You can enjoy kolokotes as snack, complemented with yogurt, labne, or fresh cheese; drizzled with honey, date or any fruit molasses they become a lovely dessert. 

Marilena Ioannides’ recipe is by far the best I have tried –and I did try lots over the years. She bakes the pies on camera –speaking Greek with no subtitles, unfortunately; but consulting my recipe below you can easily follow and understand how to make these simple, exquisite pies.

To collect the old, traditional dishes she included in her book Cyprus Food Treasures, Marilena traveled all over the island, even to the remotest villages, and managed to find some incredible dishes! Often they are the missing link between age-old foods we read about in old manuscripts and the more recent variations we still encounter in parts of Greece or in other parts of the Eastern Mediterranean.

NOTE in the video as she prepares the pies leisurely, in real time, she weighs all ingredients –even the olive oil and water– as she adds them, one by one in the bowl of the mixer, zeroing her electronic scale just before adding a new item. This is a wonderful trick that helps cooks use a minimum of  bowls and other measuring utensils. 

My recipe is adapted from Marilena Ioannides’ Kolokotes. I have increased the amount of raisins and doubled the pepper; also substituted fennel seeds for the fresh wild fennel she suggests.

Makes 6 large pies

For the DOUGH:

1 pound bread flour or a combination of pasta flour and all purpose flour

1 teaspoon sea salt

70 grams olive oil

250 grams very hot or boiling water —the secret to make smooth, elastic dough

For the FILLING:

2 pounds butternut squash, peeled and seeded

1 1/2 teaspoon sea salt

100 grams bulgur (medium not fine)

150 grams raisins

30 grams olive oil

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 -1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper (I like it peppery)

1 teaspoon coarsely ground fennel seeds

Make the dough tossing the flour, salt, and olive oil in the bowl of a standing mixer. With the motor running pour in the hot water on the side, and work to obtain a soft, slightly sticky dough. Wrap in oiled plastic wrap and set aside. You can make the dough the previous day, refrigerate, wrapped, and bring to room temperature before proceeding further.

For the filling cut the squash in very thin slices, then in small cubes, matchsticks, or any kind of tiny bits. Add salt, olive oil and the raisins, then work with your hands to somewhat soften the squash.

Stir in the bulgur, cinnamon, pepper, and fennel seeds, and toss well to mix. 

Divide the dough into 6 pieces. (Marilena makes 7 pies but I find it difficult to divide the dough into an even number; I only use the scale for the filling).   

Preheat the oven to 150C  (about 300F) in convection mode. 

Roll each piece into roughly a 25 cm round, and place one sixth of the filling in the center, weighing all the filling  dividing the number into 6, then portioning and weighing 1/6th for each pie. Stir the filling each time before you take a portion as the moisture tends to go to the bottom.

Fold the round of dough to cover the filling; seal and crimp the edge, making sure the pie is completely closed so that the squash, bulgur etc. bake and steam inside the crust. Place the pies carefully on baking trays lined with parchment paper, and bake in the middle of the oven for 45 min to 1 h –until lightly colored on top and bottom.

If you bake both pans at the same time, change positions after 30 minutes, turning also the pans back to front.

Let the kolokotes cool on a rack or on thick kitchen towels before cutting to eat.

The flavor is infinitely better after they are completely cold, and I find that it is even better the next day! 

Keep on the counter for 2-3 days, if you manage to resist devouring them. You can also freeze and slowly reheat any leftover pies. 

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I originally wrote and posted this seven years ago, as I was going through my first-grade school book published right after the Second World War. In it there was a description of fassoláda (bean soup), which was often referred to as ‘the Greek national dish’ in the old days. Surprisingly, the version in my book had no tomato! I was shocked, as fassoláda is always made with tomatoes as far as I can remember, but probably in those days canned tomatoes as well as tomato paste were not yet a common ingredient in all households. See also how the kitchen and stove looked in most parts of the country the 1950ies…

My revised recipe below is flavored with the wonderful Piperokama, the dried, smoked, hot peppers of Florina that our friend Naoumidis prepares.  I am told that it will be soon available in the US, as are his other deeply flavored roasted peppers which you can order  HERE and also HERE. 

