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                             Let the garden
                             do the cooking!   
                                                      

It's officially hot and sunny in Crete until further
notice.  The weather forecasters can take a
few months off.  The current temperature of
32C/90F is bound to rise until the fall.  The
occasional strong winds (meltemi) will provide
relief to some and trouble for others.  

The cicadas have taken center stage in the Sounds of
Summer concert.  The children are on the beach from
morning to dusk …until their parents plead with them
to break for food and sleep.  

On the docks, the fishermen are weary from working
double time in an attempt to supply demand for fresh
seafood.  The stream of visitors seem unaware of the
crisis of dwindling fish stocks (or that the huge hotels
serve farmed seafood from the other side of the
world).    

In our organic garden, the heirloom tomatoes,
eggplant, peppers, and cucumbers are holding up to
the usual summer threats of bugs, wind, scorching
sun and drought.  It's survival of the fittest in the plant
world and we appreciate their efforts.  These
conditions magnify the flavor of fresh produce —
intensely sweet tomatoes, peppers and melon, to
name just a few of Crete's summer bounties.

The refreshing cucumbers balance out perfectly with
tomatoes in our usual horiatiki (aka village or Greek
salad).  If we do not have to cook in this weather,
there's no reason to bother!

Kali Orexi!  Nikki Rose 

After a long drought where we witnessed the
survival of the fittest in the plant world,
we are finally enjoying some rain and cooler temps.  
It’s 12C/56F today.  Most of the olives have been
harvested in our region.  Village olive oil factories
have been bustling day and night for over two
months, pressing batches of liquid gold from family
farms and cooperatives.  

The pace of life is slowing down for most everyone
but fishermen.  Their season never ends — this time
of year they endure bone-chilling nights on rough
seas.  Somehow, they are amazingly good humored
people (at least our friends in the biz!).

During the holidays, family and friends gave us
many precious gifts – gorgeous organic olive oil,
fish so fresh it seemed to have leaped from the sea
to our table, oranges, lemons, wild herbs for tea,
irresistible cookies and eggs from chickens we
know well.  These chickens enjoy a very free range
and stop by often for fresh greens.  From our
organic garden, the chili peppers, broccoli,
cabbage, arugula and radishes are ready to eat and
share.  Our house looks like a produce market with
fruit and vegetables piling up around us.  

Now that a few magnificent thunderstorms passed
through and shook the house, the horta (wild
greens) are thriving in the mountains.  The results
of strenuous collecting expeditions are wonderful,
such as braised artichoke stalks with a splash of
olive oil and lemon juice.  A pot of greens hits the
spot after weeks of feasting.  Easier still, the
stinging nettle grows right in our garden and adds a
unique, pungent dimension to soups and omelets.

For a few winter favorites that pack in flavor and nutrients

– perfect comfort foods of the season – read on.

Kali Orexi!

Nikki Rose and the CCS Network

Photos: Nikki Rose and Flickr.com: Jenny Neal and Klazien1711.

End of October, begining of November, the Lassithi Plateau region of Crete reverts back into fishing and farming country. The tourist season abruptly ends. The last charter flight is on its way north, the roaring tour buses disappear, and 90% of the shops and tavernas are hastily locked up — windows decorated with a selection of old newspapers.

The first few weeks of tranquility for village residents is a comforting transition — we're all so accustomed to the noise, traffic and stress — it's as if we've moved to another place.   

The sheep descend from their cool high-mountain sanctuaries to warmer slopes — the distant sound of their bells a soothing lullaby, accompanied by the sweet chorus of birds who've returned to their winter home, the roosters communicating in code from every ridge, and the laughter of children who can once again freely roam the neighborhood.

With the first soft trickling of rain, the olive trees seem to reach for every drop, their agile branches swaying like cotton, blocking any path to the desert-dry earth below. Gradually, the rainy season will promise dramatic thunderstorms and gusting winds, creating an eerie island isolation, yet rekindling our connection to the community and the land and its bounties. After months of stark sunny skies the soft shade of the clouds and nourishing rain softens the landscape — and its inhabitants' nerves — the hotel uniforms are replaced with farming gear and harvest preparations begin.  

Read on what is first on Yiannis harvest list in my next blog.

As much as I love homemade phyllo (now I’m spoiled), I usually go to Maria’s to enjoy it. 

I’ve used commercially-made phyllo for many dishes since I was allowed to terrorize my mother’s kitchen with my childhood experiments.  It’s worked out great for many family celebrations over the years.  Since phyllo is very popular these days, it’s easier to find in major markets.  It’s usually in the freezer section, so needs to be thawed overnight before using.  Follow the package instructions. 

3 pounds fresh spinach, tough stems removed 1 bunch scallions, chopped½ cup fresh parsley, chopped2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped1 pound Greek feta cheese, crumbled3 eggs, beaten2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil½ cup dried bread crumbs½ teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon black pepper, freshly ground (optional) ½ pound phyllo dough1-1/4 cups extra virgin olive oil1 egg yolk, beaten.

Preheat oven to 350F9×13 inch baking pan, evenly coated with olive oil1 large, sturdy pastry brush for olive oil (you can also use a spray bottle with very light mister) 

1. Clean and dry the spinach well.  To dry, line in towels, use a salad spinner, or both. 
2. Chop the spinach and place in a large mixing bowl.
3. Add the scallions, herbs, feta and remaining ingredients.  If the feta is very salty, be careful when adding more salt.  Combine the ingredients and set aside. 
4. Prepare your workstation:  Clear space for your phyllo stack, filling, olive oil and baking pan.  Phyllo can dry out quickly, become brittle and break.  It’s OK if it breaks, but easier to work with if it doesn’t.  If you need to walk away from production, cover the phyllo stack with a slightly damp kitchen towel.
5. Transfer one sheet of phyllo to the baking pan and drape the excess over the sides.  Brush the phyllo with a thin, even coat of olive oil.  No need to overdo it.  Repeat the process with 6 more sheets of dough.  Always coat each layer of phyllo dough with olive oil. 
6. Scatter 1/4^th of the filling lightly but evenly onto sheet 7.  You want to leave a few pockets for air.  Cover the filling with another layer of phyllo and continue the process until the filling is used.
7. Top that with 7 to 10 more sheets of phyllo.  Fold the excess dough onto the top edges or trim it away with a sharp knife.
8. Brush the top layer with eggwash.  Using a sharp knife score the top few layers (not so deep as the filling) of the dough into generous serving-size diamond shapes.  This keeps the phyllo intact when you slice it later.
9. Bake for about an hour until golden brown.  Let it rest for 5-10 minutes.  Slice and serve hot, warm or cold.  Spanakopita is fabulous at any temperature.  Refrigerate any unlikely unused portions.

Note:  Always coat each layer of phyllo dough with olive oil.  This facilitates the steam required for the ultimate crispy pita.  Otherwise, it will be gum pie.  It’s the same concept for all laminated doughs such as puff pastry or croissants.  You can also combine spinach with other delicate greens that require similar cooking time, such as arugula.  If you use tougher greens like kale or collards, it’s best to sauté them first and drain them well.  That’s for another recipe.  Do not reheat phyllo-based dishes in the microwave.  They will become gummy and soggy. 

The first time I dined at Maria’s house, I made the grave mistake of asking her where she got the phyllo dough for her fantastic hortapita.  She went into the kitchen and returned with a dowel (thin rolling pin) and waived it over my head.  I had just moved to Crete and had much to learn.   

Elounda is a little village and everyone knows where you are and when.  Maria extended an open invitation to visit her after my Greek language classes nearby.  If I didn’t visit often enough, she gave me the look with her hand waiving in the threatening Greek-style chop, “Where have you been and why haven’t you come to visit?”   

I didn’t know enough Greek to make up excuses for being overworked or lazy.  So, to avoid the chop, I said, “Maria is the best cook in Greece.”  My progress reports continued with honest statements such as “I never clean my house.”  That is one of her favorites.  Another is, “Maria makes the most delicious hortapita I have ever had.”   

She invited me to come to her house and learn how to make phyllo at the convenient hour of 6:00 a.m.  It’s much more daunting than I imagined.  It would take me a full day to make enough phyllo for one pita.  It takes Maria a couple of hours to whip it up, along with her heavenly “milk pie,” pudding layered between phyllo.  I enjoy Maria’s treasures and Greek lessons whenever I can – not simply to avoid “the chop.” 

Photos: Credit to Patricia "Scout" Hazouri

Notes with photos: 

1. & 3  This rolling action is like the Olympics – looks much easier than it is.  Practice (decades) makes perfect!  The dough is rolled onto the pin and stretched from the center using your hands, rather than pressing with the dowel.  This expands the dough gently, creating a delicate, flaky result.

2.  This is Horta: Maria uses raw horta, spring onions and herbs.  The horta is scattered instead of packed between the layers of dough.  This allows steam pockets to develop between layers for maximum crispiness.

Here in Elounda, Crete, a gorgeous little fishing village hosting thousands of tourists each year, it seems the small taverna owners are at the mercy of the palates of their foreign visitors.  Many tourists come here only for sun, beer and cheap, familiar looking food (fried potatoes and grilled meats – no vegetables), preferably for $10 or less. They're not on a mission to discover the wonders of the healthy Cretan diet. So you won't encounter much of the finest food Crete has to offer at a tourist spot unless you ask for it, which is perfectly acceptable and always a welcome change for the chef.  

Worlds apart, in the hills above the bustling port is the original village of Pano Elounda. The best time to visit is on the eve of a full moon, when the bright moonlight casts abstract shadows along the narrow, stone paths. Silhouettes of cats patrolling the territory flash into view. The bay below glows like liquid silver along the shoreline, reflecting streams of light like precious gems.    There are no tavernas and very few tourists in Pano Elounda — just a kafeneo (café) for the villagers run by Zambia, a lovely women and a great chef. Zambia is a quiet, angelic woman in her mid-70's, although I never would have guessed, judging from her physical strength and the amount of food she manages to pump out of her tiny kitchen. She's one of those subtle, hardworking Cretan women who never cease to amaze me.  

One evening, we went to Zambia's place at dusk, bringing our own meze — 2 kilos of very fresh mussels plucked from the sea just a few hours earlier. My partner, Panos, went snorkeling for the mussels himself. Mussels feed on rocks in deep waters and must be individually removed with a knife and placed in a waist pouch, which becomes quite heavy after collecting a kilo or two – an ancient form of diving weights. These mussels are not like the average black-shelled variety served in Parisian bistros. Their shells resemble the skin of a lizard — prehistoric-looking. Their texture is a cross between mussels and clams. Zambia steamed the mussels briefly and served them with lemon juice – delicious. Most dishes here are made with very little seasoning. The art of letting the food speak for itself.    

We huddled around a little outdoor table as the party grew to eight people. Locals dropped by to chat and share some of their homemade specialties. Zambia kept bringing more and more food from her tiny kitchen and the table quickly became piled high with little plates of this and that. There are no separate plates for diners here – no room for them anyway! You just reach over and take a sample with your fork (or fingers if you’re eating fish). This method of family-style dining wouldn't go over too well in the States – but what's the difference between that and everyone's hands in the chip bowl?!  

Our feast began with roasted and marinated red peppers and beets, fava beans (yellow split peas) steamed and coarsely ground with a splash of olive oil, vinegar and onion, and a few plates of tiny black and green olives that were unusually sweet. There's always a tomato-something salad served — this one was the fancy kind with boiled and quartered eggs, onions, cucumbers, green pepper and new potatoes. A person of great authority at the table is entitled to dress the salad with olive oil, vinegar (locally produced, of course) and salt. There's an art to this process and we all stopped to observe. I had the prime spot next to a 5-foot tall basil bush that Zambia’s nephew, Kostas, maniacally rattled to release its heavenly scent. Basil is not used in cooking too much here, and this variety was more robust than the small plants used for cooking. It’s a religious or romantic symbol that can grow several feet high if tended to carefully. I wanted to clip a bit to put into the tomato salad because I love the combination – but I think I would have been escorted out of Elounda for such vandalism.    

My thoughts of exile diminished by the appearance of a gigantic plate of steamed snails, collected from the hills by Zambia's neighbor. There's a knack to prying the little delicacies from their protective tunnels, and my attempts to do so always become the topic of conversation among the experts at the table. Snails can be prepared in many different ways and they are definitely an acquired taste and texture. This version was simply steamed.   

Another villager came by with “new” almonds, a favorite snack and good for the digestion to an extent. We cracked the furry green shells open with a rock. All was washed down with either raki (dangerous fire water made from grape must, like grappa) or retsina with a splash of soda water to soften the bite. The younger generation drinks restina with cola, another acquired taste I’d prefer not to acquire, and would not have been appreciated in Pano Elounda. It’s hard to count your drinks, as the moment your glass is half-full, someone at the table fills it. It’s a good thing we were eating all along, which is customary. 

Variations of dried bread or crackers have been made throughout the Mediterranean basin for centuries, to take on journeys along the Silk Route or campaigns in faraway lands. It’s a great comeback for an ancient staple.   

Five hours and many retsinas later, when I thought for certain it was time to go, Zambia brought out the last tier — mounds of sliced honeydew and watermelon. I don't plan to conduct any scientific studies on the matter, but I've never tasted melon so sweet. The sun is so intense here that everything develops the maximum flavor and color – sugar in fruits like cherries, figs and oranges seems double in intensity and tomatoes have a deep, rich color and flavor. The contrast between what taverna owners must serve to tourists and what they serve to their friends and family is quite drastic. Wow, I wonder what Zambia makes for special occasions.