Crete's Culinary Sanctuaries

Crete's Culinary Sanctuaries

Photo by Glenda Kapsalis

I dreamed of spending Pascha, or Easter, in my family’s homeland and it was not until
Panayiotis, and his friends made arrangements to gather the ingredients necessary
for a series of feasts – after presumably fasting according to church doctrine, during
the 40-day Lenten period. First, we had to secure a whole lamb for the event, which
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 caldron 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 galatoboreko, 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 breadcrumbs 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 verandah 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.

Preparing a Pascha, or Easter, Feast in the Mountain Villages is an Experience of a Lifetime