I substituted my garden’s fava pods for the elegant green asparagus in David Tanis’ brilliant Spanish Asparagus Revuelto; the result is a humble, yet deliciously satisfying dish of scrambled eggs with fava and garlic.

Inventive Mediterranean cooks use any seasonal vegetable, herb or green, and combine them with eggs to make frittata or froutalia —the Greek version. I am thrilled to discover revueltos, the simple Spanish stir-fry of vegetables and eggs, similar to what we call strapatsada in Greece --from the Italian uova strapazzate (scrambled eggs).

The large and rich-flavored goose eggs are just an extra bonus! 

Our neighbor’s coop was repeatedly attacked by martens, the small European wild predators that seem to thrive on the island. Twice in the winter they have nested inside the engine of our pickup truck and we had to shower them with the hose because we couldn’t otherwise scare them enough to make them leave. They somehow manage to get into the coops, even if they are well-fenced with strong wire on all sides, and kill the chicken severing their heads.

To follow the Greek tradition I cook bacala --salt cod-- on March 25 (Annunciation day). But instead of the usual cod fritters that most people prepare, I decided to roll chard leaves around a multi-colored stuffing of fish and vegetables.

Salt cod was called ‘mountain fish,’ or ‘poor people’s fish,’ in Greece because in the old days it was cheap and affordable all over the Mediterranean, even in the remotest villages. Imported from Norway or Iceland it has now become a kind of delicacy, especially the best pieces. In Barcelona’s spectacular Boqueria market there are many different kinds of salted cod, sold already soaked and boned. In Genoa, in the maze of the old Medieval neighborhood I came across this spectacular shop where salted cod was soaking in marble basins!

This was the second mild winter in a row for us here on Kea, proving the common view that when it is fiercely cold and wet up north, down south it stays mild and mainly dry. After a few good rains in November, January turned up full of sunshine, and February left us hoping for more rain, but in vain. Signs of spring are here, with colorful patches of flowers on the green slopes. In our corner of the world green is the color of winter.

Last November, after about ten years, we drastically pruned the old almond trees. They seemed to like it and in February, during some of our coldest days, they filled with glorious blossoms in different shades of pink and white; the air was carrying the sweet smell and soon bees came buzzing as if it was summer. Now the trees are green with fresh leaves and the flowers have turned to fruit that has started to ripen; the green almonds are still tiny, fuzzy and crunchy-soft inviting us to pick and bite, ready for pickling. Those of you who will join us this year will taste them, probably at the welcome dinner.