Happy Easter (Καλό Πάσχα)

Dear mum,

I don't often write to you because we often speak, albeit silently, but I thought it was about time I sent you a note which can stand as a testament in time for a future moment. Telephone/telepathic conversations don't get recorded (actually, they tell us on the news that all phone calls may be recorded nowadays, but I highly doubt anyone would be willing to sift through my ones with you, even if they existed, to help us recall the things we talked about), but writing things down in a computer keeps permanent records of everything. It's a highly connected world now, mum, so long as you can use a computer. Would you believe it, I chat with The Little Laughing Olive Tree every day, and I don't even pay a single cent? Actually I chat with people all over the world, even people I don't know. It's all got to do with that telephone that you would ask me about every now and then, the one where you can see the person you are speaking to. It's been invented now, mum (like that train we once heard about on the news which will go under the sea and connect England with France - I've even taken it). 

I've just finished cooking most of my Easter delicacies, and I've now sat down with a cup of coffee to write this letter. I had the kids help me, just like I helped you to make all these things. Easter is one of those times when I really want to make all the traditional festive meals, probably because I remember making them with you, more than anything else. You know how much time kalitsounia take to make and how little time they need to be eaten. But I make kalitsounia, and koulourakia, and kreatotourta, and red eggs, and avgolemono (they call it fricasee here), because I know how much the family loves to see these foods at Easter. And just like you, I don't spoil them by making all these cholesterol-laden goodies all year round, which makes them appreciate them even more, I suppose. (Unlike you though, I don't have fat kids. There really was no need to tell me to eat all the potatoes you put on my plate before I ate my lamb chop, especially in 1980s NZ where half a side of a lamb cost just 20 NZ dollars, and there were someting like 20 sheep for every person in the country).

I don't cook the quantities that you did, but not just for health reasons. You see, even though I live in Kriti, and I am related by blood and marriage to so many more people here than I ever could count in NZ, I don't often get the chance to pull all the little families that make up our extended family together, like you did back in NZ. People here all have their little παρέα, and their festival customs, which isn't a bad thing. But it's very hard to penetrate those little circles that each group creates, especially now with that thing called the crisis.

You've probably understood something about the crisis, that it's a really bad thing that has cast a curse on Greece, and people are suffering, but if you are watching any of it (you don't have TV up there, do you?) you are probably wondering what it's all about, because it isn't like sickness and disease, or war with guns and bullets and blood and invaders. If I remember rightly, you never saw much of that anyway, even though you were seven years old when the Battle of Crete took place, because the invaders didn't quite manage to get as far as your mountain village. But dad saw lots of that (please show him the letter - I don't know if he's living in the same quarters with you, and I bet he spends a lot of time with his brothers and sisters now that they have all joined him up there, but no doubt, you see him), because he lost his father in the war, and so did my husband's mother (but she really doesn't like to talk about it much - her (mutual to you) grand-daughter has to do a school project about it next week, which involves recording her grandmother in an interview about what happened in those days, and I really don't know if she will agree to it. Θα δούμε - I may just have to help her along a bit on that one: as I mentioned to you above, it's all recorded on computer).

A lot of people do often say that things are not better now and they were better in the past, but I don't believe that at all. For a start, I don't have to work as hard as you, mum. In fact, I don't see anyone here working as hard as you and dad did. Apart from milk, food isn't expensive here (I think it's more expensive in NZ these days). We are free to believe what we like and do as we like, as long as we do not break the law. And unlike in the Greece of the past, you get caught so much more easily these days if you break the law. It's all got to do with the invention of the computer. That's a hard one to explain, but it's like you're being watched all the time, and if you really want to break the law, you need to be really deviant, so that eventually you get caught out as the nooses tighten.  It wasn't like that when you were living in Greece, but the past is over and done with. It's all to do with the crisis. 

