The Not-Quite Easter

Eating Well Is The Best Revenge

by Diana Farr Louis

ATHENS Greece—(Weekly Hubris)—5/9/11—Somehow I have the feeling I missed it. Easter here in Greece may not always fulfill every expectation, but usually you can count on it meeting a few criteria, such as pageantry, ritual, gluttony, and masses of flowers.

For us Greeks, native and adopted, Easter festivities far surpass in drama and gourmandise those of Christmas, which is, after all, a holiday for the under-twelve. No matter how old we happen to be, we look forward each year to celebrating Christ’s Resurrection with childlike enthusiasm. (Not that, in my family’s case, Christ has too much to do with it. But the rituals do provide a framework around which we arrange our pleasures.)

This year was going to be even more special than usual. For we would be introducing our great-granddaughter to Easter’s traditions and customs. Maia is eight-and-a-half and she lives in Munich and I will spare you the complicated family whys and wherefores. Only to say that I am her step-great-grandmother, lest you start speculating on my advanced age. But I do love her and her mother as if they were my own blood.

Maia has of course been to Greece many times, but never for Easter. This is her story, with my comments in brackets.

“I couldn’t wait to come. For months Mama was telling me about the processions and the fireworks, the candles and the red eggs. Less about the lamb on the spit, because she has such a kind heart. And of course I am always excited to see my other family.

“We flew in late [Tuesday] and went to the island the next day. I was very sad because the market next to Booboo and Diana’s house had baby chicks for sale. I wanted one, just one tiny one. But they wouldn’t let me buy it. Said the car was too full and that my grandmother’s new dog would eat it. Grownups have so many excuses when they don’t want kids to do something. At least this time they didn’t just say ‘because’.

“Mama and I don’t like long car rides so we fell asleep for most of the way. But when we got to the end of the road, we were too early for the boring old ferry that Booboo calls a pantofla [slipper] and got to bounce across to the island in a sea taxi. People say they’re too expensive but I love them.

“We walked up to the house because there weren’t any land taxis, just a rickety three-wheeler with room for one passenger and all our bags. When we got there, the dog grinned at us. We unchained her and she and I became best friends. She’s very gentle. I don’t think she’d eat a baby chick. But later she stole my Mama’s sandals.

“On Thursday, we were meant to buy candles for me to decorate, but we forgot. We were also meant to dye the eggs red, but I was too busy. My grandmother is an artist and she had a new machine for engraving glass. She taught me how to use it and I spent hours in her studio tracing butterflies and flowers on wine glasses. Wearing goggles, of course, to protect my eyes.

“Finally it was Friday. [On Good Friday or Big Friday as the Greeks call it, the church bells toll all day long.] There are two convents above us, quite a few churches below us, and they all have a different sound. I could also hear several priests wailing. Even though the churches are quite far away. Mama said they have loudspeakers. I wanted to go into a church, where Diana said women would be decorating a box that they pretend is Christ’s tomb, but we went to the beach instead.

“Lunch was a big salad, spaghetti with my grandmother’s extra-special tomato sauce, and bread and cheese, which Diana said was against the rules. I like cheese so much she calls me a käsehund (cheese dog). She also said the tradition of not eating meat and cheese in Holy Week makes the Easter feast more special. But no one seemed to be paying attention. I noticed that there were no rules about how much people should drink.

“That evening, we decided not to go to a church and wait outside for the procession of the pretend tomb. Instead, my grandmother said we would have a better view if we went to a bar and watched the processions pass by. We waited for hours, but nothing happened. A few people and motorbikes came and went, but no parades with yellow candles; no tomb covered with white flowers. We got home at 10:30 and ate lentil soup.

“On Saturday, we started to hear bams and booms, which reminded me of the fireworks coming that night. I collected lots of flowers and ribbons for decorating our white candles, but I didn’t do anything with them because I was too busy engraving glass.

“For lunch, Booboo and Uncle D grilled sausages outside, while Diana made a salad and fried potatoes. Diana said we weren’t meant to eat meat until after church at midnight, but that it’s become a family tradition to break that rule. [Uncle D likes to grill pork chops on Good Friday, but he wasn’t allowed to this time.]

