A Lenten Diary

Eating Well Is The Best Revenge

by Diana Farr Louis

ATHENS Greece—Weekly Hubris—(3/28/11)—Two weeks of fasting, Greek-style, have been fun and not even challenging.

Tuesday after Clean Monday

Invited to a ladies lunch by a Canadian colleague. K said she’d provide a platter of cold cuts and cheeses, but when I said I’d bring some Lenten nibbles because I was fasting, she thanked me for reminding her and served up a bountiful Lenten repast instead: her husband’s perfect bean soup, taramosalata, multi-colored cabbage-carrot salad with raisins and walnuts, olives, pickles, and hot peppers, with halva for dessert (and a very good Nemean red wine).

(In my absence, husband “Joy of the People” opens the vacuum-packed cheeses I’d been hoping to save until after Lent and does me the favor of frying up the last of the bacon.)

Sated by lunch, I sup on a pear. And put some white beans to soak.

Wednesday

Weekly farmers’ market virtually closed due to snow. But inspired by Tuesday’s fasolada, I make my own, almost as good but lacking celery, and the beans were not as meltinthemouth, probably too long in the cupboard. Supper, after the flicks—“Barney’s Version” with a hilarious Dustin Hoffman as a Jewish-Canadian cop and a brilliant Paul Giamatti as his idiosyncratic son—I throw together a makaronada with some pesto left from the summer, sautéed broccoli, extra garlic, and some baby shrimp (which weren’t really needed).

Thursday

Another lunch date with two women friends. Earlier, B had called in a panic, “What can I serve? R doesn’t eat anything.” Me: “As of Monday, I eat even less. I’m doing a Lenten fast, vegetables and lobster.” B: “Oh, should I provide some caviar then?”

That morning we went to Carrefour, the French supermarket chain, to get some goodies for my stepdaughter on Spetses, where we’re going for the weekend. JotP picks up some saucisse seche from Auvergne, camembert, chevre, crème fraiche and other verboten dairy products for her. I grit my teeth and grab some frozen shrimp. The entrance to the shop is one vast display of Lenten foods. “Kali Sarakosti”/Happy 40 Days” reads a big sign in front of jars of pickles, cans of dolmades (stuffed vine leaves), bricks of halva. One side of the entrance has been turned into a series of freezer compartments, each containing different kinds of seafood: octopus, shrimp, squid, and cuttlefish. It’s easy to fast in this country. It’s so well marketed.

Going out, we pass the fresh fish stalls and I spy a large collection of lobsters twitching on a pile of ice. Flown in from Canada, they are dark green, almost black: homards, not the more usual Mediterranean spiny lobster found in Greece. And they’re cheap, 15 euros a kilo. So, for the first time in at least two years, we snap up two lobsters weighing 700 grams (1 ½ lbs) each.

B, who’s a fabulous cook, has make a vegetarian lunch for R and me: vegetable soup with large pieces of broccoli, potato, zucchini in a rich broth; delicate, lemony hummus; chunks of avocado; and a white goat cheese she’s made, herself. I’d love to taste it, but I don’t. I provide a mixed green salad with more avocado, pomegranate seeds, and sunflower seeds for crunch. Dessert is stewed apples and pears with cranberries and walnuts: yummy. (B tries to persuade me that goat’s cheese isn’t dairy, but it is still an animal product, so I remain steadfast.)

Come supper time, I’m really not that hungry for the lobsters. But I force myself. We boil them for 20 minutes in a court bouillon and serve them with ladolemono (oil and lemon juice) instead of melted butter. And I do polish off every morsel. We just happen to have a bottle of Pouilly Fuisse in the fridge, a fitting accompaniment. And a bit of the spaghetti, with broccoli as a side dish.

Friday

Lunch at Epidaurus on our way to Spetses. We’ve been stopping at this taverna for years. Other restaurants have a better location, right on the water, but this one has the best food, and it would be a betrayal to go anywhere else. And we’d be discovered. Voula’s eagle eyes always spot us driving round the corner. Today, we’re the only customers. “Business is bad. No one goes out anymore,” says Voula. Nevertheless, she has “beautified” her big featureless room. For her grandson’s christening in January, she had the tables set with two tablecloths and the chairs wrapped in matching pinkogray fabric as if they were in a banquet hall in a fancy hotel. And they have remained, turning the very plain taverna into a pretentious place with false airs. Luckily, the food hasn’t changed. But I’m not eating fish so, instead of the nice fresh cod that JotP orders, I choose fried kalamarakia. A huge portion arrives, delicious but too much. As I’ve already stuffed myself with cabbage/carrot salad dressed only with delicious oil and local lemon juice—that’s all. No bread, no wine.