The crisis is difficult to explain. The word 'κρίση' generally has a negative meaning, so you know it's something bad. I liken it to climate change. You may remember my mentioning this to you every now and then. You probably thought of me as an eco-nutter back then, but it's been proven now that climate change is a serious threat to the whole world, perhaps the most serious threat of all. Suddenly it's really cold or really hot unexpectedly, and you have to learn to adjust to these new extremes. For example, you may be flooded one day and the next day there may be a drought. That's like the crisis which goes something like this: sometimes you have a lot of money and you can spend it on anything you like and you don't even have to save it because there's more of it coming where it came from, but sometimes you don't have much money at all and you can't even make ends meet to pay your living expenses. So if you create reservoirs that don't flood, and can always be kept full, you are saved from the climate change crisis. Likewise, if you can limit your spending, change your habits and above all stop grumbling, you are probably saved from the worst. 

Valsamiotis, the dam in Hania - it was opened last month.

Everyone has been affected by the crisis. So we can say that we are all in the same boat. Suddenly, we have all become one and the same. That's one of the outcomes of the crisis. I think it's a  good thing, but most people around me are always mumbling about how bad it is. Well, it's bad if you live in a place where you can't even grow your own herbs, or if you can't get used to living with less. Most people are in this category. They were used to having most things done for them by others. Admittedly, some people are worse off than others. But even in poorer times, Greece still lets people who haven't got much money avoid paying their daily expenses. I know people who don't pay any of the taxes we pay because (on paper at least), they are considered poor - they don't even pay their electicity bills. And most people with loans have not had to repay them - I know plenty in that category too. And they know how and where to get more monetary benefits. Don't think that this applies to me and my family: we don't receive any benefits, we pay all our dues, and above all, we try to maintain our dignity. 

To my advantage, as the tax-paying Greek, prices have dropped, and I don't waste anything, and I mean nothing at all: I have a place to store plastic bags, a place to store rubber bands, used paper (I don't mean toilet paper - I mean paper for printers: you need them for the computer). And the most important outcome of all is that there is more solidarity among Greek people. People are more sharing and caring nowadays. My kids remind me every now and then to give them a packet of makaronia or beans to take to school, which collects on behalf of the community grocery, and I always give away the kids' clothes when they don't fit them any longer, just like you did, when you sent them to your nieces in Greece. People gives us things, and we give things to them. But it's not about things: we share a lot more than just tangible items than we ever did in the past.  

I really don't think the mumblers have good cause to grumble so much. The only ones that do have a good reason to complain are those that don't have jobs. But as I told you above, there is greater solidarity on the part of the government to help these people out. Admittedly,we would all like to be helped even more than we are now, but I think that's just asking for someone else to pay for everything. Most Greeks are mainly annoyed about the taxes they have to pay, which they weren't used to paying in the past. Even people outside Greece also mumble about the Greek problems, because they are afraid that the same bad times in Greece are coming their way. The whole world now uses Greece as a reference point. You hear people from other countries saying things like 'We don't want to become like Greece." You could say that Greece has become the feared μπαμπούλα you used to warn us about. But Greeks have shown that they have managed to get over the crisis in some way, and this is even more alarming to the non-Greeks, because it is proof that they may have to undergo a similar makeover. It's the same everywhere now, mum. 

But seriously, mum, things are getting better, and they will get even better. You know how much better your life was than your mother's and I can guarantee you that my own life is better than yours. And I really believe that your grandchildren's lives will be better than their parents'. Crises of various sorts come and go; there was never a period of no crisis, life has always been an uphill battle, with different difficulties for the many different people that exist on earth. (And yes, the earth is STILL the only place with human life. We haven't yet come across people from another planet, and there was no man on the moon after all, like you insisted, despite the many advances in science that help us to find out more about the universe. Sadly though, there is still no cure for cancer.) And all crises come to an end. If they didn't, then the world would end and the human race would die off eventually. Money can't buy eternal life. 

Don't worry, we aren't starving.  How could we when you can see kalitsounia, koulourakia, kreatopita, avgolemono and red eggs on my table? We'll never starve here, I can guarantee you that, as long as no one comes along to take the food out of our mouth. There is plenty of food to go round for everyone in greece, and good qaulity cheap food too. We're now being extra cautious that no one will take the food out of our mouths, too. Ever since my husband fenced off his orange field in his village (unlike all the other fields around it), we have realised that it produces many more oranges that we originally thought. We're even giving them away (I trade them with a friend for her fresh eggs).  

