Shopping for Greece via Turkey

Pining for the heat of Greece, I yomped along St Anne's Road to Green Lanes is search of hellenic goodies. I completely missed Milia Wholesale when I hopped on a bus which then swerved in the wrong direction, but I did find the wonderfully eccentric Andreas Michli, which was just opening up. Inside, the shelves are stocked with a mixture of dry goods and Greek brown pottery; outside they were unpacking plants. Nestled among the geraniums were tiny fig plants - baby trees, said the owner.

The one I bought is already studded with tiny fruit, and is now sitting in the intermittent sun in the garden.
Then I headed onto Green Lanes, one of my favourite food shopping streets. There are very few Greek shops left here: the Greeks have moved northwards and now it's dominated by Turkish businesses. I saw two Greek restaurants: both closed and gone. But one bastion of greekness remains - Baldwins Butchers, run by a cheery Greek Cypriot. It's a fab shop. As well as a fine array of meaty goodness, there are dry goods, olive oil, halva, and I spotted some mastik. I bought Greek and Italian sausages, and asked if they knew where I could track down some Mythos, my beery tipple on Skiathos. My first lead came to nothing, so I resumed shopping at one of the best stores on Green Lanes - Yasar Halim.

Yasar Halim is two big shops - a general food store with a bakery next door. It's Turkish, but as the sign over the store makes plain, there's a generous leavening of Greek food items. When I first visited, in my early days in Tottenham, it was rather dingy, but it's since had a smart refit. You can find all things Turkish here, including sheeps' heads and a huge array of Turkish and Greek cheeses. I was thrilled to find some fresh vine leaves, and looking at the jam section, I found some jars of the spoon sweets that I'd loved at Ilya's Orchard, including one of bitter orange. But as I have my quince jam I looked, slavered but did not buy.
One of my store cupboard staples is pekmez - a molasses normally made from pomegranate, grape, raisin or carob. Pekmez is a luscious sweet/sour combination, and a vital ingredient for some of my favourite aubergine dishes. I was very excited to find some mulberry pekmez, which I'd not seen before. Next door in the bakery, I picked up an olive bread and one of those Turkish snail-shell curled buns, rich with sugar and ground nuts.

Then it was on with my beer hunt: up to Turnpike Lane and turn left...Mythos was out of stock, but a Pakistani butcher along the road had boxes of Alphonso mangoes as sweet compensation.

Since returning from Greece, I've been mooching over the cookery books I have that cover the area, including Paula Wolfert and (of course) Claudia Roden. And I've discovered another book which I've loved reading.

Susanna Hoffman has lived in Greece for 30 years, and the book is a compendium of food, culture, myths and memories. Susanna's recipe for stuffed vine leaves (the veggie variety) includes dried apricots and wine-soaked raisins. The one ingredient I haven't got in stock is pine nuts - I adore them and tend to run out fast. So that's gone on the shopping list so that I can make dolmades at the weekend.

Skiathos to Skopelos

Wandering along the harbour at Skiathos town on Monday, we were idly looking for a boat trip when we came across Captain Dimitris and his Day Sail yacht. We liked the captain, we liked the boat, we liked the fact that he promised a whole day's sailing and how could we resist the cryptic legend on his flyer: 'Enjoy a genuine race sailing boat as long as a special greek cuisine!' Did we need to bring anything? No, said the captain, just your swimming costume. We booked for Wednesday, and were delighted to find that we were the only passengers. The captain disappeared on his scooter and returned with fresh bread, and we were soon off towards Skopelos, past a tiny island with lighthouse.

The captain dived into his cabin and returned with a mid-morning snack of iced tea and tiny choccy croissants. He navigated passed the Mama Mia beach and on to a tiny cove where the pines met the sand.

The anchor grumbled down and there we were, 30 metres from shore and ready for my first ever ship to shore swim.

The sea was that improbable mixture of turquoise and azure. We tentatively clambered down the ladder - Dimitris confidently said the first shock of the cold sea was good for the heart. Once you're in, it's heavenly.

After half an hour of splashing around (and J getting some serious attention from flying bugs on the beach), we were off to a tiny harbour village on Skopelos. Dimitris sent us off on a search for a bakery/sweet shop where I bought a jar of quince jam and nutty sweets as presents for cat and garden sitters back home. Then it was time for lunch...

And what a lunch! We were ravenous after our swim, and Dimitris served up meatballs, spiked with oregano, in a rich tomato sauce, pasta and a greek salad. With beer for me, and wine for J. It was delicious.

