Invited by José Andrés and his Think Food Group I took part in Zaytinya's Greek Easter events and worked for six days in the restaurant's dream kitchen!

Before opening Zaytinya--more than ten years ago--José Andrés came to see me in Kea, introduced by our mutual friend Mark Furstenberg. He wanted to get my opinion and discuss ideas about the Greek meze he was planning to include in the menu. From the moment he stepped out of the ferry, an early summer day, we started to talk as if we were old friends, almost finishing each other's sentences, as we shared our common passion for authentic food.

He had one of the first iPhones I had seen, and while he talked enthusiastically about his vision for the Eastern Mediterranean meze restaurant, he showed me snapshots of the dishes he served at Jaleo and Oyamel. I don't remember exactly what we cooked, or what we tasted at the various taverns in Kea, but he was constantly taking notes and pictures of everything, and he certainly accepted as true my conviction that he needed to roll phylo in his kitchen and not rely on the packaged stuff.

The only crop we can always depend on, is fava. Fava has never failed us, even when we first planted a few beans in Kea, in our rocky, poor soil, before adding compost and lots of manure. Everything else failed those first years, but favas thrived! No wonder that since antiquity the prolific fava has been such an important staple for the people around the Mediterranean.

Part of the Old World legumes--together with chickpeas and lentils—fava was a most nutritious bean that fed ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Romans. Called 'broad bean' by the British, it has been found in Neolithic sites in Israel dated back to 6800-6500 BC. Ancients believed that the plant's roots lead straight to Hades, to the underworld, reaching and communicating with the souls of the dead. Pythagoras and his followers, who abstained from eating meat and fish, included fava beans in their forbidden foods because they believed that the souls of men are transformed into beans after death.

They are not impressive or particularly beautiful the almond trees that fill the slopes of Kèa, as well as most islands of the Cyclades. But when in bloom, this time of the year, they are such a joy to look at! Their sweet aroma fills our bedroom as one of the old trees—we have more than 30 in the property—is right outside our window. They come in various shades of pink, and some are pure white. I guess the people who planted the trees, many years ago, chose different kinds; some produce small round fruit, others larger, elongated and very hard, difficult to crack. In the old days almonds from the islands were considered particularly delicious and fetched high prices. Now, with plenty of cheaper imports, people don't even bother to harvest and crack them…

In a few weeks, when the green almonds reach the size of a small bean, or the nail of my small finger, as my neighbor says, I will collect a few to pickle. It is important to select green almonds that are crunchy but tender --before their shell hardens, and while the nut inside looks like a translucent jelly. To select green almonds for pickling I have to observe carefully their growth, and pick them when they are half an inch long. In just a couple of days they may grow too large and tough, unsuitable for pickling.

“I wonder if you Greeks eat also the stuff that comes out of your ears...” exclaimed chef Rick Moonen as he spit out a piece of pickled volvos --wild grape hyacinth bulb (lampascioni in Italian). A dozen years ago I was asked to initiate Rick Moonen --then chef of Oceana-- and Jim Botsacos into authentic Greek taste and home cooking when the Livanos family was preparing to launch Molyvos, in Manhattan. Rick is one of the most talented chefs I know, a really adventurous eater, but bitter seemed to be a taste he didn’t tolerate. He is not alone. 

Many Americans and Europeans have an almost violent reaction towards bitter foods. On the other hand we Greeks, together with the inhabitants of Italy, and especially Puglia--at the heel of the Italian ‘boot’—are somehow genetically conditioned to crave bitter: besides wild hyacinth bulbs, we also love red-stemmed chicory, probably the most bitter of the bitter greens, and fresh cracked green olives that have just become edible, after a very brief curing.