Oh, and look, while I was writing this letter, I was reading this newspaper article (I don't have to buy the newspaper in paper form anymore. I read it on the computer, at about the same price that it would cost me to buy the paper version. And what's more: I can read any number of papers that I want every day, all for the price of one. And I even write one myself, and people all over the world read it!), which said this:

In the past few days we have witnessed an effort to change the climate, to make it appear the crisis has ended and that Greece is making a leap toward normality. The primary surplus and the five-year bond sold to international investors raise the hope that our creditors’ harsh grip will loosen, money will flow into the real economy and the country will recover. These developments, along with words of encouragement from foreign officials and some publications, play a positive role in improving the climate. It is the light at the end of the tunnel for which we have yearned – and sometimes even the illusion of light leads us toward it. http://www.ekathimerini.com/4dcgi/_w_articles_wsite3_1_17/04/2014_539074

It's really all about whether you see the cup half empty or half full. I definitely don't see a full cup, but I think that the glass holds just enough for my needs at the moment. I keep trying to keep it half full. As soon as I see it emptying, I pull the reins in the house. I'm the boss in it, just like you were, and everyone knows that. Even at work, my opinion counts more now. It's the crisis, mum; things are falling into place.  

It's been really cold lately. It even snowed last night on the mountains, your mountains, the ones where you were born. I don't know how lucky we will be to manage to get the Holy Fire home to us, but I really don't bother with this mumbo-jumbo anymore. At least this year, Greek Easter falls on the same day as the Catholics', so when the Pope comes on tv (they show him on the news in Greece too), and says 'Christ has risen', he won't be lying. Anyway, why do I need to bring the Holy Fire home with me, when I don't even light a kandili? I'll never forget that time when one of the kids dropped the candle in the car. I am not prepared to go through that again. I can't afford to buy another car right now. And anyway, we're modern people, mum. I don't tell my kids to fast, I don't force them to go for Holy Communion, they get to the kalitsounia and koulourakia well before Easter Sunday, we don't dress formally, we have Turkish friends, we have gay friends. We aren't regular church goers like in NZ, but I think that's because we go to church here for different reasons compared to NZ. For a start, we don't need to go to church here in order to feel a sense of Greekness and catch up with the other Greeks, like we did back in NZ. We are Greek, we already know that, and we don't need to prove it to ourselves. 

Galatas, Easter service, 20th April 2014

OK, I better sign off now, mum, because I'm talking politics, sex and religion, which you don't like to talk about or question. Anyway, it's nearly time to get ready for the Holy Fire thing tonight. When we do go to church, we always prefer the church where we know we will bump into our extended family, so I'll be seeing your brothers tonight. I've also talked with your sisters, and they are all fine. If they knew how to use a computer, I'd talk to them every day too, like I do with The Little Laughing Olive Tree, so I have to limit my call times with them. But they never forget me, and I hear from them often. They are like substitute mothers. (I thought you'd like that. I mean, I call my mother-in-law 'mama', but we don't share much with each other. You may not know what I mean because you never had to live with your mother-in-law. But it's really quite OK.) And your grandchildren are fine too. At the moment, they are downloading music for their dad to play in the taxi. (We don't use tape recorders anymore - we take them down from the computer.) They don't know much about you, to be honest, because they don't quite understand how it came about that I was born in NZ and I call myself Greek. Sometimes they ask me if I am actually Greek. So I suppose I could say that they are cottoning on to something that they will understand a little better when they grow up. 

Happy Easter, mum, and dad, of course. We'll talk again soon. Bye for now.

UPDATE: Good thing I haven't posted the letter yet. I've updated it with some family photos. Here's what we looked like last night.

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Easter Sunday (Κυριακή του Πάσχα)

Μy Greek Easter had it all this year - fields full of flowers, sea, sunshine, too much food and fantastic Greek παρέα.











God bless everyone of us - in Greece, it feels more appropriate to say this at Easter than at Christmas.

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Holy Saturday (Μεγάλο Σάββατο)

It's time to get the kalitosunia ready for tonight...






... and to get rid of our lenten food to make way for Easter lamb. We bought these made-in-Greece seafood sausages (containing NZ squid and Greek octopus) on a whim.