We love to eat fassolàda with feta cheese, but also with canned sardines in olive oil or any smoked fish.

A simple bowl of olives, and/or taramosalata is the custom during the days of Lent, preceding Christmas.

Serves 4-6

2 cups dried white beans, like cannelini, soaked overnight in water and drained, or 4 cups pre-cooked beans

2/3 cup olive oil

2 small onions, halved and thinly sliced (about 2 cups)

4 large garlic cloves, sliced

2 tablespoons (70 grams) tomato paste

3 medium-small carrots, thinly sliced (about 2 cups)

One 16-ounce can diced tomatoes with their juice or 2 cups grated ripe tomatoes 

1 tablespoon turmeric

Peel from half an orange, in 2 strips or 2-3 pieces preserved lemon, thinly sliced

1 teaspoon sea salt, plus more to taste

2 teaspoons Piperokama, or Maraş (Aleppo) pepper, or crushed red pepper flakes, to taste

2 cups coarsely chopped celery, preferably ‘wild’ (see note)

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

Extra-virgin olive oil to drizzle

Fleur de sel, preferably from Kythera, to sprinkle

1 lemon, quartered, to serve (optional)

Place the beans in a large pot and cover with plenty of water, about 3-4 inches. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to a simmer and cook 5 minutes. Drain, discarding the cooking water. If you use pre-cooked beans omit this step.

In the pot warm the olive oil, add the sliced onion and sauté for 3 minutes, stirring often. Add the garlic, sauté one minute more then add the tomato paste and stir a few seconds. Add the peas, if you use them, along with the carrots and the precooked beans. Toss a few times and add the tomatoes, turmeric, orange peel, salt, Maraş pepper, celery, and 2 cups water.

Bring to a boil, lower the heat and simmer for 30 to 40 minutes, adding water as needed, until the beans are very tender, almost mushy. Add the mustard, taste and adjust the seasoning. Simmer for 5 minutes more, until the beans are just covered with broth.

Remove from the heat and serve, drizzling with extra-virgin olive oil.

Pass the lemon quarters so people can add a fresh, bright squeeze at the table, and also pass Piperokama or Maraş pepper, as well as good Fleur de sel, we use the one from Antheas, so diners can sprinkle more over the beans.

NOTE:

If you use common celery add an extra 1/2 cup coarsely chopped flat leaf parsley with the mustard toward the end of cooking.
The leaf or‘wild’ celery commonly used in Europe is strongly aromatic and looks like oversized flat leaf parsley. You can easily grow it in your garden or in pots. It is very different from American celery, which has long crunchy stalks, and wild celery is never eaten raw.
You can get leaf or ‘wild’ celery in Asian markets under the name kun choi or kin tsai. When you find it, buy it in quantity, wash it, coarsely chop it and keep it in zip-log bags in the freezer to use as needed. Unlike common celery, it does not keep long in the refrigerator.

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Its flavor depends on the incredible freshness of the simple fish I use, which in most cases is almost alive when I get it from the caïque, less than a few hours out of the water.

I usually make the broth the day before, refrigerate it, then finish the soup the next day.

In kakavia, the traditional fish soup of the Greek fishermen, all kinds of small fish that cannot be sold, the cheapest kinds you find that are not suitable for grilling or frying, are boiled for with plenty of olive oil and a few vegetables and herbs, until the flesh almost falls from the bones and the vegetables are very tender. Then all trhe ingredients of the pot are strained, and fish witrh vegetables served in a platter along with the broth which is dressed with more fruity olive oil and lemon juice. I heard that in Provence the somewhat scarry weevers are considered ideal for the bouillabaisse; we also use them in this simple traditional fish soup.

