Greek salad days

 

Sunday lunch spot, Almyrida

The iconic Greek salad – cucumber, tomato, onion, feta, olives, olive oil and oregano – celebrates a lot about Greece: the bounty of its fruit and vegetables, the artisanship of producing world-class cheese in an arid, rugged terrain, and luxurious olive oil, which, prized since ancient times, evokes something of that history. You do not have to go far to search for a decent Greek Salad. Ultimately you can’t disguise a bad tomato. As long as those are firm and juicy, you’re halfway there.

Moving on from the classic Greek I have been sampling and experimenting with a few other Greek cheese salad combinations, selecting ingredients that are cheap and plentiful in Crete. The addition of cheese makes for a more substantial light meal than a vegetable salad alone, which is too much like being on a diet.

Greek Salad

The original Greek Salad

Here is my first attempt at Greek salad, served with olive bread. Normally I would only use fresh herbs in uncooked dishes, but in Greece dried oregano is used everywhere, and it actually expunges a significant boost through its companion ingredients. The pack I bought was produced nearby, presumably recently. I think as long as you rotate your dried herbs often enough you’ll get the right flavour (not like me – my oregano at home in London was about four years old!)

Watermelon, cucumber and feta salad

Watermelon, cucumber and feta salad

Watermelon season on the island: every beach shop has a crate full of them on its terrace, farmers drive utes with the back filled with melons and a scale hooked over the side, announcing through a tannoy they are in town and parking up the end of the road to take custom, while delicate black-frocked grandmothers and surly teenage sons are put in charge of manning palm leaf-shaded stalls right along the main highway.

Watermelon and feta is a refreshing sweet and salty partnership. In this version I added cucumber as it’s from the same family as watermelon with a similar texture, just one is sweet and one isn’t… also pink and pale green look pretty together.

Cretan salad

Cretan salad with mizithra cheese

We ordered a variation of Greek Salad at one of our local tavernas in Almyrida, Crete. They had named it Cretan salad and added pieces of Cretan ‘rusks’ as large croutons (rusks here are large pieces of dried bread: it is often found in a simple meze snack called Davos, which is a rusk drizzled with olive oil, sprinkled with oregano and topped with chopped tomato and crumbled feta, a bit like bruschetta). Instead of feta in this Cretan salad they added a beautiful soft, fluffy goats cheese called mizithra, which originates in Crete and is a protected product.

Fresh mizithra is similar to ricotta in texture but with a distinct goat’s milk flavour; a favourite breakfast pastry here combines mizithra and honey in a pastry case, all flecked with cinnamon.

Cretan watermelon, cucumber and goats cheese salad

Watermelon, cucumber and goat cheese salad

Taking inspiration from the Cretan salad, I adapted the watermelon and cucumber salad to include the fresh myzirtha cheese. This is not easy to get; even here you can’t buy it packaged, it’s dished up fresh at the deli counter. I would suggest maybe using ricotta and feta crumbled on top, or a very soft young goats cheese. I also added shredded mint leaves and chilli flakes.

3 to 4 small cucumbers or one telegraph cucumber, peeled and cut into large chunks

Quarter of a large watermelon, seeded, and cut into chunks the same size as cucumber pieces

20 mint leaves, shredded finely

1/3 teaspoon chilli flakes (or to taste)

150g mizithra or other soft goats cheese or combination of feta and ricotta

Drizzle of clear, runny honey (optional)

Drizzle of olive oil

Combine cucumber and watermelon pieces in salad bowl with two thirds of the mint leaves and the chilli flakes.

Layer cheese on top with your fingers. Sprinkle remaining mint leaves on top and drizzle with honey (optional) and olive oil.

Meteoric omission: how we managed to miss some of the world’s most stunning monasteries

The peaks of Meteora

Meteora (Greek: ‘hovering in the air’) is an area south of Thessaly that features an extraordinary geological feat. Out of the sparse agricultural plains and gentle hills we started to notice these sheer vertical rocks going hundreds of metres up into the sky. Rocks like this continued to appear in clusters for 20 or 30 kms. Maybe we would have stopped, but Milly was asleep in the back so her parents were contented with in-car harmony and out-of-car scenery, but mostly in-car harmony. It was on this drive 50km later that I bought a Greece guidebook on Kindle and looking up Thessaly discovered that these were not only extraordinary rocks, but at their peaks were perched medieval monasteries from the 11^th century – a UNESCO world heritage site none the less. At one point there were hundreds of these monasteries of the sky. Only 6 remain today but they are open to the public (and I missed them!) Forward-planning research 1 – spontaneity 0.