Did Dimitris make this himself. Yes, he said, good captain, good cook, good sailor, good tailor. 'Tailor?' said J. Yes, he said, he makes sails. So that settled that.

Perfect weather, perfect meal.

After lunch we began the slow journey back, stopping off at another tiny island for our last swim. J and I sat up on the prow of the boat, soaking in the afternoon sun. Then we were back on land, and climbed up to explore the old town and look back at the harbour.

Back home, I've rustled up an approximation of those wonderful meatballs.

The captain's meatballs

400g minced lamb

Two finely chopped spring onions

Handful of herbs - I used oregano, marjoram and parsley from the garden

Salt and pepper

Half a beaten egg to bind

Mix everything together and squash it firmly through your hands to mingle and bind. Shape into ping-pong sized balls.

Pop them into the fridge to firm up. Fry the balls in olive oil until they've coloured, then add to a tomato sauce - I used a homemade version from the freezer, made by gently stewing toms in a onion/olive oil base then sieved to produce a silky sauce.

Simmer gently while you're cooking your pasta.

Serve with further fresh herbs and, if you like, a sprinkle of parmesan.

It's not as good as on board ship in the sun, but it's a great supper for a grey London.

Skiathos 2

It's wet, it's grey, it's cold, Mouse has gone back to bed and I've put the central heating back on...what a difference from last Thursday, when J and I clambered down to Hidden Beach to spend my birthday morning. We arrived to a bit of a kerfuffle over the state of the beach tavernas: they're all up for re-licensing and have to shut up shop until 9 June. This move by the mayor has pissed off everyone - the taverna owners want to serve food to the tourists and the tourists want to gobble it up, so no-one's happy. The taverna on Hidden Beach, which J remembers with great affection, is a ruin, and there was debris all over the shore - but we had the cove all to ourselves except for one family who had bagged a patch of sand tucked away to our left. The sun was hot and the sea was warm - perfect.

The day before, we'd driven up to Evangelistria monastery, then walked the couple of miles through forest and rough tracks to the restored Charalambos monastery.

Along the way, we found wild thyme and what we thought was a kind of wild sage.

We spent our first full day on a bit of a beach hunt and ended up at Eleni beach. There was a taverna open here, but the gossip on the sand was that it was unlicensed. We dropped in for lunch and had a bit of a shock at the prices. Now that the euro has almost near-parity with sterling, eating out is not the bargain it used to be. So most of our lunches came from our supermarket foraging, except for the day when chip fever overcame me. We headed off for the taverna and garnered a tray of apres-swim nourishment.

On our second night we headed down to the village and had a very mediocre meal, but on day three we discovered Ilya's Orchard which we (mostly) loved.
The houmus was really good with a lemony kick, and served with great crusty oiled flatbread. J isn't eating wheat at the moment, so she asked for crudites. This caused some consternation, but by our third visit, her 'sticks' were whipped out without delay. Another lovely starter was the aubergines with parmesan, served in an intense tomato sauce.

The only let-downs were the main courses: our first-night moussaka was good, but our later choices were incredibly protein-heavy meat/cheese combinations. Fine if you've been labouring in the fields and factories all day, but a bit much for gentle tourists. A deft hand with the napkin smuggled much of the meat back up to the apartment for Wedgehead.

But the charm of the restaurant reasserted itself at the end of the meal, when the bill was presented together with a snowy drift of yoghurt spread with candied fruit. We had candied lemon peel, made by the owner's mother, then on our last visit, it was candied quince. We hoovered it up - heaven on a plate.

Skiathos 1

Home to a wet and chilly north London from the magical island of Skiathos. We had a most wonderful time: from the moment we landed, three hours late (courtesy of duff computers at Gatwick) to dark skies lit with sheet lightening. This was my first visit to Greece and what I hadn't expected was the other-worldly atmosphere of the islands which enveloped me as I stood outside the airport.
We were staying at Koukounaries, over to the west, at an apartment owned by Gail, who came to Skiathos over 30 years ago. J came here four years ago, and it was just as lovely as she promised, with terraces and a pool overlooking the Aegean.


It was very late when we arrived, so we made a quick sortie to the local supermarket and I rustled up a post-flight supper of big beans, feta, watermelon, salami, pepper, hard boiled eggs, bread, honey and baklava. Enough to keep us going til the next morning dawned with glorious Mediterranean sun.