In my version, if a couple of larger fish are available, I carefully fillet them, drop the bones in the pot, and refrigerate or freeze the fillets, to be added in the soup at the very end since they need no more than 2-3 minutes cooking.

Between kakavia and bouillabaisse

I strain the broth from the small fish and after I remove all bones and heads, I pass it again through a very fine sieve to make sure all scales and small bones are removed. Then I sauté leeks or onions and two-three coarsely chopped garlic cloves in plenty of olive oil, then add potatoes and other vegetables, and finally the fish broth, cook until the vegetables are tender.

I know that some fish mongers sell fish carcasses which can be boiled to make the stock. Below is my basic fish soup recipe, but you can certainly play around with the quantities and ingredients adding more onions if you have no leeks, celery leaves instead of root etc. Taking inspiration from the bouillabaisse of Provence, I also add a pinch of saffron.

My mother used to mash coarsely in the food mill all the vegetables at the end, but I like to keep a few pieces of potato, zucchini, and peppers, to serve in the soup plates together with the fish fillets.

I suggest you read the Serious Eats to see a detailed Bouillabaisse recipe, and the Rouille, the garlicky and peppery mayonnaise-like sauce of Provence to serve alongside the fish soup.

NOTE that you could probably use clam juice, or a good quality ready made fish stock if available, and skip the first part of boiling the fish and vegetables. But I wouldn’t use the Japanese shaved, dried tuna, dashi, or combu. In my opinion their taste is somwhat too prominent and very different from the delicate flavor of small fish and fish bones. But, during the busy summer months many Greek taverns use them…

Serving 6-8

The FISH BROTH

3 ½ pounds small and/or medium fish, gutted and scaled –the larger fish filleted and the fillets refrigerated or frozen

3 cups dry white wine

A small celery root with leaves, or 3 large celery stalks

2 medium zucchinis, halved lengthwise, and/or 1-2 pieces squash

Most green part of 2-3 leeks, or 2 medium onions quartered

1 tablespoon allspice berries, bruised in a mortar

1-piece fresh ginger, about 2-inches, halved lengthwise

1 piece star anise

1 tablespoon anise seeds, coarsely ground in a mortar

About 1 ½ teaspoon sea salt, or more to taste

FINISHING the Soup

½-2/3 cup olive oil

1 large onion, or 2 leeks thinly sliced

2-3 large garlic cloves, sliced

2 medium potatoes peeled and cut into chunks

1 medium zucchini halved lengthwise; each piece cut into 3  

1 red and 1 green bell pepper, seeded and quartered

2 medium tomatoes, halved to remove the stem, then each piece quartered

1 pinch saffron soaked in ¼ cup boiling water

1-2 teaspoons Aleppo pepper or red pepper flakes, to taste

For SERVING

Juice of 1 lemon or more, to taste

A handful flat-leaved parsley leaves

Lemon halves or quarters

Fruity olive oil for drizzling

Rouille: peppery and garlicky mayonnaise-like sauce (optional)

In a large pot place the fish, all vegetables and spices, add the wine and water to just cover the lot, and cook in medium-high heat for about 45 minutes or more, until the flesh almost falls from the fish bones and all vegetables are very tender.

Strain the broth, setting aside the vegetables, after checking they are free from fish bones or scales.  Press and discard all other solids, then pass again the broth through a very small sieve. Set aside.

To finish the soup: In a skillet warm the olive oil and sauté the leeks or onion and the garlic until translucent, then add this to the rest of the vegetables and the fish broth; bring to a slow boil. Cook in medium-high heat until all vegetables are tender.  Remove half of the vegetables with a slotted spoon and set aside, then pass the rest through a food mill.

Return the broth to the pot, add the saffron, Aleppo or pepper flakes and lemon juice, and taste to correct the flavor. Add the fish fillets and the reserved vegetable pieces, and boil in high heat for about 3-4 minutes, or until the fish fillets are cooked, depending on their size.

Add freshly squeezed lemon juice, and either serve the soup in bowls or bring the pot to the table.