But what stories they tell. One that captured my imagination was that ropes were used to reach the monasteries (steps carved in to the rock were only introduced in the 1920s). Perilous enough, yes. But these ropes were never replaced unless broken. Only the will of God would determine whether the threadbare rope you clung to would support one more passenger, and if it didn’t, it was all too late. Or maybe that was just a convenient story to minimise visits from the Jehovah's Witnesses.

UNESCO says in its description: ‘Built under impossible conditions, with no practicable roads, permanent though precarious human habitations subsist to this day in the Meteora, but have become vulnerable under the impact of time. The net in which intrepid pilgrims were hoisted up vertically alongside the 373 m cliff where the Varlaam monastery dominates the valley symbolizes the fragility of a traditional way of life that is threatened with extinction.’ See the full description on the UNESCO list.

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Monasteries, with their reclusive locations full of secret corners and alleys and their wise but dutiful populaces, have been credited with keeping Hellenic culture alive during the Ottoman occupation – not just Christian era Hellenic culture but the academic and cultural achievements of the ancient Greeks.

We headed on to our destination for the night, Larissa. Short of historic sights in town, we were the only foreigners to be found. There was a large cafe scene –never have I witnessed so much consumption of iced coffee. Every  table at 30-odd cafes in the pedestrianised centre, even right in to the night. No one drinking hot coffee or alcohol, occasionally there’d be a soft drink sipper, but they were rare. On the whole, iced coffee or its variations like ‘cappuccino freddo’ etc.

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This hinterland of Greece is also where meat is devoured with even more gusto and reverence than the rest of the country. Restaurants have several roasting carcasses turning in the window and rolled meat kebabs behind the counter. It was time for our first gyro- the street food with everything, but mainly meat. It was so good at lunch we went back for seconds at dinner.

Politics continued that night with a protest throughout the town at the abuses of politicians and the further cuts Greeks were facing.

Best foodie moment: my first Greek gyro: shredded roast pork and chicken in soft oiled hot pita with tomatoes and tsaziki. And unnecessary but not unwelcome chips tucked inside on top.

Arrival in Greece: a national strike and feta at source

The day we entered Greece it seemed the financial and political crisis afflicting the country had reached a new crescendo. A national strike was on, Athens was leading CNN international news with images of students, workers, police and teargas intercut with political press conference shots where the president expressed his desire to force austerity measures through by forming a unity government. Meanwhile Greece’s credit rating was downgraded to CCC, the lowest in the world.

What did the Greeks think of all this? They had been through a year of harsh cuts, and were now facing more, while their country was being forced to borrow money at an impossibly unachievable 50% interest rate. Well, it was hard to understand exactly what the good people of Ioannina in Greece’s north-western corner of Epirus thought of this. Greek is a fairly impenetrable language to an English speaker/reader, and this pretty lakeside town seemed mainly catered to domestic tourism and English was rarely to be seen or spoken. Fine by us, and our stupid fault for being monolingual. Seeing as I struggled to remember the four-syllable words for please and thank you, delving into a discussion about politics wasn’t on the cards.

What we could see was every TV in every shop tuned in to the Athens street scenes, and even worldweary older men of the kind you normally see taking coffee or tea together in Med countries/on London’s Green Lanes with slow animated motions, had faces impassively concentrated on screen.

This is hardly the most dramatic event in Greece’s packed history. Ioannina had flowered as a commercial and intellectual centre of the Ottoman Empire. alone the last 100 years have seen the fall of the Ottoman Empire, the Balkan Wars and joining of Greece, a population exchange with Turkey which saw the departure of thousands of Turks, occupation by the Germans in WWII and the expulsion of its millennia-old Jewish community in 1944. This was followed by a vicious civil war. And then democracy, European Union integration, affluence… against its historical chart, 21^st century boom and bust economics seems a mere ripple. Nevertheless being the focus of world attention for the wrong reason is disappointing and even mortifying for a proud nation.

Milly leading me up the garden path into the monastery

In Ioannina there is an island in the middle of the lake with several monasteries – apparently Ioannina Island is Europe’s only inhabited island in a lake, population 250-500 depending on your source. my 20 month old daughter led me into the Philothropian Monastery. Sprinting up the path away from where we’d sat for a rest she continued through a small entrance way and I was obliged to follow into a courtyard where she squealed with delight and ran deeper into the garden . I had assumed it was deserted but saw washing and a stove and some shoes outside a door, and some well-kept potplants. I tried to grab her and depart, but heard a gruff noise and then an unkempt middle-aged man with a rough face, lanky hair and no chance of a smile approached us holding up a key and indicating across the courtyard. I smiled politely, picked up Milly and once again, obliged to follow. He unlocked the door to a stone chapel. Every surface, wall through to sloping ceilings, was covered in deep, rich Byzantine paintings of saints, important family and pre-Christian scholars such as Aristotle(this was not my perceptive instant recognition, I found this out later) picked out in gold.