Then, on to Spetses. C&M expected us on Saturday, so she hasn’t made supper. We aren’t hungry and there are always leftovers, so I heat up some cold macaroni in C’s velvety, garlicky tomato sauce. (My stepdaughter is a fabulous cook; even had her own restaurant on Spetses for a while.)

Saturday

JotP & I are busy pruning so I don’t think about lunch. C defrosts some lentil soup (Spetses style with kritharaki, or orzo). I add some just-picked arugula to her green salad and we take dainty helpings of the soup, to leave enough for C&M. When C comes back she reacts like a typical Cretan housewife, whips some little spinach and beet green pies out of the fridge and bakes them. They are ready in no time—for our dessert.

Supper, seskoulorizo—chard picked from the garden where it grows wild, rice, spring onions, a bit of that tomato sauce, grated lemon peel, and lots of lemon juice—simple and extra tasty.

Sunday

Chris has invited D for an al fresco lunch and she prepares a classic Lenten meze table: baby pizzas with tomato sauce and mushrooms (no cheese), bread sticks, guacamole, olives, hummus mounded into two breasts with black olive “nipples,” coleslaw, beets and beet greens from a friend’s garden. Dessert is halva made from “whole-grain sesame seeds,” which turns out to be scrumptious and much less sweet than the usual halva. Yes, there is some goat camembert, too, but I ignore it. I’d also found a very nice white wine—Sigalas Athiri & Assyrtiko from Santorini.

No supper.

Monday

My turn to cook, so I introduce my new favorite dish: Thai shrimp curry with spring onions, more garden chard, and coriander, basmati rice, and a cabbage arugula salad. They love it.

 

Supper, potatoes baked in the fireplace and some German sausages, which don’t tempt me.

Tuesday

We drive back to Athens but don’t feel like stopping at Epidaurus again. At Tracheia, a strung-out village famous for its cheeses, yogurt, and homemade pasta, we pull up in front of a no-name taverna with no customers. It really is bare bones and the loos are grotty. When we ask whether there’s anything to eat, the owner starts out with boiled goat, baked lamb casserole, and a long list of grilled possibilities. But, I cut her short: “I am fasting.” The magic words here during Lent usually bring on a whole new list of suggestions. But this woman, in her sheep-raising district, seems taken by surprise. “Well, I do have some horta (wild boiled greens), fried potatoes, and fresh farm eggs.” I suddenly and conveniently remember that travelers are exempt from fasting! How could I refuse those eggs. The greens were watery, the potatoes underdone, but the avga matia—eggs’ eyes (or sunny side up)—were excellent. JotP buys a clay pot of yogurt to take away, the old-fashioned kind with a skin on top. That will be harder to resist than any sausages.

Supper: JotP had half the yogurt, but I have to go out on a semi-business meeting with “visiting firemen.” My Italian friend, who arranged the evening, takes us to a simple taverna that’s like a sweet breath of the past. No décor, low prices, good “loose” wine, and a quirky menu that includes “garlic deep,” fried “squibs” and “offal balls.” We order an array of dishes to share—another wonderful feature of Greek and Middle Eastern dining—and, while the others polish off a plateful of thinly sliced, crisp pancetta, I feel more than satisfied with squibs in a mustardy wine sauce, fava (pureed yellow peas topped with onion and parsley), more greens, perfect fried potatoes, and little greens pies (not quite as good as my stepdaughter’s). No dessert, thank God.

Wednesday

Strict diet today. All this fasting and I’m gaining weight! I had a pear and half an apple, without the slices of cheese that I usually eat them with. And three pieces of crystallized ginger.

Supper will be baked root vegetables with lots of olive oil, garlic, and herbs.

Thursday

Lunch: More pears and apples since my son has invited us for dinner.

Supper: The carnivore sacrifices himself for me and composes a sumptuous repast, whose main dish is Octopus Osso Bucco!, from a Greek cookbook by Vassilis Fratzolas. The poor creature has neither bone nor hole oozing marrow, but the tomatoey sauce has us licking our plates, and the tentacles are just the right side of chewy.

Friday

Lunch: Our monthly book club meets (we are in fact a group of old friends for whom books provide the rationale for good food and good talk), and I supply a hummus dip spiked with cumin and Turkish chili pepper, to be scooped up with crudités. Only two dishes don’t pass my lips—a pork stew and a sinful lemon concoction so full of eggs and cream your arteries might clog just contemplating it (but you would die happy). A new kind of spinach pie (see below), olive rolls, and gorgeous mixed salad keep my tummy quiet until elevenses the next day.