Serve a piece of the fillet and some of the vegetables along with the delicious broth, decorating with parsley sprigs and bringing extra lemon and olive oil to the table.

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My mother used to bake a cake similar to this during Lent. We were not so religious as to follow the rules of the Church, which prohibited eating any food derived from animals during the forty days before Christmas and before Easter (and on many other occasions). We were simply continuing a family tradition which dictated that various foods or sweets should be made at a particular time of year.

The caramelized ginger, my recent addition to the recipe, enhances the rich flavor of this cake that has a dense texture, somewhat like an English fruitcake. 

Makes one 12 X 5 inch (30 X 12cm) cake

3 1/2     cups all-purpose flour

4   Tablespoons corn starch       

1    tablespoon baking powder

Pinch of salt             

1 1/2            teaspoons ground cinnamon     

1/2 teaspoon ground cloves

1     tablespoon grated orange zest

1/2 – 2/3  cup sugar –depending on how sweet you like your cakes

1     cup light olive oil, or a mixture of olive and safflower oil

1  teaspoon baking soda

1/2  cup brandy       

1  2/3    cups freshly squeezed orange juice         

1/2 cup golden raisins

10-12  dried apricots, chopped, about 2/3 cup         

1/2 cup  chopped crystalized ginger 

2/3 cup   coarsely chopped unsalted pistachios                         

Confectioners’ sugar (optional)

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180 C).

Line the deep loaf pan with parchment paper and lightly oil it. This will make removing the fragile cake from the pan easier.

Toss together the flour, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, and cloves in a large bowl.

Stir the sugar with the orange zest, rubbing with your fingers to mix and release the orge flavor. In a medium bowl, whisk the oil and sugar until well combined.

In a cup stir the baking soda with the brandy and add it to the oil-sugar mixture. 

Make a well in the flour mixture and stir in the oil and sugar, as well as the orange juice, stirring  just until smooth. Add the dried fruits and nuts and stir just until evenly distributed.

Spoon the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top. Bake on the middle rack of the oven for ONE hour or more, until a skewer inserted in the center comes out almost clean.

Transfer to a rack and let cool 10 minutes before carfully removing from the pan, lifting the parchment paper. Let the cake cool completely before cutting, and better show restrain and only cut after a few hours, or the next day…

If you like, sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar. Slice and serve.

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This year, though, we managed to harvest quite a few bunches to fill two large baskets. But our grapes are what the locals call ‘krasostafyla’ (wine-grapes), sweet but filled with seeds and quite difficult to swallow.

Early this August, as we finished harvesting the almonds, we noticed quite a few nice bunches of grapes hanging from the old, robust vines that engulf the southern fence of our property, behind the lemon trees.  From these vines we mainly gather the tender grape leaves early in May, to stuff and make our trademark dolmades.

Usually the grapes our vines produce hardly manage to ripen; wasps and all kinds of insects attack them as soon as they start to blush. Come harvest time, we just find a few bunches of rotten, half-eaten grapes which are sweet but filled with seeds and difficult to swallow.

These vines are probably a remnant of the old vineyards our little valley was famous for; the dark grapes used to produce quite good wine in the old days, as I discovered researching the paper I wrote for the 2017 Oxford Symposium:

“…Kea was once famous for its red wine.” British traveler and writer James T. Bent in his 1885 book ‘Cyclades, or Life among the insular Greeks,’ mentions that the island had extensive vineyards, many on terraced corridors in its northern slopes. Considerable amounts of wine were being produced throughout the island’s history. There was enough wine for local consumption, and until the early twentieth century some was also exported. Bent writes that Michael Psellos –the eleventh century monk, scholar, and politician– describes Kea’s wine as “sweet to the scent, and black in color,” and “much sought after in Constantinople. […] The wine of Keos is still of great repute,” […]