Interestingly, they are a Greek product which is made for exporting, mainly because the idea of eating a sausage not made with meat is not really a Greek concept. It is a popular idea in countries whose cuisines are more open to such novelties, hence this is an export product. Even the labelling is purely non-Greek - a sticker has been pasted on the back over the English wording. The appearance of such novelty products is a sign of the times: creativity in times of need, the mother of invention.



Although it seemed quite expensive at €7.76 for four pieces, I believe that this kind of product will be popular in its destined market (USA). They were tasty, I can't say otherwise, but I probably wouldn't buy them again, because I have no need to avoid meat. Perhaps in countries where the food chain is very long, there is a greater need for such products, including vegetarian sausages, when you want to avoid eating unethically grown/raised meat products. Then again, the consumer is relying on the labelling and the trust that they have in the origin of a product.

Greek food has always seen some level of confidence invested in it, so companies like FRESKOT are bound to do well in the foreign market. It's a matter of finding the right niche, as with the seafood sausages - they may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I envisage that there are people outside Greece who would buy such products. I also envisage a huge demand for vegetarian Greek products. Again, Greeks aren't vegetarian in general, but the non-Greek market is ripe for 100% vegetarian Greek products, especially after the recent food scandals. And Greek food has generally enjoyed a good reputation.

Things are looking up for the Greek economy. Slowly, the optimism will trickle down to the people too, but there is a lot more work to do in that sector. Happy Easter to everyone, Καλή Ανάσταση.

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Lambada - Easter candle (Λαμπάδα)

It's that time of the year again, when Greek children look forward to a visit from their nona (νονά - godmother). Nona at Easter is a Greek tradition. She is a bit like the Easter version of Santa Claus, except that she is not an imaginary person, and children can usually guarantee that she will have brought them the present they want, because nona usually asks them beforehand. The customary gifts for Easter are new shoes and/or new clothes, a chocolate Easter egg and a lambada (Easter candle) which is lit on the midnight service of Easter Saturday.

How can I come to the house

With my hands empty (a phrase meaning "I didn't buy  a present")

That's why I went to the Jumbos (Jumbo is a toy warehouse, selling very cheap single-use products)

And I emptied out all the shelves.

 This is one of the kitschiest, trashiest crassiest and grossest tv commercials to ever be shown - but  it is highly successfully for all these reasons! Jumbo picks cliche-type tunes for its ads, and this is about as cliche as you can get pre-Easter - it isnt just the song style that was chosen, but the koumbaro  wearing a singlet, the lamb on the spit, the PET wine bottles, the children running to nona to see what she bought them, nona arriving over-dressed - this kind of advertising relies on aspects of Greek identity that we find very hard to part with (just like the Agapoula ads http://www.organicallycooked.com/2012/01/sweetie.html and http://www.organicallycooked.com/2012/06/return-of-agapoula.html) which have in recent times (ie during the crisis) come under scrutiny due to the difficulty of sustaining them.

I'm not a good example of a Greek nona, as I generally hate shopping. Instead of presents, I've always given my godson money. The whole idea of buying an overpriced candle (which no doubt he had already made at school befreo the term broke up for Easter) sounded like a waste of money to me, so I explained that I wouldn't buy this kind of rubbish which would very quickly be thrown away. I've never been one to burn my momey, and I certainly wasn't going to waste it on others in this way. I give him €30-50, depending on what is in my pocket at the time (sometimes there is more, sometimes less).

This may sound very harsh to the average Greek, as nona's presents are somewhat of a tradition.
A tradition that is fuelled by consumerism. But what happens when you don't have much money? What happens when suddenly what you thought you knew about life is overturned?

My children's godparents (as I have explained before) are at the opposite extremes. I can already guarantee that one of them will not bother coming at all (she's a bit of a scrooge), while the other will phone us up as tradition dictates and demand that we tell her what she should buy my daighter. She does this every eyar, and every year, i tell her that she really doesnt' need to buy anything. For a start, she never buys practical clothes; it's always something expensive that we don't get much wear out of, and it then goes into the charity bag. Then there is the ridiculously kitschy candle with a barbie doll tied round it. Since my daughter gave all her barbies away ages ago, the doll is untied from the candle and given to a neighbour's child, while the candle goes into the cupboard to be used in case of blackouts.