We went, me leading hastily through the anteroom and then into another, me gripping on to Milly and our host following behind. In the semi-darkness Milly’s breath was fast and shallow and she clutched me tightly. I was equally besotted by the visuals and a little bit terrified that there was a small chance we would be ensnared in the annals of a dark church with secret rooms.

I later read that the Monastery was founded in the 13^th century and the paintings were created around 1542. They were in superb condition, possibly restored at some point. Supposedly the building had been a ‘secret school’ where the Greek language, culture and Christian learnings were kept alive in secret by the clergy under the Ottoman Empire. However more recent scholars have said ‘secret schools’ are a myth, and that Greek education was legitimate under the Turks. No doubt the clergy had a role in fostering Hellenic traditions and values with more self-determination than if left to the occupiers, who had more pressing concerns of their own.

My glances at the frescoes were fleeting, I was grateful when we reached the last room. I turned to our host smiled graciously and said thank you and we returned to the entrance and broad daylight.

saganaki - fried kefalograviera cheese

For our first night in Greece it had to be country salad (Greek Salad) and a few other mezedes plates at a lakeside restaurant. Where better to eat Greek Salad than in Epirus, the province we are staying in and the source of feta cheese? It has EU protection and must be made with sheep’s milk or sheep and goats milk. Smooth, creamy, tangy, and like a salty kiss on the juicy tomatoes.  We also ate another local cheese in saganaki style (fried), called Kefalograviera. More of a stronger, aged flavour than haloumi, very tasty, quite rich. 

first Greek salad

On the way home the town had filled with noisy, friendly teenagers heading for cafes – an upbeat antidote to the political worries of older people.

Best food moment: Greek salad served with half a block of Epirus feta cheese

Italians do it better

I know it’s obvious but bloody hell, the food and drink in Italy just floors me every time. Today it’s Trieste, that ancient port city that hooks off the main peninsula’s north-east. I wasn’t sure if Trieste, historically part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire for 600 years until after World War I and deeply embedded in mittel-Europe geographically, would share the pan-Italy ‘perspective’ on food that I believe make it harder to be disappointed by mediocrity.

Maybe it’s the reverence and mythology around Italian food that has been so prevalent in food culture in my lifetime, but I like to believe in Italy, and my first impressions on Italian food have stuck. I first passed through Italy flying into Bergamo in the north (Piedmont) and catching a train up to Switzerland to meet my dad, step-mother and her family. The train involved four connections, and at one of these I went over to the 1950s- station bar/cafe and ordered a grilled eggplant panino and a coffee. The eggplant had been marinated and grilled to tenderness and worked harmoniously with a mild mountain cheese in thin crisp bread in the grill. The coffee was perfect. Even in New Zealand where food is pretty good now, you still need to be a bit selective in seeking out quality – you don’t generally stumble upon it in ordinary working railway station cafes.

In Trieste I was expecting interesting influences of Austrian/Slovenian/Hungarian/Italian and had heard about a Trieste pork stew much like goulash served with Italy’s Po valley staple, polenta – an obvious meeting of culinary cultures. I had also heard about the fine pastry tradition and elegant, archly intellectual Viennese style coffee houses, the places that writers like Irish émigré to the city James Joyce was fond of 100 years ago.

We entered Italy through Slovenia and have accommodation in Banne, an affluent hilltop town perched above Trieste and reachable by an early 20^th Century tram offering incredible city and sea views. The architecture is a splendid baroque with open piazzas and hidden alleyways.

Actually I didn’t try the pork stew. It was hot and we ended up sampling treats as we wandered through the city.

At an old-fashioned sweet shops we sampled marzipan and crème cakes; at the fruit shop we were greeted by beautifully tended and displayed produce and a seriously proud shopkeeper who after selling us juicy plump apricots chucked in vast handfuls of perfect cherries for our daughter Milly. The coffee at the hotel in Banne and in the cafes in town was excellent, and gelateria were everywhere, including one shop ‘chocolat’ whose selection was purely in monochrome style flavours from coconut and white chocolate to deep dark Vahlrona. There were a number of local breads like brioche or challah. These were fine, but not worth seeking out particularly. Finally local prosecco served in one of the many bars by the viaduct was delicious and reasonably priced.