Photographs taken at the end of the nineteenth c. and beginning of the twentieth c. bear witness to serious wine-producing activity, especially in the northern part, where we live. The old abandoned, overgrown winepress I see from my office window, half-way up the terraced hill, is proof that vines must have been cultivated on the grounds around our house. There are many old wine presses all over the island, indicating extensive vineyards. These precious old presses –some in covered stone shacks, others very simple open-air cisterns carved in rock, or built with stones and plastered– are the sole remnants of the once thriving viticulture. Santorini, and other Cycladic islands never gave up on their vineyards, and managed to revive their unique grape varietals, putting their local, exquisite wine production on the international map. Kea doesen’t even manage to produce enough decent wine for local consumption these days; and the same is true for the island’s once plentiful cheese production. Bent playfully remarks that, unlike other islanders, Keans, complacent with their beautiful and relatively fertile island, are “not an ambitious race…”

When we bought our piece of land, the previous owner had planted lots of olive trees –too close together, unfortunately—uprooting the old vines. Only the ones on the fence survived, plus one more, frail but persistent, at the edge of the olive grove next to our eastern veranda.

A few years ago I decided to use the green, unripe grapes to make a Sour Grape Condiment as people still do in the Middle East, and in some Balkan countries.

The two baskets of ripe grapes we gathered now were too few for wine and too seedy to eat; so Costas and I decided to press them and take the juice to drink, freeze some to make granita, and certainly make moustalevria, the traditional grape must jelly our mothers used to make each year. It was a lengthy, painstaking process with our grapes. But if you use the usual seedless grapes one gets this time of year, moustalevria is the easiest and most delicious summer treat, we feel.

The old Greek recipes ask for a complicated process of simmering the grape must with wood ash to to clarify it, a step I always skip. I much prefer a fruity-tasting moustalevria, so I briefly boil the juice with cornstarch just until it thickens, much like I do when I make my Orange ‘Cream’ in the winter.

RECIPE: Moustalevria: Grape Must Jelly

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Unlike the boldly flavored cacik, the Turkish yogurt-cucumber-garlic soup, common throughout the Mediterranean –an ancestor of tzatziki– this older, fragrant Persian soup has no garlic.

I use almonds or pistachios instead of the walnuts the original recipe calls for, and I add preserved lemon, which enhances the soup with its salty-tangy flavor. I suggest you double the recipe and enjoy it the next morning for breakfast.

Serves 6

1/4 cup (25 g) dried rose petals, crushed

1/3 cup (40 g) almonds, or pistachios

About 1/8 of a  preserved lemon piece, briefly rinsed

2 cups (500 g) Greek-style yogurt

1 1/2 cups (360 ml) ice water

1/2 cup (80 g) golden raisins, finely chopped

1 1/2 cups peeled, seeded, finely diced cucumber (one small or 2/3 of a large cucumber)

1/4 cup (10 g) finely chopped fresh mint

1/4 cup (10 g) finely chopped fresh dill

1/4 cup (25 g) finely chopped chives or scallions, white and most of the green parts

Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Sumac

2-3 tablespoons coarsely chopped pistachios (optional)

Garlic Blossoms (optional)

In a small bowl, soak the rose petals in slightly warm water until softened and cold, about 20 minutes. Drain and pat dry with paper towels.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).

Spread the almonds or pistachios on a baking sheet and toast for 8 minutes, or until fragrant and lightly colored. Let cool and chop finely in a food processor together with the preserved lemon.

In a large bowl, whisk the yogurt with the ice water. Add the raisins, cucumber, mint, dill, chives, rose petals, and almonds. Season with salt and pepper.

Cover and transfer to the refrigerator for at least 1 hour.

Taste the soup and adjust the seasoning, then serve in glasses or in shallow bowls, sprinkling generously with sumac, pistachios, and garlic blossoms, if you like.

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Potatoes, carrots and a couple of onions are boiled first, in a pot with 1-2 teaspoons salt, until tender and easily pierced with a fork. 

We discard nothing in our part of the world, and we have learned that for example the root-ends of spinach are delicious when fresh, especially from ours, or the local gardens, so we carefully wash them, and boil them for a few minutes longer than we boil the large fleshy spinach leaves. Baby spinach is not what you need for this delicious salad. 

