Cheap 'n' Greek 'n' frugal: Ugly ducklings

The price of crisps may rise soon in the UK, if it doesn't stop raining; the wet weather is affecting the potato harvest. This is devastating news indeed - during the Olympic games, no doubt many packets of crisps will be bought, and if the potato harvest fails, this will result in a shortage of the all-time favorite crispy snack in the long-term.

The potato harvest in Greece this year is anything but a failure. Beautiful potatoes are making their way to the fruit and vege stands everywhere in my town. I am still surviving on a gift from my uncles: they gave me a large bag full of medium-sized potatoes, good for chipping, and a crate full of baby potatoes, which they used to feed their animals with, but now keep aside for me, because they know I have more patience when it comes to peeling them. These dirty little babes are some of the ugliest edible vegetables you may have seen in your life, and they really are a pain to prepare for eating. Few people realise that by removing so much dirt from their diet, they are prone to more allergies, exacerbates by the over-use of hand sanitisers, wet wipes and Caesarean births:

"Nature’s dirt floor has been replaced by tile; our once soiled and sooted bodies and clothes are cleaned almost daily; our muddy water is filtered and treated; our rotting and fermenting food has been chilled; and the cowshed has been neatly tucked out of sight. While these improvements in hygiene and sanitation deserve applause, they have inadvertently given rise to a set of truly human-made diseases."

This kind of food is not available for sale in places where hygiene plays an important role. Dirt clinging to one's food is regarded as below certain standards, hazardous to touch, full of bacteria. But potatoes need to be dug out of the earth, so somebody must have touched that food to get it to a place where it would be washed and sanitised, then prepared in all sorts of non-toxic (as the wording will probably state on the packet) chemical mixtures, before it was processed into something that is edible and extremely clean.  

My dirty little spuds are excellent for roasting (peeled) or boiling (unpeeled) whole, without cutting them. Because they were covered in a lot of dirt when they were given to me, I can't roast them whole unpeeled. But if you scrub their exterior with a soft sponge...

... place them in a pot of water, ...

... and boil them till tender in the middle, ...

 ... you will be able to peel them effortlessly, and will end up with a beautiful soft clean potato, perfect for your summer (or monsoon, depending on your whereabouts) salads.


This heavenly salad contains a simple mix of boiled baby potatoes, a sliced onion, some banana peppers and a bed of purslane, dressed in olive oil and salt.. Everything has come from a private garden - the amount of money that I would have needed to buy these ingredients from a store has been spent instead in the time that I needed to process the ingredients.

*** *** ***

Speaking of crisps, Greek preferences mainly tend towards the plain salted variety, or flavoured with oregano. Salt and vinegar is sold in multi-national supermarket chains, but it's not really a Greek preference. A flavour which is very slowly catching on is cheese and onion (my personal favorite, marketed by Crunchips), while barbecue flavour (whatever that means) is usually the third option available at the supermarket. Then there are also the quirky flavours like feta cheese, tomato, tzatziki and Mediterranean herbs (etc), but they never really last long on the shelves, often replaced other quirky new flavours, as in the international market - who would really want to eat fish and chips, chili chocolate or squirrel-flavoured crisps?! Apart from Greek brands, you can also get Lays, which are often on sale, but I find that they are too flaky and don't crush too easily; while Ruffles (also a Lays product) are thicker and chunkier, they don't have the right combination of taste and salt that I want in a potato crisp, like Kettles and Boxer crisps, which aren't sold in Greece (my personal favorites).

But crisps are also easy to make at home, and when the potatoes are as good (albeit dirty) as the ones I have access to, they are a good cheap alternative to store-bought crisps.With just four not-so-medium potatoes and a mandolin slicer, I made enough crisps for the whole family.

 

You generally need one potato per person, thinly sliced. Pat each slice dry (to make crispier crisps), place in batches in very very hot oil, one by one, and watch the crisps form. Drain in a colander with large holes (don't place them on absorbent paper - they will simply soak up more oil and lose their crispness), then flavour as you want - I did the Greek classic salt and oregano, and served them with tzatziki. Now there's no need to worry about a shortage of crisps. And how much does one potato and some olive oil cost you? Much much less than a bag of store-bought crisps (which are slightly more expensive in Greece than they are in Northern Europe).

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500: Orzo purslane salad (Σαλάτα με κριθαράκι και γλιστρίδα)

When I phoned them, I wasn't even sure that their telephone would still be working. They assured me they would be home; I assured them that they did not need to go to any trouble before my visit. Old people never take no for an answer. When I arrived, I found my aunts quite busy: Sofia was stooped over the stove top, while her twin sister Agapi was laying the table. The cutlery tinkled against the plates as her shaky hand laid down each piece. They had aged considerably since I had last seen them, almost a decade ago just before my mother died. At the time, they still seemed sprightly, but even then, it was obvious that they were slowing down. Although their minds did not admit to this fact, their bodies were showing signs of wear and tear. My mother's unmarried twin sisters were the oldest children in the family. The only ones that did not emigrate, they had managed to outlive every single one of their siblings. Now at eighty-eight, they were getting on.

"Martha mou!"
"How wonderful to see you again, after all these years!"
"The spitting image of our Elpitha!"
"Sit down, my child, you must be tired after that journey!"

I set down my present of a box of chocolates from the zaharoplasteio on the corner of the heavy wooden table with the curved legs. It was still laid with the same crochet tablecloth that I remembered on all my visits. My mother had bought it for them on my first visit to Greece with her when I was only a child. A great to-do was made about how to keep it clean. A transparent plastic tablecloth was bought from a shop in the town for that purpose, and laid over the crochet to allow it to show. Ever since then, when they had guests, my aunts would cover the plastic with another embroidered white tablecloth where we would eat from. It looked crisply cleaned and ironed, despite some stubborn oil stains.

The table was set for three, with a plate and fork at each setting. I recall that they never used knives. One would always be found in the middle of the table, but there were never enough to go round to all the diners. In the middle of the table was a small bowl of sliced tomatoes swimming in olive oil, sitting next to a plate of feta cheese.

"I don't know if you'll like our food today," Sofia apologised.

"We're fasting and we forgot you were coming, to buy some meat" Agapi explained.

I feel luck is on my side today. It's pointless reminding them that I'm a vegetarian. Sofia was now bringing a large bowl to the table filled with bright colours. The room took on an aroma of freshly pressed garlic.

 Orzo purslane salad - a favorite recipe passed on to me by a friend: 

Saute some garlic (and onion) in a little olive oil, then add chopped coloured peppers. Pour in a cup (or two) of orzo rice pasta, add water and salt, and cook till the pasta is done. Before serving, add the leaves of the purslane weed. 

"Smells so good, Thia Sofia!" I said truthfully.

"Mmm, but it's not ready yet!" Thia Agapi said. "We always forget to do at least one thing, don;t we, Sofia?" Sofia frowned, trying to remember what it was that Agapi remembered but she did not.

"I'll just go out and get the missing ingredient!" Agapi said as she made her way to the back door.

"Oh!" cried Sofia. "The purslane!"

"Yes!" Agapi laughed, with Sofia joining her just before she went out into the garden. "The orzo purslane salad isn't ready until we add some purslane to it!"

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Purslane and zucchini salad (Γλιστρίδα)

My uncles never buy vegetables, eating only what they grow themselves. When it's not in season in their garden, they simply do without unless they have frozen it from last season's harvests. They have salads with every meal, which are always picked fresh within the hour that they make them. Their crockery is broken, the handles of their knives are sometimes held together with wire, and they never lay a tablecloth, but their salads always taste so good because they are fresh and organic, with only olive oil to add another taste dimension to them.

Purslane (called glistrida - γλιστρίδα - in Greek) features a lot in my uncles' salads as soon as they get the summer garden going in spring. Glistrida grows unaided as soon as we start irrigating the spring-planted summer garden, usually all around the planted crops. Together with vlita, purslane forms our first free food of the season. Onion forms a staple in all their salads, and they add whatever is available in the garden: one time I saw them add slices of fresh artichokes, another time they added lettuce. In the summer, it's always tomato.

Now that the zucchini has taken off, I've been adding it fresh and raw to many Greek dishes which traditionally take cucumber. It's not a "Greek thing" to add raw zucchini to dishes - my uncles would never eat zucchini raw. They would think I was mad if I were to tell them that I have used grated zucchini in tzatziki instead of the normal cucumber. But ever since I learnt a nice technique to "cook" zucchini without heat, I find that raw zucchini is tastier than cucumber; besides, we are better at growing zucchini than we are at growing cucumber...

You need:
a small fresh zucchini (maximum diameter 3cm)
some fresh purslane (it wilts easily once cut)
an onion
some olives
some feta cheese
lemon juice
olive oil
salt

Wash the zucchini and use a mandolin slicer to cut it into thin slices. Place the zucchini in the juice of the lemon. Set aside and allow to marinate for at least a quarter of an hour. Use only the leaves of the purslane (the stems can be used, but the leaves are much tastier) - this is a tedious process but it is worth your while! Slice the onion into thin rings. Drain the lemon juice out of the zucchini. Mix all the ingredients together in a bowl, crumbling the feta and drizzling the olive oil and salt over them.

All this salad needs is crusty bread and a glass of wine - and a shady balcony to enjoy it on.

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500: Artichokes with purslane (Αγγινάρες με γλιστρίδα)

Flash fiction: 500 words (or thereabouts).

It is morning. The sky is clear and blue. It is hot, even though it is still early morning. It will stay hot the whole day.

The air is cool at this hour. Time to open the windows for fresh air, but not the shutters - the sun burns too brightly at this time. The rooms fill with the fresh breeze as the birds tweet their songs, as they feel the warmth of the coming summer.

The garden looks lush and verdant. All that winter rain is now working to its benefit! The tomato plants have grown stronger, they already need training. The zucchini is filled with small fruit - not long now, we will be eating them. The apricots are still green but the tree is overloaded.

It's Saturday and there are jobs to done and promises to be attended to:
"You promised to sew up my jeans."
"Didn't you say we'd bake a cake today?"
"Don't get me to do it, I'm going to sow some corn today."

It's Saturday and our supplies must be replenished before the shops close: 
"How much bread should I buy?"
"Do we need any milk?"

"What meat will we have for Sunday lunch?"
"Are there any leftovers? No? So, τί θα φάμε σήμερα?"

This salad was inspired by Magda's post on purslane. I used artichokes instead of the cucumbers mentioned in her recipe. 

There is no time to waste, but there is plenty of time. Time to turn the sheets, air the pillows, put on a washload, clear the dust off the shelves (it will come back in less than an hour), sweep the yard, mop the dusty balconies (which will fill up again with dust by nightfall), and simply enjoy the morning at home away from school, the office, the roads, and all the other emblems of civilisation that have ensnared us for the sake of the evolution of humanity.

Where we once thought that life can only get better, we now find that life can in fact get worse and we cannot keep up with improvements because we cannot compete with those who have jumped the gun. But when we cast aside the modern urban world that put us into this mess, and we put a bit of the primitive back into our contemporary, it is possible to believe that life can be sweet without too much sugar.

Spring is a time for new growth. The garden looks empty, but it still yields fruit to those that accept its offerings. The artichokes will begin to bloom if they are not harvested soon, and the purslane has just sprouted, all on its own, as if by magic. Lunch just needs some cheese today, with a few pantry staples added (olives and onions), and that ubiquitous splash of olive oil. We take it for granted that we live like royalty. But I'd prefer to keep such things to myself - I don't really want the place to get too crowded.

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Aleko's tzatziki (Τζατζίκι του Αλέκου)

Although the Greco-Creto cuisine sometimes tires me (as this is all I cook, and what we all eat at home), there are some foods in the Greek culinary repertoire that you can never tire of, having acquired the status of becoming staples in the processed food industry. Tzatziki is one of these foods. I was very proud to see it - even in its packaged form - in the supermarkets I visited in London, as well as in New Zealand when I was there last.



Here's my favorite version of tzatziki, learnt from Alekos in Elafonisi. He always makes it himself, which is probably why it tastes so good. We are going to enjoy this lovely dip with a whole host of leftovers today: greens beans, chicken stew, zucchini patties, yemista and roasted aubergine (which is extremely easy to make: just roast the prepared aubergine slices for a longer amount of time than you would when making imam baldi).



You need:
a pot of yoghurt, Greek-style (which means that it's strained of excess liquids, and not runny)
3-6 cloves of crushed garlic (depending on how strong you want it)
a cup of grated cucumber, strained of its juices (do the same to it as for zucchini when making courgette fritters)
a tablespoon of vinegar
2 tablespoons of olive oil
salt
pepper - Alekos insists that this is the secret ingredient!
grated carrot and/or purslane leaves (these are my additions when making it at home; they are not traditional, but they make for an extra filling dip)

Use a pestle and mortar to grind the garlic with the salt. Then place all the ingredients in a bowl and mix everything together. Leave the mixture in the fridge for an hour for the flavours to blend well. (And if you don't use a pestle and mortar - I never do - it tastes just as delicious.) And if you like tzatziki that much, you might like to try purslane salad.

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Pickled capers (Κάπαρι τουρσί)

Caper bushes are especially pretty in spring when their impressive flowers are in bloom. They abound in olive groves, especially in patches of land which do not undergo strenuous tilling, which is why they are usually found on the borders between fields or by the roadside. The field across from my house was full of caper bushes growing uncultivated when I first arrived in the neighbourhood a decade ago; now, they've all but disappeared, although they are found in other fields close by to where I live. They are stunning as hanging plants, growing in amongst the crevices of high rocks. They are not fun to work with: they have sharp thorns that get stuck in your skin and clothes.

Capers have been known since ancient times in Greece as a pain reliever for rheumatism, but they are generally not used in Greek cooking. I know of a couple of people in Crete who pickle them, but they are mainly older people who do it as a way to pass their time, and have something unusual to give away as a present for friends (which is how I acquired a jar). Despite this, the Greeks - probably islanders, where caper bushes grow profusely - have invented their own recipe for them: they are eaten as a kind of horta: branches, leaves, buds and even the seed pods. Therefore, all parts of the caper bush are edible. Once they have softened, they can be used to flavour salads and other meals. Anne Yiannoulis gives a recipe in her Greek Calendar Cookbook: "Pick short branches from a caper bush, wash well, lay in a bowl, cover with boiling slated water (50g salt to 1kg of branches). Leave in the sun for 3-4 days, changing the cold water every day. Strain, place in a jar, cover with vinegar and a handful of salt. They are ready to eat in a few days, drained and served with anchovies in an oil dressing." We don't eat anchovies, preferring fresh fish instead, so I'm wondering whether this preparation would be a wasted effort in my own home.

UPDATE: these capers looked so fresh and tender that I pickled the lot.

 
The last time I pickled capers was over a decade ago. This year, my family's been eating puttanesca spaghetti, a lazy Saturday meal, on a regular basis, something we enjoyed eating in Paleohora on our mini-break. I've been using store-bought capers for this purpose; now I have a reason to pickle them myself. The capers were found in a field very close to my house. But I won't be able to use them this summer - they need a few months to pickle, so they'll be ready to use in autumn if I jar them now. In Greece, all sizes of caper buds are used in pickling, although you will only find very small bead-like capers in store-bought jars. This is because commercial growers of capers grade them according to their size, and the tiniest ones are the most prized. GourMed has a simple recipe for pickling capers. I used this one and added a few more spices - a bay leaf and some carnation cloves - for a more piquant taste. I left part of the stalk on the caper buds, but I couldn't understand what to do with the tender shoots - they were all covered in thorns, right to the topmost bud. None of my sources mention whether we need to get rid of the thorns before pickling or if they soften in the brine solution.



Since I can't use my pickled capers to flavour my salads at the moment, I'll just have to stick to glistrida (γλιστρίδα - purslane), the local variety of watercress growing wild in the garden, to do that in the interim.



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