An Eagle, Three Hares & A Sea Turtle: Reflections On The Summer

“This summer was a time of savoring the familiar, of knowing our corner of Andros so well I can tell instantly when something extraordinary has been added. Like the goat’s skull placed like a totem on a rocky ledge at our favorite beach, the eagle poised for just a moment on an electricity pole, or the sea turtle that serenely flapped below me as I swam over a patch of sea grass.”—By Diana Farr Louis

Eating Well Is The Best Revenge

By Diana Farr Louis

ANDROS Greece—(Weekly Hubris)—10/20/2014—I sat down to write a column about our five days in Provence this July and found it wouldn’t come. Instead, on returning to Andros after ten days in Athens, the present whooshed in, pushing memories to the side, to the back burner.

Strange that those stretches of vineyards bearing the names of our favorite Côtes du Rhone wines, the intense perfume of those fields of lavender, the massive hulk of Mont Ventoux visible from everywhere should have dimmed with my exhilaration at seeing my own little acre revived after a spate of blessed autumn rains.

I wasn’t gone for long. No miracles occurred. And yet, every detail stands out with remarkable clarity and gives me unreasonable joy. We arrived back after dark, so I had no inkling of what awaited me. But there was an omen: on the empty outback that used to look like a heather-pink moor in Scotland before the fire of four years ago, two hares hopped in front of the headlights. We normally see one, never two, on the road a few times a year, but not this summer, so I was even more thrilled when a third showed his black, not white, comma of a tail at the turn to our house, and escorted us halfway to it.

Yet I was not surprised. I’d had a premonition on leaving the boat that there’d be at least one to greet us.

Morning brought more simple pleasures. Though the gale force winds that had buffeted the island while we were gone had felled scores of apples, many remained fixed to the tree and, more wondrously, at least half of the windfalls bore no vermiculate decorations. We had unblemished, worm-free Fyriki apples for the first time in its 20-year life. Small and cylindrical, Fyrikia are among the few species native to Greece.

I spent half the morning making a crumble for 20 people to take to a lunch party. The apples are so miniscule that coring and slicing enough to fill my biggest baking dish must have taken well over an hour. If I’d peeled them, there would have been nothing left. The radio was playing Telemann, Haydn, and Bach, adding to the satisfaction.

But before I sat down at the kitchen table, I inspected the property. Our two fig trees each offered me a couple of late figs. Pomegranates gleamed like Christmas ornaments from one tree, with only five split, not seriously, from the rains. (The other tree produces nothing but serious thorns and I told it in early July after its blossoms all dropped off, that its days would be numbered if it again presented me with no fruit. I’d really like to chop it down, plant something more rewarding, but those long spikes may prevent me from carrying out my murderous designs.)

Fearing that the winds would tumble the quinces, we’d picked them before we left and they were piled high in our largest bowl, so those trees bore no bulbous yellow globes. But what a treat to see the olive trees still laden, and their tear-shaped fruit, already ebony but wrinkled two weeks ago, now plump and smooth, ready to be harvested. We will have to invite friends over to pick them as there are far too many for us to deal with.

Ironically, this is the first year in ages we’ve had so many gorgeous eating olives, the first year ever they’ve not played host to the insidious dakos or olive fly, whose almost invisible pinpricks mean a worm lurks within. I say ironically because the olive press does not open until St. Demetrios’s day on October 26th and any olives we don’t gather will be on the ground by then. Pity our trees always ripen before the rest of the island’s, for reasons unfathomable to us.

But let this not mar the wonder of these days, when sparkles dance on the cobalt surface of the still warm Aegean, when the dry tawny earth wears a blush of emerald, and pink cyclamen delight by turning up in unexpected places.

This summer was a time of savoring the familiar, of knowing our corner of Andros so well I can tell instantly when something extraordinary has been added. Like the goat’s skull placed like a totem on a rocky ledge at our favorite beach, the eagle poised for just a moment on an electricity pole (so huge compared to our usual buzzards and hawks, and only the second I’ve ever spotted on the island), or the sea turtle that serenely flapped below me as I swam over a patch of sea grass. Another apparition was the cat snake, coiled like a pretzel on the branch of our fig tree and exactly the same shade of gray. “How did you see it!?” asked my son and husband. “Because I look at this tree so carefully every day when I come to collect our breakfast.” Once the book had identified it as not a viper, we were less alarmed, and happier still when it was gone the next morning.

But this summer was also a time spent with our dearest people. Both grandchildren, our great granddaughters (step-, I hasten to add: I’m not quite old enough for that), friends from across the pond or simply from the other side of Athens, all perfect guests and delightful company.

Of course, the gilding of the lily was our trip to France, guests ourselves of special friends, who gave unstintingly of their love and laughter, early morning silence, and evening talk. We shopped together, cooked together, ate and drank copiously together and explored brightly colored markets and gray stone villages, lavender fields, and Roman ruins.

And perhaps it was the immersion in the unfamiliar that made me so appreciative of my own backyard. Or perhaps it’s just because it’s home. And because the Aegean stretches out below us, opening our horizons, eyes, and hearts.

There’ll be more about France next time but, for now, here’s a recipe for a friend’s lentil salad that brightened more than one lunch here on Andros.

Recipe

Dana Zanga’s Lentil Salad

If there’s any left over, this is equally or even more delicious the next day.

Lentils:

250 g/1/2 lb small lentils

4 bay leaves

2 strips orange peel

salt and pepper

Soak lentils for 1 hour and discard water.

Boil with above ingredients until just tender. The soaking will reduce the boiling time.

Drain and cool, discarding the bay leaves and orange rind.

Rice:

Cook 2 tablespoons of rice in salted water. Drain.

Caramalized Onions:

Slice 2 medium onions. Cook slowly in some olive oil over low heat, turning frequently until caramelized.

Drain on kitchen paper.

1 Red Pepper:

Roast or grill and peel.

(Or forget this procedure and use a fresh red pepper cut into strips.)

Bacon (120 g): 

Cut into pieces and fry or grill until crispy.

Dressing:

Make a dressing with the following ingredients and mix with the lentils, rice, red pepper, and bacon.

1 tsp. cumin

1 tsp. coriander

2 cloves garlic, crushed

Zest of 1 orange

Parsley or fresh coriander, chopped

Olive oil, salt and pepper, splash of orange juice.

Adjust herbs and spices to taste, sprinkle the caramelized onions on top, and arrange the salad on a bed of arugula with 2 freshly chopped tomatoes on top.

Kali orexi!