Saturday

It’s the Mediterranean Garden Society’s semi-annual plant sale this morning, and I must help with a baked offering for the refreshment table. I decide on a tahinopitta—a fasting cake from Crete, made with tahini (sesame seed paste), orange juice, Irish whiskey (for want of brandy), spices, raisins, and walnuts. Just one of a whole range of Greek sweets that contain no butter or eggs. But food takes second place to the riot of flowers, wild and nurtured, celebrating the advent of spring.

Lunch: A family gathering in an Athens taverna with so many Lenten specialties on display that almost none of us chooses meat. But all but one of us pigs out on the incredible fried potatoes. They must have come from Naxos, which is renowned for having the best spuds in Greece, and they set off a stream of collective memories of meals there that ended with fried potatoes for dessert.

The good thing about these lunch parties is that we never feel remotely peckish in the evening. Or bibulous.

Sunday

After a museum visit with friends, we find a little place near Plaka with traditional fare. The men decide on meat but we two women share a (mediocre) seafood risotto (boasting a few prominent mussel shells) and a pleasing platter of boiled veg—the usual, plus some black-eyed peas. After a square of ravani (syrupy orange cake) for dessert, again no supper is needed.

These have been an easy two weeks. More meals out than usual, so my imagination hasn’t been taxed.

But with all that’s going on in the world, it somehow feels right to be going without some of the foods one takes for granted in our privileged circumstances. Apart from the Canadian lobsters, the Greek fasting kitchen depends on sustainable products raised locally that tax neither the environment nor the pocketbook. So far, though, its dishes have been too delicious to be “enlightening” to body or to mind.

Two Fasting Recipes

Spinach Pie Another Way

This is really easy, made with a batter rather than fyllo, adapted from The Festive Fast by my friend Georgia Kofinas with Marigoula Kokkinou (Akritas, Athens, 1998). Called “babanatsa” in Greek, it resembles a clafouti or “duff,” with the spinach filling popping through the surface.

For the batter

1 lb/500 g self-rising flour

1 teaspoon salt

5 tablespoons olive oil

4-5 cups water

Put the flour in a large bowl and add the salt, oil, and enough water to make a medium thick, creamy mixture. Oil a large (but not enormous) rectangular baking pan or Pyrex dish, and pour one-third of the batter into it, spreading evenly.

For the filling

3 lb (1 ½ kg) spinach, washed, trimmed, and coarsely chopped

½ cup (120 ml) olive oil

7-8 spring onions, chopped

good handful parsley, chopped

2-3 tablespoons chopped dill or fennel fronds

½ cup Carolina rice

½ cup raisins

Heat the oil in a large pan and wilt the onions, add the spinach—a few handfuls at a time—and sauté until the leaves go limp. Add the herbs and rice. Stir well to coat the grains with oil, add 1 cup (240 ml) water, and cover. Simmer for 15-20 minutes or until the water is absorbed and the rice is tender. The rice will disappear; you won’t notice it in the pie. Sprinkle the raisins over the spinach and mix. Let cool a bit.

Spread the spinach over the batter and pour the rest of the batter over it, as evenly as possible. Drizzle with a little olive oil and bake for 45-60 minutes, or until the top is golden, in a preheated oven (350°F/180°C).

Thai Shrimp Curry

This is sooo good. Some people go totally silent except for exclamations of intense pleasure with every bite. Not fasting, or allergic to seafood? Try it with chicken. The curry paste is very hot, quite different from Indian curry, so don’t use the whole packet at first; it might be too fiery.

5-6 spring onions, in 2 inch pieces

1-2 tablespoons oil (doesn’t have to be olive oil, for once)

1-2 stalks lemon grass, pounded with a mallet

1 packet frozen shrimp, cleaned and defrosted

1 350 ml/16 oz can coconut milk

1 packet Thai green curry paste, or less

juice of ½ lime

2 tablespoons chopped coriander (cilantro) or basil

Wilt the onions in the oil in a large, deep frying pan. Add the lemon grass and shrimp, and sauté for about a minute. Add the coconut milk and curry paste and simmer until the shrimp are done, about 5 minutes. Squeeze in lime juice to taste, sprinkle with chopped herbs. Serves 4, with basmati rice.

Sometimes I also add a few spinach or chard leaves to the pan for color and contrast.