J and I almost always end up on holiday being adopted by a cat - this time it took just 12 hours for him to arrive. The poor boy was very old and had the most awful ear mites, so we nicknamed him Wedgehead. He was thin and hungry, and yes, of course we fed him. Here he is, with J.


I'll blog more about Skiathos later, but now a big thank you to Debora at Licked Spoon, who's given me an award!

How nice is that! The rule is that I now have to pass the award on to my favourite blogs...something I'll be mulling on this morning.

Holidays

I'm off for a while - off with my best mate J to Skiathos in Greece for a week. I will return armed with pics of Hellenic goodies, but for those reading, have a fab week and please join me after the break.

Goosegogs

There's an intriguing little conversation going on at Allotment2Kitchen about the word 'goosegog'. I'd idly used the word in Mango's post about elderflower - thinking that everyone would be familiar with my mum's word for gooseberries. But no - seems it's not as well known as I thought. A quick Google turns up the info that it dates from around 1815-25, and it's a British colloquialism (so not an import). And I found a couple of other gardeners using the word and being met with puzzlement. I think it's a lovely word and will continue to use it at every opportunity. And Mango's blog is always worth visiting.

I inherited a goosgog bush on my allotment plot last year - it didn't fruit too well last year as it's been neglected for quite a while. This spring it got a dose of farmyard manure and so far, there's a mass of fruit. I presume that the variety is Invicta, as it's the most common.

One of my winter purchases was a Hinnonmaki Yellow from Thomson and Morgan. It's much more spreading than the Invicta, and T&M promise that it has a hint of apricot. I shall report back at harvest time.

Here's a lovely print of goosegogs by Janie Pirie.

Dan's pie

Yesterday over at Essex Eating, Dan posted the recipe for his family's heirloom egg and bacon pie. What with the weather turning colder again, the thought of it was so good that I rustled up this version, using what I'd already got in the fridge and larder. Call it a variation on a wonderful original.

Homage to Dan's egg and bacon pie

Eight or so sheets of filo pastry
A good handful of leftover smoked gammon
A finely chopped onion
Four sliced tomatoes
Three eggs
A slosh of double cream
A good handful of a strong cheese - I used Lincolnshire Poacher
Melted butter

Carefully unfold your filo and have the melted butter standing by. In a flan tin or pie plate, build up your layers of filo, leaving half the filo sheet flopping over the tin - this will be the lid of the pie. Brush each laid out sheet with the butter so that it the sheets adhere.

Now add your layers: gammon, then onion, then tomato. Beat the eggs together with a slurp of cream, and pour this over the meat and veg. Add your handful of cheese over the top. Now fold over the filo, again brushing with butter. Bung into an oven at gas mark 6 for around half an hour.

This was my pie just out of the oven. Dan recommends some potato accompaniment - I had some left over Jersey Royals, which I fried in walnut oil. And my usual garden salad.

The pie was delicious, and there's more left for lunch today. Nice one, Dan!

Old books and camp tales

A post by Fiona over at The Frugal Cook got me musing about the lure and value of old cookery books. I love them - I haunt the local Oxfam bookshop, and last week bagged The Moosewood Cookbook, which I'd wanted for some time. One of my favourite old books is my mother's copy of Good Housekeeping, circa 1957 (the pic is the baking version of similar vintage). My mother didn't own many cookery books - no money for that sort of thing - but this one was closest to being her bible. At the moment it's up in Anglesey, so I can't check this out, but I'm fairly sure her recipes for liver casserole, kedgeree, and her many cakes, came from Good Housekeeping. And my favourite pudding recipe comes from this tome: apple charlotte made not with bread but with a breadcrumb, suet and sugar mix. I'd never seen this recipe anywhere else until quite recently, when I saw it in a (second-hand) Katie Stewart book.
I used to love looking at the adverts in the GHK book - many for kitchen appliances that even ten years later were looking hopelessly outdated. Most of the photos are in black and white, with a few colour 'plates' of dubious hue.


More relevant were ads like this: well into the 60s, my mum was making coffee using Camp Coffee. I thought the resulting brew was vile, and it's one of the food products that probably divides the generations.

Camp Coffee is a peculiar mix - 26% is chicory essence. It's been made in Scotland since 1876. Three years ago, the label that I remember from childhood underwent a makeover, from this:

to this:

Are we sitting comfortably? The Daily Mail went wild with talk of political correctness, but I think it's the right move. Even if the Sikh gentleman does look a little uncomfortable. He's probably wondering why the hell he can't have tea instead.