It was a fleeting visit, I wish I’d tried some localised Trieste cuisine, but at least I can report that Italian quality is alive here.

In search of do re me – la

The Sound of Music and Four weddings and a funeral are the only movies I can watch again. And again. The pinnacle of TSOM-viewings came the sing-along Friday night screening at London’s Prince Charles Cinema in Soho with gallons of awful white wine and MC-d by a drag queen dressed as claws-out Baroness Schraeder.  But I like it not just for its sticky sweet kitsch but because, shrouded in Hollywood inconsistencies though it no doubt is, it’s basically about doing the right thing. And how it makes me yearn for those mountains, like it was my homeland. Forever.  

Those hills

We have made it as far as Germany. En route from Munich to Trieste and with just a 2-hour stoppage possible to recreate the feeling of that alpine epic of cinema, minus the dark overshadowing of impending Third Reich doom… how to spend it? Obviously it must involve food. The plan has to be assembled en route, internetless. I have been to Austria before in winter with my Dad, and it was beautiful, and I always imagined a return during the summer months.

Stunning Bavarian countryside is heightening the mood and upping the stakes. Summer wildflowers in the pastures, villages peaked by white painted steeples nestled under steep hills darkly forested and merrily pastured, chalet farmhouses with geraniums abloom in window boxes, high wooden barns and piles of perfectly stacked firewood, caramel calves with actual bells chomping pasture (sorry I don’t get to use that word very often).

I am loosely imagining frying cheese on a mountainside looking over a valley with a village nestled at bottom and a mountain chalet at top… maybe that’s a little more Heidi (different country, different story). Apparently Santz Gelgin is where they filmed the mountain scenes and this is 30 km east of Salzburg and also where Hermut Kohl ex German Chancellor has a summerhouse. It’s too far for us, we head for Salzburg for our TSOM moments.

Under the hills

Despite TSOM having little interest within Austria or Germany (there is a German language version of the real Von Trapp family story) the tourism office in Salzburg provides good advice on location-spotting. Some of there advice is available online here.  Somehow an hour passed between arriving in Salzburg and locating an information office: a combination of traffic, not wanting to pay for parking, a dawdling toddler, a left-behind parking building ticket and walking the wrong way.

So we were recommended Schloss Hellbrun for our TSOM fantasy. 6km out of town it is the former summer palace of the Archbishop of Salzburg, and it is here that the summerhouse that features several times in the movie is located. There are acres of splendid parkland, formal gardens and a children’s play area – free and open to the public (you pay to go in to the palace) all in the shadow of those hills that put a lump in my throat.

You can drive there and park in the grounds or go a little further along the road and park for free.

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Best food moment: We found a picnic table and fried bratwurst on our camping stove and stuffed these in white rolls with shiny dark brown exterior, like they’ve been spray-tanned. Slightly awkward about public displays of fire since having had a portable barbeque extinguished on Primrose Hill, but no rangers presented themselves. And the bratwurst went down well Milly – the first food apart from mandarins and breadsticks eaten for days.

The Road to Greece

Dave, Milly (20 months) and I have left London in our Peugeot 206 for a three-month trip around continental Europe before heading back to New Zealand to live. We have left our jobs, sold our flat in London and will be travelling to three longer-stay destinations: Crete in Greece (3 weeks), Ostuni in Puglia, Italy (3 weeks) and Galicia in Spain (2 weeks) and will spend a week or two travelling between these places.

The route to destinations has been defined by google maps’ shortest routes to spare Milly from too much car travel, not by culinary hotspots! Nevertheless I’m hoping to eat interesting things en route, as well as at the longer-stay destinations, as Europe’s sheer concentration of cultures makes for diverse eating. Like a lot of people, trying new foods, or at least local variations, is one of the most exciting things about traveling for me.

First stop was Canterbury in Kent. I'd heard really good things about The Goods Shed, a kind of indoor farmers market next to Canterbury West station - including a £5 'larder lunch' special that they assemble with whatever seems appropriate that day. Unfortunately we picked the only day of the week the Goods Shed is closed - a Monday.  No one said the Road to Greece would be without its foodie setbacks.

Best food moment: In the end my final meal in England was a very good roast meat pie - roast chicken, leek and ham from a 15th Century pub overlooking the canal, served by friendly Spanish and Lithuanian wait staff. Goodbye England, see you in September.