The Power of Now?

Eating Well Is The Best Revenge 

by Diana Farr Louis

ANDROS Greece—(Weekly Hubris)—3/12/12—There is nothing like a country house to keep you focused on the present. Especially a summer house on a Greek island which you haven’t visited since late November. Three months must be the maximum amount of time we’ve ever allowed to elapse between visits to Andros.

But, this year, it just happened. Either the weather god, Aeolos, who directs the winds from next-door Tinos, brought boats to a standstill and drove the mercury down to what is, for us, polar temperatures. Or the godless seamen’s unions kept the ships tied up in strikes.

It wasn’t till the end of February that we saw a window of three days of sunshine and seized the moment. We piled three big sacks of firewood into the car, along with three smaller sacks of provisions—dark chocolate, homemade taramosalata, leftover pork & celery stew, and all the fruit and veg that would have gone bad if we’d left it behind.

The boat sailed from Rafina at 7:40 a.m. with not a cloud to be seen; barely a hint of air stroking the Aegean. Aeolos was having a long overdue nap.

And what should greet us two hours later when we docked at Gavrio, but a caique selling its still-breathing catch from the stern. There weren’t too many fish flapping in the shallow crate, perhaps ten small bream (porgies) and three nice fat tuna (tonnaki—minnows compared to the bluefin favored by the Japanese). The fisherman gave us one for the bargain price of 10 euros, and we drove off, happy as clams.

From the outside, the house looked intact. The pergola had not flown away, the lemon tree was not completely stripped of leaves, a couple of pots had taken a tumble, but they hadn’t contained anything rare or irreplaceable. Half the terrace was under water, due to a blocked drain. But that could be easily remedied once I’d put on my Wellies.

It was only as I started to put things into the refrigerator that I noticed it had no light. I pulled the freezer door. Uh-oh. Messy bags of decomposing goodies. Two boxes of frozen shrimps, a couple of jars of pesto, a kilo of local sausages and, saddest of all, three plastic containers of blackberries that I’d spent hours picking back in August and had been hoarding to enjoy off-season.

Next came the “I told you so” moment, when Joy of the People (JotP) commented, “Didn’t I say we should empty the fridge and turn it off?” Thankfully, he is not like the average spouse and only said it once. Maybe twice.

. . . for he was far too busy trying to get the electricity back on: find the help line of the Public Power Corp, call our friend who knows about such things, drive back to the port to get a new fuse, and then wait for the orange van to pull up.

Meanwhile, I was firmly rooted in the Now of sweeping the terrace dry and then arming myself with secaturs for a pruning session. First, I tackled the roses, which were already sprouting; next the plumbago (looks like baby blue jasmine for you non-gardeners), which needs to be shown who’s master or else it goes berserk; and, finally, the chrysanthemums, their beeswax-yellow flowers having turned to sodden brown.

After the PPC lads restored our electricity and JotP sponged the freezer clean (!), we sat down to lunch outside—in shirtsleeves and hats for the first time in many months. As we dipped artichoke leaves into taramosalata, every bite asked: “Isn’t it great to be back?”

Three days went by like this: Sunshine caressed my pruning efforts: I climbed into the olive trees and cleared out their centers; tossed the branches over the wall for the neighbor’s sheep to dine on; picked some bitter oranges from the tree on the way to the port, and even got six from my own, a lemon tree that reverted one frosty winter. Never mind that they were no bigger than ping-pong balls.

We drove up the mountain to the spring where we fill our drinking water containers. In summer/fall we get the side benefit of mulberries, blackberries, and feral zucchini. Now, primroses suffice as eye candy.

In such conditions, being in the Now is easy: Nature is so full of stimuli that banish most thoughts of the cruel and sudden poverty that is reducing so many Greeks to scrounge in trash bins or wait in soup kitchen queues.

It hasn’t all been sunny and springlike, though. On Monday, Clean Monday, the beginning of Orthodox Lent and, usually, the occasion for open-air feasting on seafood, pulses, and yeast-free bread, the weather turned. Gale-force winds brought rain and then snow. It snowed all day on Tuesday, and on Wednesday morning, as I sit here writing, the electricity has vanished again. Our blower silent, I’m going to have to go outside to keep warm.

Yesterday, our wood supply was running low. Those three bags of logs hadn’t lasted long with no central heating. So JotP and I went foraging for more. The snow was blitzing us, not with gentle flakes but with pellets as big as lentils. My husband only came up with some long pieces unsuitable for the fireplace, but around a half-dead olive tree, someone had left a pile of perfect logs, just the right size, cut perhaps a year ago and never used.

Is that what “God will provide” means?

On the cover of The Power of Now, Eckhart Tolle’s guide to spiritual enlightenment, which I just happened to bring along with me, Oprah has contributed a blurb: “The Power of Now can transform your thinking. The result? More joy. Right now.”

So far, these days have been full of simple pleasures, direct contact with Nature and very little news. But in order to stay joyful, I’ll need a bit more warmth. Now!

Recipe

There’s no point in giving you the recipe for the little tuna. I just butterflied it, marinated it in lemon juice, and grilled it, drizzled with olive oil (our own, naturally) and sprinkled on rosemary and coarsely ground black pepper.

But, since we have just entered Lent, I’ll give you an easy recipe for a dish we love so much I make it almost every week, well, every other week, whether we’re fasting or not, economizing or not.

Spanakorizo or Spinach Pilaf

1 kilo (2 lb) fresh spinach, washed and trimmed

1 bunch spring onions, coarsely chopped

120 ml (½ cup) good olive oil

½ cup Carolina rice or even Uncle Ben’s

1 tablespoon tomato paste

1 bunch wild fennel or dill, chopped

80 ml (1/4 cup) lemon juice and grated zest

Heat the oil in a stew pot and sauté the onions gently for 4-5 minutes. Add the spinach, coarsely chopped if the leaves are large, a few handfuls at a time, stirring to coat them with oil. When the spinach has lost its bulk, stir in the rice and coat the grains with oil. Pour in a cup (240 ml) of hot water in which you’ve diluted the tomato paste. Add half the chopped fennel or dill, the lemon zest, and half the lemon juice. Cover and simmer for about 20 minutes, until the rice is tender and the liquid absorbed. Add more water during the cooking, if necessary. Stir in the rest of the herbs and lemon juice and serve. Enough for 4 people as a main course; 6 as a side dish with, perhaps, grilled chicken or hamburger.

Note: I make my own tomato paste in the summer by cooking fresh tomatoes with sugar until it’s really thick and sweet. To get the same quite marvelous effect, add a teaspoon of sugar to commercial tomato paste.