fast running out of space as I laid out all the ingredients needed to create a Mediterranean version of pad thai. Packaged goods, left to right: mild Cretan wine vinegar, olive oil, sugar, hot thai chili sauce, soya sauce, rice noodles, sambal oelek. In the bowls: shredded cabbage, cauliflower florets, thinly sliced singlina, grated onion, garlic and ginger, lime (available here occassionally), lemon, egg, slivered bell pepper, peanuts. The unsightly large empty plastic canister on the right is simply my way of reminding Mr OC to fill it up with olive oil...

I won't be giving you my recipe for the pad thai I made; the photo says it all. I used Pim's advice (not her recipe), and if you want to successfully make some yourself, it's worth reading every single word. I had no suitable meat or seafood available as it is used in pad thai, but I was very fortunate to have on hand some traditional Cretan preserved pork (known locally as singlina, smoked pork with sage, thyme and Cretan oregano, ) and a bottle of sambal oelek, a fresh chili paste which I had bought on one of my past trips to Evripidou Street. Although I don't own a wok, the low pan I used with a heavy metal base was perfect for all the quick mixing required so that nothing stuck to the bottom of the pan.

Both packets contain smoked preserved pork made in Crete. Singlina (left) are made according to a Haniotiko tradition, while apaki (right) comes from Rethimno, the neighbouring province to Hania.

.

Fusion cuisine suits the globalised world we live in to a tee, so my creation - using traditional Mediterranean flavours and ingredients to produce an Asian-style dish - would make this an excellent example of MediterrAsian cooking, using the two healthiest cuisines in the world, according to the figures for longevity in the countries where these or similar cuisines (Crete and Japan) are commonly practiced.

Then again, pad thai singlina could simply be a case of salmon kleftiko...

©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.