We boil zucchini  by themselves, usually, in a separate pot, with their hard stems still attached. We discard them when done, because if we cut them before boiling, the water seeps into the zucchini flesh, making the tender zucchini  unacceptably soggy.  

Boiled zucchini are often made into a salad/side dish by themselves, all through the season, as gardens all over Greece are overflowed by this beloved early summer vegetable.  And of course zucchini feature in lots of meze and main course dishes, of which my favorite is Zucchini Fritters, as well as the fabulous Crustless Zucchini Pie.  

Finally the boiled vegetable salad, after being drizzled with fruity olive oil and some lemon juice, is complemented with tangy Tahini Yogurt Sauce, the same that flavors the Roasted Squash and Bread Salad.

I serve the boiled vegetables with some chopped, pickled hot peppers, and plenty of fresh mint leaves. 

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Up until recently our book editors had stricken out of our recipes the mere mention of boiling any vegetables or greens, replacing it by ‘blanching’ or ‘steaming…’

“Today we are starting with a very controversial statement — I boil my vegetables,” writes José in his always exciting Newsletter Longer Tables with José Andrés. “You may not believe me, but it’s true! I would not lie about something important like this,” he continues. “I was shocked when I came to America and saw many restaurants and people, and even cookbooks, roasting the whole carrots and roasting whole beets and roasting all their tubers, including potatoes. I will not lie to you that more than once I told my friends: Are you crazy? Roasting carrots?” he writes.

Last week, after the end of the fascinating Symposium in Oxford I had the privilege to be invited for lunch by the symposium’s president, the unsurpassed food writer and researcher Claudia Roden –a friend since the early ‘90s.

It was a hot, humid day in London, and along with the brilliant Alicia Rios we sat at Claudia’s inspiring kitchen and enjoyed a lovely salad of boiled beets, asparagus, carrots, and zucchini, topped with fresh pea shoots, and accompanied by thick yogurt, before the main course of a fragrant bulgur pilaf with chickpeas, tomatoes, and eggplants that she has described in her fabulous book MED.

Of course, we aptly commented on the fact that boiled vegetables have now become the IN thing! Up until very recently our book editors had stricken out of our recipes any mention of boiled vegetable or green, replacing it by ‘blanched’ or ‘steamed.’  

“Boiling is something I saw my mother doing often when I was growing up,” writes José. “Green beans and potatoes will go into a pot. Some salt will be added, and love, yes, too. […] She would add olive oil, some pimentón, the beautiful deep red paprika from Spain that is lightly smoked, and some salt and a drizzle of sherry vinegar,” and he proceeds posting the recipe.

My mother taught me to do exactly that as well, the basic difference being that instead of vinegar, along the fruity olive oil, we drizzled the boiled vegetables with fresh lemon juice –see Lemon is a Greek perversion— and of course we had no pimentón…

We discard nothing in our part of the world, and we have learned that for example the root-ends of spinach are delicious when fresh, especially from our or some local garden, so we carefully wash them, and boil them for a few minutes longer than we boil the large fleshy spinach leaves. Baby spinach is not what you need for this delicious salad. 

RECIPE/Description: My Boiled Mixed Vegetables

Tahini Yogurt Sauce, the same that flavors the Roasted Squash and Bread Salad.

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It is inspired from a dish served by Semsa Denizsel, the celebrated chef and former owner of Kantin Lokanta in Istanbul. She has now moved to the Aegean coast, and teaches cooking in her beautiful home, amidst olive trees.

