Crete's Culinary Sanctuaries

Crete's Culinary Sanctuaries

Articles

I dreamed of spending Pascha, or Easter, in my family’s homeland and it was not I
moved here that I got the chance. My partner, Panayiotis and his friends made
arrangements to gather the ingredients necessary for a series of feasts – after
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 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.

Pascha in Crete
by Nikki Rose