“Mama said I should have a nap, but I wasn’t sleepy. Only after dark did we remember the eggs. Diana had already boiled them and I found one thin sock I could use to make patterns on the shells with daisies and leaves. There was enough sock for six eggs. The other five were plain red. One broke. My grandmother said they would be for us and someone was bringing more for the party the next day.

“Then we had a fight. Nobody wanted to take me down to the church to see the boat get blown up at midnight outside it. They said it would be too noisy and dangerous. But I wanted to see it. And how the priest comes out of the church and lights everyone’s candles from his own. And the fireworks afterwards. I was so sad and mad I went off to my room. And fell asleep.

[Diana was making Easter soup with mushrooms instead of lamb guts because she knew no one would eat the genuine version. She also added spring onions and wild chard from the garden and finished it off with beaten eggs and lemon. It tasted all right but looked awful. The sauce curdled for the second time in her life.]

“I woke up when Mama came to bed. I couldn’t stop crying. The fireworks were all over and no one had woken me up. I’d missed the thing I’d been most looking forward to. It wasn’t fair. Everyone said they weren’t very exciting, but I didn’t believe them. I don’t know how I slept through the boat exploding.

“Next day, three men I didn’t know came early in the morning and dug a hole in the garden [a roasting pit for the lamb]. They lit a fire and by the time I got up, they were sitting next to it, turning a big lamb on a spit and a smaller thing that looked like an enormous sausage [kokoretsi, or innards, wrapped in intestine, sometimes seen on Greek menus translated as ‘tender peasant bowels’ or ‘bowels in spit’].

“It was still breakfast-time but they were drinking wine [to make them ‘wild’, so they told Diana] and had a radio blaring Greek music. They let me turn the spit, but then Mama wanted to go for a walk.

“When I left, you could hardly see my grandmother and Diana in the kitchen. There were green leaves piled everywhere. The man who brought the lamb also brought huge sacks of beets, spinach, stalks of horta [bitter greens], and broad beans from his garden. My grandmother had to wash them all and get the beets ready for the party. [Diana made a garlic sauce (skordalia) out of bread because she wanted to save the potatoes for roasting. And guacamole from some very ripe avocados.]

“By the time I came back, all the guests had arrived. The eggs were all gone, so I never had a chance to play the game [where you tap your egg against another’s to see which cracks first]. My grandmother and Diana were eating sheets of crispy lamb fat, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to try that. I didn’t eat any kokoretsi, either. And there were no potatoes. The lamb had cooked so fast, Uncle D didn’t have time to peel them much less roast them.

“Nobody seemed to mind. They were drinking wine out of a big oil tin—Booboo said it was excellent—listening to music so loud it drowned out the church bells, and talking even louder. What I liked best were the two boxes full of baklava. I didn’t count how many I had. But there was honey all over my hands and clothes.

“The party went on until it was almost dark. Then, my grandmother and her boyfriend whisked me off on his big motorcycle to their favorite bar, where I stayed until Mama came to get me.

“Everyone said it was a splendid day, but what I liked best was riding on the motorcycle, going to the beach, the runny French cheese and, of course, engraving the glass. I also liked that they didn’t try to fool me with stories about the Easter Bunny, the way they do in Germany.

“As for Diana, I think she liked having me, my mama, and Uncle D all together under one roof. And, although she didn’t get quite enough Easter, there were indeed masses of flowers.”

Recipe

Easy Garlic Sauce with Bread (Skordalia)

This sauce traditionally accompanies beets, fried vegetables, and/or batter-fried, salt cod. It can be made with mashed potatoes and/or walnuts or almonds, but this is the easiest version. It looked very pretty with a daisy stuck in the center of the bowl. And was even good on its own, with chunks of bread and crudités.

4 thick slices country bread, crusts removed and soaked in water for a couple of minutes

6 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped, green tip removed, if any

¼ Cup olive oil

a splash of vinegar

a bigger splash of lemon juice

Squeeze all the water out of the bread and crumble it into a food processor with the garlic. Dribble in the olive oil slowly as you would for mayonnaise, but don’t worry, this won’t curdle. Add the vinegar and lemon juice to taste. I wanted it to be strong but you can add less garlic if you’re scared.