Nona's presents are a complete waste of money. Even when I whined about this with her, practically telling her off that she was wasting her hard-earned cash, she did not listen to me. What I was telling her was going against ingrained traditon. I was expressing the unthinkable: no presents. How can nona come to see her godchild without a Jumbo bag in tow?

This year, again nona phoned us to ask what she should buy her goddaughter. I told her that she truly has whatever she needs and really doesn't need any mroe new clothes (we bought new cheap - and above all wearable and useful - shoes and clothes only last month in London) and my daughter is getting too old for choclate eggs, stuffed toy bunnies and barbie candles. My daughter even told me that she was dreading her nona's presents. "They're never useful, are they, mum?"

"But I've got to buy her something," my civil servant koumbara insisted. She has had so many pay cuts that she has decided it isn't worth working any more. She has filed for retirement (she's 50). For this and many other reasons, she arouses my anger.

"I can't really tell you what to do with your money," I said. "If you've got money to waste, then go ahead and waste it." What I said to her was quite harsh, but she was rather provocative in her blind adherence to tradition, a tradition fulled by consumerism which is no longer sustainable. It may be her money, but I don't really want to be the cause of someone's financial ruin. Her pay has dropped, she spends a lot of money on petrol (she chose to build a villa that she now can't afford to maintain in a remote area), yet she still insists of buying unnecessary things that end up in a rubbish bag.

"But I can't not buy anything," she insisted, with a desperation in her voice that implied that was confused. What is confusing her is my attitude - I'm not playing my part right. I should be telling her to buy buy buy, not save save save.

"Well, how about a lambada then?" she said. "She needs a candle to go to church on Saturday night!" She was in for a greater shock.

"All the lambades you buy us remain unused. Do you really want to buy an overpriced candle so that I can add it to our throwaway collection of useless gifts?"

"But you will go to church, won't you? Everyone goes to the Anastasi on Holy Saturday!"

Some people are too naive, too immature, too stupid, too stuck to tradition to allow themselves to believe that there are people in this world that do not do what everyone else is doing just because everyone esle is doing it. My kids often fall asleep by 11pm; I would never wake them up just to go to church, and Holy Saturday is no exception. It's part of their programme to be active during the day and to go to bed at night. Kids like schedules. When there is no schedule, anarchy reigns. I know how important this is - I am a teacher. The Grek state is often to blame for the lack of a programme in people's daily routine, but since I know this, I usually implement my own. Whatever you do, you mustn't forget to have some kind of routine.

The ostentatious nona is simply following the leader. She is blind to alternatives. When she is given another option, she doesn't know what to do with it. It's like a fear of the unknown. She is afraid. Most people like her in Greece splurge their money unnecessarily to make themselves look and feel good and possibly to show off to other narrow- and like-minded folks in their little microcosmos. It's a vicious circle that they don;t know how to break because if the circle breaks, instead of the feeling of freedom that one would think would ensue in such circumstances, they feel trapped - they don't know what to do with a new opportunity. 

I have the feeling that our nona, who truly does have all the necessary comforts to lead a happy life, is probably feeling envious of my independence and the way I make my choices without blindly going along with the majority. Greeks are generally followers, not leaders, but I've always felt that I have been able to live the way that I wanted to in Greece without following the latest trends. It took a crisis for people to break their consumeristic traditions, but it's gooing to take at least 3-4 generations for the effects to be long-lasting.

In the end, we settled on nona giving my daughter money. I tried to make her understand that this is what I do with my godson, and it gives him the freedom to spend it in any way he likes, without the hassle of returning something to a shop. I also set her a limit: €20-30 is more than enough. It's the thought that counts, not the value in euro. But this is a concept that the average Greek is only now learning.

"But... no present?" Nona insisted. "I can't come with my hands empty!" Poor nona. She can't cope with the changes created by the crisis. I feel sorry for her chidlren most of all - she can't direct them appropriately. That's why a few generations are going to be needed before people start getting used to the new Greece.

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Koulourakia (Κουλουράκια)

In my youth, I remember my mum making tubfuls of koulourakia before Easter. They would last for a long time in airtight containers, and when they ran out, we'd make some more. The most important implement in making koulourakia was koulourakia maker.

My mother never shaped her koulourakia by hand, like I do. The koulourakia maker was very important in our home, as it was in other Greek homes, both in Greece and abroad. It remains a popular tool in the homes of older cooks.

