Crete's Culinary Sanctuaries

Crete's Culinary Sanctuaries

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presumably fasting according to church doctrine. Shopping entailed a long wait at
the kafeneo on the village square, anticipating the signal. After a few coffees and
sips of raki, a grape-must fire water, the shepherd’s young son, Nektarios, drove
by in his pickup truck and yelled, “Ela, pah-me!” (Hurry! Let’s go).

We dashed to our car and followed Nektarios up the winding coastal mountain road that led to
a series of treacherous dirt tracks before we abruptly stopped at the edge of a clearing. We
continued our adventure on foot to the mitato, or shepherd’s shelter, a round stone structure
with smoke billowing out of its chimney. The commanding summit of Mount Oxa loomed
above the plateau bursting with yellow, red and purple wild flowers and herbs. A flock of sheep
grazed nearby, their bells ringing like a sweet lullaby. There was whistling and movement on
Oxa’s steep ridge as goats were being called home by their keeper, so far away they looked
like moving black and white dots. A flurry of activity in these hills!.

Manolis and his family were inside the mitato hovering over a cauldron of sheep’s milk set
over the fireplace, finishing up a batch of fresh malakos, or cheese curd, literally straight from
the source. We sat squeezed around his small table and sampled meze, or snacks on offer –
dried dakos, the local whole-grain bread softened with olive oil and seasoned with oregano,
along with tiny, nutty olives and mountain snails steamed in olive oil, rosemary and
homemade rosé wine. Numerous toasts with Manolis’ famously smooth raki were made. After
an hour of socializing in which Manolis covered the topics of shepherding, cheese making and
the serious dilemma of vanishing grazing land – its protection left in the hands of developers
who envision more hotel complexes and wider roadways – we set off to choose the highlight
of our Easter dinner.

After much inspection and discussion, we decided on the perfect lamb and made
arrangements to pick the little dear up on Friday. As a long-time city dweller, this type of food
shopping did have an effect on my former connections, or lack thereof, with the food that I eat. I
realized that it’s perfectly logical and beneficial to know your food sources, and it’s a privilege
to meet the people who provide them. This healthy little lamb had been living in the mountains,
far from development and industrial agriculture, grazing on wild plants. Expressing my
thoughts on how, in my concrete world, we rarely meet the animals we eat or the people who
tend to them would have been ridiculous to these farmers who make it a point to nurture their
food sources. But even Panayiotis said, “Next year, we’ll let Dimitris shop for the lamb”.

Pascha symbolizes Easter, but there’s also an intertwining ancient tradition of the celebration
of spring – of perpetuation and abundance of our vital resources – food and water. Brilliant red
poppies, the Pascha flower symbolizing the blood of Christ, return for their seasonal debut to
blanket the hillsides. Wild vegetables and herbs, along with the first cultivated crops spring to
life after a dormant winter. Livestock deliver their offspring. Unlike modern urban meal
planning, where you can get anything you want whenever you want via express air cargo and
barring freshly harvested quality, Pascha in Crete still stands for seasonal fare. Fresh lamb,
cheese, wild artichokes and chamomile are at their peak during springtime. The perception
that rural Greeks eat lamb all year round is false. Pigs, which are more robust, easier to feed
and don’t require precious grazing land are the mainstay. Lamb is a seasonal treat and no
one around here eats frozen lamb except in the tourist tavernas. Mutton and goat are always
available, both of which are delectable, given the proper care.

The preparation of Pascha menus also coincides with common sense in handling fresh,
perishable meats before modern refrigeration was available. One could say that Church
doctrine was the equivalent of food safety guidelines now offered by governmental agencies.
Who else could spread the word on healthy eating to the ancients as quickly as the church to
protect their congregation? Hence, the preparation of lamb dishes for Pascha is followed by a
rapid succession of feasts. Church doctrine states strict dietary guidelines during Lent, when
no meat or meat products are to be consumed and serious fasting – when the choice of food
items dwindle down to fresh produce, dried beans and grains by Holy Week – is a cleansing
period. Not everyone follows the doctrine now, but the concept is something to consider.
Greeks are practiced in the art of producing delicious vegan fare, given their abundant
resources.

After the slaughter of any livestock, the highly perishable entrails must be cleaned and cooked
immediately. Holiday or not, the slaughter of animals in our village is a prearranged grand
family/neighbor event requiring participation in all phases – from stable to table. This is the
‘tradition before refrigeration’ method.

Easter mass begins at about 10pm on Saturday. Midnight symbolizes the resurrection of
Christ, when the priest lights the sacred candle and shares the fire with the congregation.
Slowly, the church reflects a brilliant warmth while devotees solemnly chant, “Christos Anesti”
(Christ has risen) 40 times. The Lenten period is also carried into culinary tradition. Dishes
made with phyllo dough like spanakopita, or spinach pie and baklavas, the nut and honey
delight, are supposedly made with 40 leaves. Bread dough is kneaded 40 times. Easter
cookies are made in batches of 40. Hard-boiled eggs, dyed deep red to symbolize the blood of
Christ, are atop sweet yeast breads and are also used in a contest for good luck after dinner,
when participants tap both tips of their opponent’s eggs, and the winners emerge with
uncracked shells.

In our village after mass, the priests and congregation disperse into the square to greet and
kiss fellow villagers and share the sacred light with those who could not fit into the tiny church.
If you can keep the candles alight until you get home, you’ll have good luck. Slowly, people
disappear into the narrow stone streets for the first feast of the resurrection of Christ. Within
the last decade, this solemn yet joyous Holy Day has been disrupted, in my view, by the use of
firecrackers and even fireworks at the stroke of midnight. Religious holidays in the States are
more conservative and fireworks are reserved for national celebrations and such. It was a little
strange and slightly dangerous to witness this new cultural phenomenon. Our parish priests
delicately mentioned their dismay in a brochure, but this trend has already spread throughout
Greece.

For those who follow tradition in the kitchen, Mayeritsa soup, lamb’s head and/or innards
braised in an aromatic broth, is made on Saturday afternoon. Others may concoct variations or
koukoretsi, which is lamb innards wrapped in intestines, a delicious gigantic sausage,
skewered and grilled over the outdoor spit. The person in charge of preparing the whole lamb,
our friend Dimitris in this case, has time for a little nap between this feast and the Sunday
afternoon grand celebration of arni, or lamb, on the spit.

In his home village of Lamia north of Athens, Dimitris had a big outdoor space for Pascha
festivities. Having moved to Crete for work years earlier, he and his family have adjusted to the
small outdoor space they now have. In the corner of his yard, Dimitris set up two stones to
secure iron braces that bordered a makeshift wood pyre of pruned olive branches and grape
vines. The lamb is skewered with what resembles an old sword, the ancient tradition of spit-
style cooking for nomadic shepherds or freedom fighters on the move. No fancy machinery is
required, only know how.

Long before we arrived, Dimitris was at his pyre-post of two beer crates – one to sit on and
another to hold his food and wine – while he slowly turned the spit, estimated cooking time
was six hours. We sat next to the pyre at a table, eating meze and drinking our homemade
wine, entertaining the chef until the arni was ready. Occasionally, Dimitris would bravely break
off a bit of crispy-hot layers and pass them around for us to nibble on.

Meanwhile, Dimitris’ wife, Maria, was busy in the kitchen preparing the accompaniments for
the grand feast. Maria is an expert in vegetable preparation using a single sharp paring knife
and two bowls. She skillfully whipped through a kilo of potatoes in less than five minutes –
peeling and pairing them before placing them into a pan of smoldering green olive oil. No
cutting boards or fancy food processors in sight. All the while, Maria’s grandchildren were
racing around the house, discovering delicate family heirlooms, requiring her third eye.

While the men were outside, deeply involved in the traditional symposium of whether the lamb
was done or not, Maria removed her hortapita, the wild greens version of spinach pie, and
galactoboreko, a farina-based rich custard layered between phyllo, from the oven to cool. The
first time I indulged on Maria’s hortapita, I asked her where she got the scrumptious, thick
phyllo dough. She went into the kitchen and returned with a long, thin rolling pin and waved it
over my head. She invited me to help her make phyllo the following week, which I eagerly
agreed to do at the grueling hour of 6am – it’s too hot in the afternoon for such work, she says.
To make enough phyllo for one pita is hard labor, rolling dozens of tough, small rounds of
dough into thin sheets. It takes several hours if you’re an experienced baker …

Finishing touches to our Easter feast were two bowls filled with gorgeous tomatoes,
cucumbers, spring onions and wild oregano, along with a few randomly placed chunks of feta
and mizithra cheese. Bread and bread crumbs were already everywhere. Fanta soda bottles
containing homemade wine – Greek recycling at its best – were placed on each corner of the
table.

After warning the crowd to step aside, Dimitris and his son Makis, carefully picked up the
molten skewer holding the lamb and propped it upright against the house wall. There was
some discussion as to how to proceed, as Makis is now a chef at one of the big resort hotels,
and Dimitris has just been doing this all of his life. Eventually, they carved the lamb as they
always have. Dealing with a big, expensive animal like this traditionally prompts opinions of
every bystander, and the head-chef always wins.

Dining the Greek Way is at least a three-hour experience, and during holidays or festivals it
could last for several days. This means that everything you strive to serve hot will eventually be
cold, or veranda temperature. Granted, there’s a danger in leaving perishable foods
unrefrigerated for longer than two hours, and the use of little plates that are replenished with
the refrigerated stock throughout the meal is the standard. Besides, eating slowly is certainly
more enjoyable than the American way of gobbling down meals in seconds flat. Lamb is a
different story and cools too fast to be palatable for most everyone. Maria predicted this fact,
and kept warming trays in the oven for the long feast.

Meanwhile, the grandchildren were finished with their feast and begging to turn off our
beautiful regional Pascha music, so that they could watch cartoons on the television. We
usually comply with the wishes of children, but today, we sent them to their apartment upstairs
with Panayiota, their mother, to watch all the loud television they liked. It was a typical day in the
life of my friends who juggle traditional and tolerate modern….

‘Round midnight, filled with food, wine, life and love for our second family, we made our way
home. The difference between Pascha in Greece and Greek Easter in America? The
opportunity to meet our truly organic lamb, eat Maria’s homemade phyllo and see fireworks.