Serves 4-6

Four 1/2-inch (1.2cm) slices day-old sourdough bread, torn to about 1-inch (2.5cm) pieces–remove only the very hard crusts

2/3 cup olive oil

About 2 1/2 pounds (1 1/4 kilo) butternut squash, kabocha, or any other squash with dense flesh; peeled, seeded, and cut into 1-inch (2.5 cm) cubes 

2 teaspoons dry Greek oregano or thyme

Salt to taste

A few pinches Maraş pepper or crushed red pepper flakes, to taste

Yogurt-tahini sauce

1 1/2 cups (375 g) thick Greek-style yogurt

2/3 -1 cup (160 ml) tahini

1 clove garlic, minced

Salt, to taste

3 tablespoons lemon juice, or to taste

To serve:

A bunch fresh mint, coarsely chopped or a good pinch dried mint (optional)

Fruity olive oil for drizzling

A handful of toasted pine nuts

Finishing salt

Preheat the oven to 400º F (200ºC) and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a large bowl toss the bread with half of the oil, spread on the baking sheet and toast in the oven for about 10 minutes or more, until golden brown and dry. Transfer to a tray.

In the same large bowl add the squash and toss with the remaining olive oil, adding oregano, salt and pepper to taste.

Spread on the parchment-lined baking sheet and roast in the oven for about 20 minutes or more, until tender. Let cool a little.

Meanwhile make the sauce: In a bowl, stir the yogurt with the tahini, and add the garlic, salt, and lemon. Taste and adjust the seasoning.

Stir in 2 to 3 tablespoons water to thin the sauce just to the point that is only just pourable. Cover and store in the refrigerator.

Spread half the yogurt-tahini sauce on a shallow serving dish. Arrange alternating pieces of squash and toasted bread on the sauce, sprinkle with the fresh and dried mint, if using, drizzle with fruity olive oil and sprinkle with the pine nuts and some finishing salt.

Serve warm or at room temperature, passing the rest of the yogurt sauce on the side.

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Obviously, whoever first combined these basic ingredients created a salad delicious enough to be copied, improved upon and even exported and become a household dish all over the world!

Probably the famous Greek Salad was actually inspired by the summer salad-meals of the peasants. Its main ingredient, the juicy vine-ripened tomatoes, complemented with onions and all kinds of garden vegetables and greens –cucumber, purslane, or some flavorful pickled green, like kritama (rock-samphire) that was originally a Chios island addition, and now has become part of the ‘exotic’ creative salads served in Mykonos and Santorini.

The salad has sweet and sometimes mildly hot peppers, and it is always topped with feta.  In its original village past the salad/meal could have any kind of local cheese, as well as olives, and maybe capers or caper leaves. Horiatiki is scented with dried, wild oregano or savory, and doused with plenty of fruity olive oil. It might also contain salted sardines, and was often made more substantial with the addition of stale bread or crumbled paximadia (barley rusks), which soak up the delicious juices.

I vaguely remember my parents snubbing horiatiki, as an overpriced salad created by sly tavern owners. Up until then in the summer one ordered a tomato salad, with or without onions and cucumber, and separately a slice of feta cheese which came drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with oregano.

My parents, along with other people we knew, had come to the conclusion that horiatiki’s cost exceeded that of the usual salad and feta combination.  It was a gimmick for the tourists, according to my father, but also later on some of my friends, who refused to order it; they thought that even when the salad became cheaper and a kind of standard all over Greece, taverns adopted it as a way for to serve inferior quality, and  smaller pieces of feta; my parents kept on ordering tomato salad and feta, separately.

Eventually, though, the horiatiki invention backfired. Budget tourists were feasting on this horiatiki/Greek salad, ordering it as a main lunch or dinner and tavern owners started to complain about ‘the horiatiki tourists’ who were almost ruining their business during high season…

Of course the taste of Greek salad depends entirely on the quality and freshness of its ingredients. The traditional Greek winter version, not called horiatiki, is based on crunchy leaves of Romaine lettuce, that are complemented with spicy wild arugula, and fragrant herbs (fennel, dill, mint, borage and plenty of scallions). This salad seldom has tomatoes, and never depends on the tasteless, pale green-house tomatoes sold in supermarkets…

RECIPE: Paximadia Horiatiki or Greek Salad with Rusks, Feta and Capers

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