Another thing my mother also used a lot was baking parchment, again something I hardly ever use (olive oil does an excellent cheap and very clean job).

Making koulourakia in large batches is still done these days, but because of a greater emphasis on health and more women working, the idea of many women coming together to produce koulourakia is usually relegated to women's cooperatives and charity organisations. It remains a way for women to connect, both in urban and rural contexts, by being involved in activities that women generally like doing. Cooking, baking, and providing hospitality for others is not necessarily a woman's domain, but it is still something women do more successfully than men.

Koulourakia making can also be a way to show off your artistic talent. Shaping koulourakia is a favorite pasttime of children of all ages. Shaping cookies is popular all over the world among children but making traditional Greek Easter koulourakia has one advantage over making Western-style cookies: koulourakia are a completely natural product that do not need artificial flavourings or colours.

You can find the basic recipe for koulourakia here, which happens to be one of the most popular recipes on my blog. It's easy to produce in a small batch, and you can multiply the recipe as you see fit.

These koulourakia were made for the Special High School of Hania (Ειδικό Γυμνάσιο Χανίων) for children with special needs in the suburb of Mournies, along with Easter candles (lambada) which were also being made here.

The women who made the koulourakia are those being cared for at an old person's home (who have not lost their mobility), together with their daughters and the caregivers at the home (which is called ΚΗΦΗ - Κέντρο Ημερίσιας Φροτίδας Ηλικιωμένων - Centre for the Daily Care of the Elderly). This centre belongs to the local council of Eleftherios Venizelou in Mournies (Δημοτική Ενότητα Ελευθερίου Βενιζέλου), run by ΚΕΠΠΕΔΗΧ-ΚΑΜ (ΚΟΙΝΩΦΕΛΗΣ ΕΠΙΧΕΙΡΗΣΗ ΠΟΛΙΤΙΣΜΟΥ - ΠΕΡΙΒΑΛΛΟΝΤΟΣ ΔΗΜΟΥ ΧΑΝΙΩΝ - ΚΕΝΤΡΟ ΑΡΧΙΤΕΚΤΟΝΙΚΗΣ ΤΗΣ ΜΕΣΟΓΕΙΟΥ). These ladies are all experienced koulourakia makers, as they have all grown up with the tradition in their own home, in the same way as myself. The koulourakia were distributed to the children just before schools break up for Greek Orthodox Easter.

Thanks again to Eirini for supplying me with the photos.

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Christmas at Easter (Χριστούγεννα το Πάσχα)

The weather is an important topic of conversation in many countries, often in the form of a complaint. In Greece, we often complain about the sun because it gets too hot. Even in the middle of winter, when the sun comes out, it sits on your back and soaks through your clothing into your skin, giving you a damp humid feeling. In rural Crete, we make the sign of the cross when we see rain because of its relative absence and its great importance for our agriculture. Our prolonged dry spells are another cause of chagrin: dust accumulation. Even when it rains after a long dry spell with southern winds, the rain will fall together with the dust, causing what is known in Greece as the 'red rain' phenomenon.

I often read about how much the Brits moan about their rainy cold weather. Now that I spent a week in London during one of the coldest ever Marches, I can understand why they moan so much. In the seven days we were there, I can actually recall the moments I saw the sun. The first time lasted for about half an hour. We saw it from the train window during the trip from Stansted Airport to central London, at about sunset. As we passed through picturesque countryside, where we saw hundreds of carefree-looking bunny rabbits enjoying the sunshine (and to think, I was carrying rabbit meat in my suitcase - how easy it must be to cook up a stifado in this country!), a few scurrying squirrels, some ducks wading through streams and a quick glimpse of an allotment that was enjoying the sun's rays, that little bit of sun made the bare flat English fields look quite enticing.

By the time we arrived at my friend's house in southeast London, the sun had disappeared, giving way to the evening darkness, which looked very Dickensian as we walked past the pretty red-brick terraced houses of Brockley. They had a Christmas look about them: a faint light could be seen from the opaque window pane of the main entrance, and one room would also be lit up with the curtain drawn, so you could see the interior, where someone was often working at a desk on a computer. One house even had red fairy lights around one of the windows. That was the only yellow light we would see for the next seven days, except for one brief moment when the sun suddenly appeared from the sky like a lightning bolt, lasting all of three minutes - in between the light snow and the gritty hail - in Hendon. We felt its warmth through the windows from inside a shop where we were buying my son's fencing equipment. And that was basically it. We never saw the sun in its round yellow form while in London, and we didn't get any other glimpse of the until we returned to Crete.

Instead of spring this year, Britain is going through a prolonged winter, which seems rather unfair, given that summer hardly appeared last year. I can still see snow from the windows of our Cretan home - but it's sitting on the top of the mountain, out of harm's way, not under my feet. Our weekend in London was spent watching the snow flakes falling onto the ground, and amassing into ice on our hosts' potted herbs and flowers, the black soil in the miniscule garden, and the wooden fencework. All the surfaces seemed to be gradually getting covered in the white stuff, all except for the footpaths and the roads; our hosts told us that this was a good sign because it meant that you won't be wading through snow and the public transport will continue to run, although the cold will turn to frost and everything will freeze as the snow turns to ice - if that is any consolation!

The snow fell in tiny ice drops, like confetti. As we walked from the house to the shops (according to my self-styled itinerary, it was Primark shopping morning), we did not feel cold. The slight wind kept the snow moving, which stopped it from settling, melting it and generating a slight sense of heat from the humidity. Luckily we got back home early enough to watch the snow turn into a blizzard at about 2pm; suddenly, the snowflakes were moving around as fast as a swarm of buzzing bees in a hive that had just been upset. Visibility dropped, the atmosphere fogged up, and it carried on like this for about an hour. That put the remaining day's itinerary out of whack - we would have to miss the concert we had booked to attend at the Hellenic Centre in Paddington St. The snow did not have to stop us from going - but it might have stopped us from coming back home.

Still, I only have good memories of my time spent in snowy London. It was an interesting experience. We took no risks, therefore we didn't fear it. The cold was bitter, but we kept ourselves wrapped up warm. Travelling further out of the concreted part of London and into the snowy countryside in the northwesternmost part of greater London, we experienced the eerie beauty of the snow-capped landscape. The snowy surroundings reminded me of a Dickensian Christmas, even though we were fast approaching Easter, albeit calendar, not Greek! Any part of our body that was not covered in clothing (lips, nose, fingertips) simply froze. The children's biggest disappointment was when our hosts told us that the snow we were seeing wasn't the type you could play in or make snowballs with - and if you stepped off the concrete and onto the snowy fields, your shoes would be trashed because they would become muddy (you needed gumboots).

The weather plays a significant role in our life. I'm a homebody; this weather would suit me to a tee. Not so my husband - it would drive him crazy to be stuck indoors most of the time. Cold snowy weather - it isn't everyone's cup of tea.

Speaking of tea, something I rarely drink in Crete, I ended up drinking gallons of the stuff in London. The cold weather makes it go down more easily. And you want to eat a lot. We did not have any difficulties scoffing down roast meat and floury potatoes, with crackling, Yorkshire pudding and thick gravy, followed by stodgy pudding and scones for tea.

This was the best meal I had during my stay in London. The cook must have been a good one to make it so tasty, but I think it was the love factor that she added when preparing this special meal, specially for us. Not only did the wine pair well with this feast - so did the weather.

(And if you want the recipes, here they are:)


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Τσικνοπέμπτη (Tsiknopempti)

Some of my old photos (they make me wonder where I used to find the energy).

If you don't indulge in red meat often, today is the day to do it. It's Tsiknopempti, the Thursday before Cheesefare Week which precedes the 50 days of Great Lent in the Greek Orthodox calendar. Tsiknopempti is the first food-related tradition in the run-up to Holy Sunday, Easter Sunday.

Tsiknopempti is generally reserved for char-grilled meat dishes. So get your chops stuck into some juicy steaks, or spicy sausages, grilled chicken or maybe a souvlaki (or two) with all the toppings. It's a good time to go out tonight, and a souvlaki is a cheap way to enjoy the evening as you sit in the souvlatzidiko people-watching.

We're probably going to have one of the latter somewhere in town and enjoy the revelry as we see it take place. For the last two years, Thursdays have been set

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki