 |
Web Hosting by Netfirms | Free Domain Names by Netfirms |
|
|
|
Easter
And Travels in
Easter
A
celebration of spring, Easter calls forth memories of pale green, of leaves unfolding
on wet branches in the sun, of red and yellow tulips shining in the sky. In
grass just grown and green we searched for brightly colored eggs and sniffed
the warming air. The world was reborn.
Magical,
inspirational, relaxing, without the hustle-and-bustle of Christmas, Easter is
perhaps my favorite holiday. For many Americans, ham is the traditional Easter
dinner, and for this the ChefBilly website provides several recipes in the
section entitled "Groundhog Day."
Within
the
My
Scottish grandmother, in keeping with her nationality, always served leg of
lamb on Easter. Here is her old Scottish recipe, simple to prepare, although
ChefBilly suggests decreasing the cooking time to suit modern tastes:
Grandmother Jeannie's Leg of Lamb
For
a 5-pound, bone-in leg of lamb:
Do
not trim excess fat. Pat dry. Place on a rack in a
roasting pan and set in the middle of a 450°F oven. Sear uncovered for 20
minutes.
Remove
roast from oven. Using a small, sharp knife, make small
incisions and press 2 cloves of slivered garlic into the meat. Baste and
sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste. Then cover the roast with one large,
thinly sliced onion. Insert a meat thermometer into the thickest part of the
lamb.
Reduce
heat to 275°F. Cover the roasting pan and return to the oven. Continue to
roast, basting occasionally, to desired doneness:
Medium
rare: internal temperature of 150°F
Well
done: internal temperature of 160 to 165°F.
Note
that the temperature of the roast will continue to rise about 5 degrees after
it is removed from the oven. Therefore, remove the roast when the thermometer
reads about 5 degrees less than the final desired temperature. ChefBilly usually
removes the roast when the thermometer reads 155°F, for a roast that is almost
well done but just slightly pink.
The
original recipe calls for about 3 hours total roasting
time. This is from the days when the old timers liked their meat VERY well-cooked.
For modern tastes, the total roasting time will probably be about 1½ hours for
medium rare or 2 hours for well done, depending on the size of your roast and
how cold it was when it went into the oven. Lamb that is overcooked is likely
to become hard and dry. Keep your eye on the meat thermometer.
When
the roast is finished, sprinkle the coating of onions lightly with salt. Let
the roast rest 15 or 20 minutes before carving.
Serve
with gravy, mashed potatoes and mint sauce or mint jelly. Excellent with Greek
Cheese and Spinach pie and ChefBilly’s Greek-Style Green Beans (below).
SERVES 6-8.
Grandmother
Jeannie's Gravy Recipe
For
lamb and beef roasts:
Remove
roast and spoon fat out of pan. Leave 2 Tbsp of fat with the pan juices. Add 4
Tbsp flour. Stir and cook on top of stove, loosening all the flavorful brown
bits from the roasting pan. Gradually add 2 cups water. Use a wire whisk to
beat smooth. Add a dash of salt and pepper. Add a little Kitchen Bouquet if
gravy lacks color. If flavor is not sufficient, add a beef bouillon cube or
meat base. Simmer 5 minutes. Strain into a hot serving bowl.
For
poultry:
Pour
juices from pan and degrease. Add water if juices are insufficient or too
strongly flavored. Add bouillon/soup base if not enough flavor. Using 2 Tbsp
flour for each cup of liquid, proceed to make gravy in the pan as above.
I
do not have a drop of Greek blood, except perhaps through some distant ancestor
of whom I do not know. Maybe this is the case, seeing that I have always had
"Greek connections" throughout my life. The first is through my
Scottish heritage. We share the same patron saint, Andrew, and a similar
ceremonial dress, or kilt. Both the Greeks and the Scots play bagpipes. A
second and more personal connection is through my childhood friend, Peter,
probably the first Greek American in my neighborhood and my best pal all
through grammar school. A third connection came with Greek neighbors with whom
we shared a two-family dwelling for 27 years. I fondly remember the matriarch
of their family, whom we affectionately called "Mama," working in the
garden where she grew her own tomatoes, peppers, eggplants and herbs. From her
busy kitchen rose the aromas of glorious, Greek home
cooking, breads the size of table tops, pots of meaty stews and trays of
vegetables, savories and sweets. How I enjoyed watching her cook and trying to
remember what she did, because she never used a recipe!
A
further connection came when I was fortunate enough to spend a college
"term abroad" in
In
days that followed, I attended mysterious church services and wonderful
parties, all the rituals of Easter, but none matched the reality of nature, the
inspiration that the earth itself provided. As I came to know the Greek people
in the coming months I learned about their closeness to nature, about the
spiritual awareness to be found in a simple fishing village, a quiet olive
grove or humble farm. When I asked an old man what he loved about his country,
he swept his arm toward the bay, sparkling in the noonday sun, and said,
"Here we have sky, here we have sea, here we have
life."
Since
that time I have always associated Easter with my experiences in
This recipe evolved after my friends and I returned from our term abroad
in
--ChefBilly
Ingredients:
3
packages (10 ounces each) frozen chopped spinach, thawed and well-drained
2
medium onions, finely chopped
½
cup olive oil, divided
7
eggs, well beaten
3/4
pound each feta and cottage cheese
1
tsp black pepper
1
Tbsp dried dill (or a bunch of chopped fresh dill)
1
stick (½ cup) melted butter
about 3/4-pound (3/4 box) phyllo leaves (strudel pastry)
Method:
Add
beaten eggs and crumbled cheese to thawed, drained spinach. Sauté
onion in 1 Tbsp of the olive oil about 5 minutes. Add to spinach mixture,
along with remaining olive oil, pepper, and dill. Mix well.
Brush
a 13 x 9 x 2" baking pan or dish with melted butter. Place 1 pastry sheet
on bottom of pan; brush with more butter. Continue placing pastry sheets and
butter until ½ of pastry is used. Spread spinach mixture over pastry in pan.
Top with remaining pastry sheets, brushing each sheet with melted butter.
Cut
through top sheets in three places with sharp knife to hold contents of pan in
place. Bake at 350°F for about 1 hour, or until top is golden brown and filling
has set.
Serve
warm, cut into squares.
SERVES 12.
NOTE:
This is good as a main course, side dish or party appetizer. Little, individual
pies may be made by wrapping filling in single, buttered pastry leaves. Fold
like a napkin and bake until brown. Spinach, cheese, or cheese only filling may
be used.
For
Easter, serve with lamb and homemade bread (below). If you live in a mild
climate, grill the lamb outdoors and have a beautiful outdoor picnic for
Easter!
(Bread)
During
my college studies in
On
hot summer days I often sat outdoors, in front of the cottage, in the silvery
shadows of the olive trees. "These give the best shade of any tree,"
my Greek friend, Kostas, told me. He also instructed
me on other ways to keep cool, which included good-natured dousing with buckets
of ice-cold water from the well, and frequent dunking in the rushing creek.
Downstream I noticed an aged mill, and watched some herdsmen with their goats
climb up the hill, and saw the farmers tend their fields as they had for centuries.
In the forest, I heard bells chime about the goats' long necks, a sound that
seemed to tap against the silence of time.
Afternoons
often included a picnic of homemade bread, cheese, olives, and wine, offered by
my Greek host and enjoyed in his best shade. As I was made to feel at home, I
came to realize that I was not merely a tenant but a very real member of a
family, a harmony reflected in the meal that we shared, and especially in the
bread. For in the bread were blended all the aspects of the land, the grain of
the fields, the water of the stream, the yeast that was carried by the wind.
All were brought together and created into something new, created by the mind
of man to sustain man. So I learned how bread was sacred.
In
the neighboring cottage lived a stout, elderly woman who made the loaves daily.
Dressed in a long, woolen skirt that swept the grass as she walked, and with a
scarf draped round her head, Sophia was the matriarch of the hills tending to
the goats and to the orchards. Making bread was second nature, like breathing,
something that she did without concern, which seemed to be accomplished by
itself and in the midst of all the rest. I watched and tried to learn what she
no longer had to think about, and was lucky that Sophia knew a little English.
"First
you clean the stone," she announced, waving her arms above a smooth marble
slab set in a sunny spot in her yard. After she scrubbed the marble with water
and walked away to milk a goat, she returned with a bowl of stone-ground flour.
Checking that the marble had dried and warmed in the sun, Sophia dusted it with
a handful of flour, then dumped the rest in the middle
to form a tall mountain. "Next you make a well," she said, digging a
deep hole in the mountain with both hands. Grabbing a glass pitcher that had
been warming on the stone, she filled the hole with water.
"Then
you mix," Sophia said, working the flour and water into a soft dough with
her fingers. As if feeling for the right moment, she added about 3 tablespoons
olive oil to the dough, and about a teaspoon of salt. Realizing that this was
not going to be a precisely measured recipe, I estimated the amount of flour at
about 4½ cups, and the amount of water at about 1½ cups. Next she added the
yeast, in her case a handful of yeasty "starter" dough from her
previous batch of bread, for which may be substituted 1 package (1 Tbsp) of dry
yeast proofed in a little water.
"Now
I let it rest," Sophia said, covering the dough with a clean towel and
walking off to tend some chickens. So far, the entire operation had taken her
about 2 minutes. She returned about 15 minutes later to do the kneading.
"Next
you pound." Sprinkling the dough with flour, she repeatedly lifted the
dough, folded it in half, and flung it against the slab, massaging the dough
deeply with the heels of her hands. Whenever the dough seemed sticky, she
sprinkled it with more flour. There are no precise measurements, I realized,
because the proportion of flour to liquid is correct when the dough
"feels" right. Sophia continued to pound, fling, and rub until the
dough was smooth and satiny, with no feel of stickiness on her hands.
Rolling
the dough into a ball, she pressed her forefinger into it to show me how she
knew it was ready. The dough was elastic and sprang back from her finger. If
the finger left a dent, the dough would require more kneading.
"Now
grow," Sophia said, rubbing the ball with a little olive oil and covering
it with a towel. The kneading had taken her about 5 minutes. Then she
disappeared into the olive groves for a couple of hours. When she returned, the
dough had more than doubled in size. Punching it down with her fists, she
kneaded again briefly and shaped the dough into a round loaf. You can make the
loaf free form, as she did, or put into a bread pan or bowl. Then she covered
it with the towel and let the dough rise again until nearly doubled in bulk,
about another hour. On this occasion, Sophia used the time to tend to some
tomato plants.
"Now
bake," she said, sprinkling the risen dough one last time with some coarse
flour and then with some ice-cold water. Using a wooden paddle, she slid the
loaf directly onto the hot stone floor of an outdoor hearth. But you can simply
place the bread on a baking sheet in the middle of a 400°F oven. After 15 minutes,
turn the oven down to 375°F and bake about 20 minutes more, until the loaf is
golden brown.
Sophia
tapped the bread with her fingertips to show me that when the bread is done it
sounds hollow, like a drum. Then she brushed it again with cold water and let
the loaf cool on a wire rack.
Sometimes
she skipped the water treatments and instead brushed the loaf with some beaten
egg and sprinkled it with sesame seeds just before baking.
Our
family, our companions gathered together to break the bread, to share the meal.
When Sophia cut into the warm loaf, it crunched like a crackling sheet of ice.
We ate it with butter from the cow, olives from the grove, feta cheese from the
goats, homemade wine from the vineyards and tomatoes from the garden. And
eating this harmony of foods man had gathered from God's earth, I learned the
meaning of the word, "civilization".
* * *
Ever
since that beautiful time in
Born
in the Heartland of America, I remembered the travels of my childhood, trips
with my family through the farms and fields of Illinois, where my father was
born, seeing waves of amber wheat and corn fluttering in the wind, rolling
pastures and dairy farms, long, white chicken coups and tall, red barns. I
remembered fields of wildflowers and honeybees, and thought, all these things
together, part of me, could come together as my recipe.
And
so I used the milk and the eggs from the farms and the wheat and the corn from
the fields, and a little honey from the bees which was made from the
wildflowers. And through years of experimentation, these became known as
"Bill's Country-Baked White Bread," from the days before there was a
ChefBilly.
This
recipe was especially popular when I lived in
Bill's Country-Baked White Bread
Ingredients:
1
egg
2
Tbsp honey or granulated sugar
1½
tsp salt
3
Tbsp unsalted butter
1½
cups whole milk or buttermilk
(buttermilk makes a lighter bread)
4
cups all-purpose flour, approximately
1
package (1 Tbsp) active dry yeast
cornmeal for dusting
about 1 Tbsp additional melted butter
optional: 1 tsp beaten egg and 1 Tbsp
sesame seeds
Method:
Melt
3 Tbsp butter in a saucepan; add milk and heat until lukewarm. In a large bowl,
beat together the egg, honey or sugar, salt, milk mixture and yeast. Add 2 cups
of the flour and beat 100 strokes. Let rest for 15 minutes. Add enough of the
remaining flour to make an elastic dough. Knead until
dough is satiny and springs back from the touch, sprinkling with flour as
necessary so dough is no longer sticky. Let rise until double, about 2 hours,
in a warm place. (I usually place the dough, covered with a towel, in an oven
that has been turned on for one minute and then turned off.) Punch the dough
down, knead briefly, and shape to fit one large or two small loaf pans. Dust
each loaf lightly with cornmeal before placing in lightly buttered pan(s).
Let
the dough rise again until almost doubled in bulk, about 1 hour. Preheat oven
to 450°F. Brush the top of the bread with melted butter OR brush with beaten
egg and sprinkle with sesame seeds. Place bread in the center of preheated oven
and immediately turn the temperature down to 375°F. Bake about 30 minutes,
until bread is nicely browned and sounds hollow like a drum when tapped.
Turn
bread out of pan(s) and let cool on a wire rack so steam will escape. I usually
just use a rack from a roasting pan propped up on the loaf pan(s).
This
very basic bread is delicious for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. When I taste it
I remember my childhood, the Heartland, the farms and the fields, the milk and
the honey, the bees and the wildflowers.
ChefBilly's Greek-Style Green Beans
Besides
bread, Sophia made a wonderful dish of green beans and tomatoes grown in her
garden. In the Greek fashion, they were cooked together in a big pot with pints
of olive oil. My response was this Americanized version, which is less greasy
and uses canned tomatoes that can be had year-round. It is a delicious side
dish with baked lamb.
Ingredients:
1
pound fresh green beans
1
Tbsp each butter and olive oil
4
cloves minced garlic
4
green onions, finely chopped
1
15-ounce can diced tomatoes, with juice
1
tsp sugar
¼
tsp freshly ground black pepper
½
tsp dried basil, or 1 Tbsp chopped fresh basil
On
a chopping board, line up the green beans one handful at a time and slice off the
tough ends. Place trimmed beans in a colander and rinse well.
In
a deep skillet, bring about 2 inches of water to a boil and add the beans.
Simmer about ten minutes, until beans are tender but still slightly crisp.
Drain the beans in the colander and rinse well with cold water, until beans are
no longer hot. Set aside.
Dry
the skillet and return it to the stove. Add butter and olive oil and heat over
medium flame until butter begins to sizzle. Add garlic and green onions and
sauté about 2 minutes, until garlic is soft but not brown. Add the beans, toss
and stir over low heat until beans are coated and hot. Add the tomatoes with
juice, sugar, black pepper and basil, and bring to the simmer. Stir, cover and
simmer gently about 5 minutes. Turn off heat and leave on top of stove to blend
flavors.
This
is a good ahead-of-time dish. When ready to serve, return to the simmer on top
of the stove, then transfer the beans to an attractive
serving platter.
With
potatoes or rice and a salad, these hearty beans would make a good main course
for a vegetarian.
SERVES 6-8 as a side dish.
Greek Friendship
I
first met Kostas at a beach near
In
that carefree paradise of youth, we needed little money to have fun, and often
spent our nights sleeping on whatever beach we happened to have found, dozing
under the stars within the biggest hotel of all. The music of the wind and
waves would wake us in the day, and if someone asked, "Where did you
sleep?" I pointed to my outline in the sand. If someone asked, "Where
do you live?" I stretched my arm out to the sky. Kostas
taught me to trust in freedom, for wherever we went, there were people to
cradle us, and God to take care of us.
One
day we climbed to the top of Acrocorinth, a chaos of
ancient ruins atop a high mountain with a magnificent view of the sea. The deep
aquamarine of the water blending into the azure sky, the pale green of the
grassy slopes covered with golden wildflowers, blended into a silver canopy of
clouds that trailed off somewhere in heaven. Retracing the steps of the Apostle
Paul, I felt a spiritual presence as he might have once, as might so many
others in this magical land that bridged past, present, and future. A
mysterious unity felt between man, earth, and sky, the spirit lit this world
and permeated all things real with love like quiet music.
On
the hillside I watched some women in long, black dresses and heavy veils,
picking dandelions out of the grass and collecting them in large baskets to
carry home. I remembered seeing this too, back home, in
Later
Kostas and I went down to the city of Corinth, where
we shared in this simple salad of hand-picked wild greens, much the same as
Paul might have eaten it thousands of years ago.
(boiled
greens)
When
picking dandelions, choose young ones whose flowers have not turned white, or
better yet, those which have not yet flowered at all. Use only tender leaves
less than 6 inches long, discarding shoots and tough stems. HINT: many ethnic
markets offer farm-grown dandelion greens, which are delicious and ready to
eat.
You
may use dandelions alone for this dish, or any green in season, or a mixture.
Other choices might include chicory, spinach, chard, mustard greens, collard
greens, kale, komatsuna, escarole, and endive. Baby
squash make an elegant addition if available, preferably from your own garden.
Clean
all vegetables thoroughly in several rinsings of
water to remove any sand. And this is a labor of love: carefully trim any tough
veins from the leaves. Allow 4 to 8 ounces of leaves per serving, depending on
appetite. Leaves will boil down to about a tenth of their volume.
If
used, spinach and baby squash should be steamed in a small amount of water to
desired tenderness, usually 2 or 3 minutes. Tougher leaves should be boiled
uncovered in a large pot with plenty of lightly salted water 10 or 15 minutes.
Drain
the cooked vegetables thoroughly. You may serve the salad warm or cold. The
following dressing is traditional:
(lemon
dressing for salads, meats, and seafood)
2
parts extra virgin olive oil
1
part fresh lemon juice (in
salt and pepper to taste
herbs
Whisk
all ingredients in a small bowl. You may add a little dried or
fresh herbs depending on what you will serve with the dressing: fennel
for fish, thyme for chicken, oregano for lamb, basil for tomatoes. This
dressing also makes an excellent marinade and basting sauce.
Depending
on how tart your lemons and how rich your olive oil, you may adjust proportions
to taste.
One
morning, Kostas declared that it was his birthday and
that we were going to party all day. He befriended a clarinetist, a local
street musician, who followed us from village to village as we wandered about
the countryside, attracting a trail of revelers like the pied piper. As the
clarinet blared, we meandered in and out of the local tavernas,
"pubs" where drinks and meals are served, often outdoors. The Greek taverna is more than a bar or a restaurant, but a local
meeting place where townspeople gather and gossip and while away their time.
Strong,
Greek coffee is always served, and drinks typically include the Greek resinated wine called retsina
(often homemade) and a licorice-flavored liquor called ouzo (very potent), the
ouzo usually mixed with water in a small glass. Along with drinks you may
receive crusty bread, whipped eggplant and fish roe spreads, and platters of
cubed feta cheese, olives, broiled octopus, and (if you are especially lucky)
lamb's entrails. If you are by the sea, which is often the case, fresh fish is
a must, locally caught and charcoal broiled.
With
the drinks, a light meal might include a Greek salad, each taverna
offering its own variation on a theme. In my experience, I was surprised to
discover that the Greek salad in
Whenever
I have a Greek salad I think of my journey from town to town and from taverna to taverna with Kostas, the clarinet playing in the background, the blend
of fresh flavors in the food and the sparkle in the wine adding to the joy of
the sunshine.
For
each serving:
1
medium, ripe, preferably home grown tomato
½
medium cucumber
6
Greek olives, preferably kalamata
1
ounce feta cheese, crumbled
1
Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1
tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
1
pinch chopped fresh oregano or basil (optional)
Salt
and pepper to taste
Traditionally,
this salad is made in individual servings rather than in one large bowl. Peel
the cucumber and cut into ¼-inch slices. On a chilled, oblong plate, alternate
the slices of cucumber with ¼-inch slices of tomato. Or, place neat rows of
cucumber and tomato side by side. Drizzle with the lemon juice and olive oil,
surround with the olives, and then sprinkle with the feta cheese and optional
herbs. Sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste.
You
may make the same salad with tomatoes or cucumbers only. You may use the lemon
and oil dressing, Ladolemono, above, already
prepared, or make a simple vinegar and oil dressing
from 2 parts olive oil and 1 part red wine vinegar. In
Optional
embellishments: serve on a bed of
--ChefBilly
Having
gone on about the authenticity of Greek salad, I will now offer my own favorite
salad, which is not really Greek and not French but a combination of the two, which
I suppose is a Freak salad. It grew out of my life with my family, a compromise
of tastes and opinions, which evolved into our own traditional salad. When I
returned home from
I
suppose this salad began with my father's love of garlic. I remember him hovering
over a huge, wooden salad bowl in the evening, happily crushing several cloves
with some salt and some olive oil, massaging this mixture over the wood as if
performing an ancient garlic ceremony which would create the groundwork for the
salad to come. Then I had to squeeze in some lemon, while my brother and sister
shouted for tender, crispy lettuce and crunchy cucumber to be added to the mix,
and my mother insisted on rich, creamy dressing and hard-boiled eggs. Over time
the dressing varied from "Green Goddess" to creamy garlic, when on a
trip to France I learned how to prepare a homemade mayonnaise that eventually
turned into my "secret" salad dressing that I have used ever since.
Of
course, I had to add the Greek touch, feta cheese, tomatoes, and kalamata olives, this combination of flavors being
essential to the success of the salad. And as a final French addition, the
salad is topped with savory croutons, and another of my parents' favorites,
sliced avocado.
ChefBilly
will not live forever, but this is one of those recipes he wishes will live
after him. So, the "secret" is not locked up but is published in the
hope it will bring as much pleasure to others as it has to him.
This
is a fun and easy recipe but requires time. From the making of the dressing to
the grating of the cheese, it should be performed with flourish and ritual.
Give yourself plenty of time and this salad is indeed a joyful task.
The
begin with, the secret is in the dressing:
ChefBilly's Secret Salad Dressing
This
is best done ahead of time.
Ingredients:
1
egg yolk
½
tsp
½
tsp Worcestershire sauce
½
cup or more extra virgin olive oil
½
cup or more canola oil
¼
cup white balsamic vinegar, to taste (Alessi brand is
good)
½
tsp dried tarragon, or 1 Tbsp chopped fresh tarragon
Ritual:
In
a 1-pint, glass bowl, beat the egg yolk, mustard, and Worcestershire with a
wire whisk. Drop by drop, beat in the olive oil. As the sauce begins to
thicken, the oil may be added more quickly, first in a thin stream, then by the
tablespoon. If you add the oil too quickly or your egg yolk isn't fresh, the
sauce may curdle. Beat vigorously if this happens.
Add
the canola oil after the olive oil. Depending on the quality of your olive oil
and on how much you like the taste of olive oil, you may adjust the proportions
to suit your taste. By now the sauce should have formed into a thick mixture
that stands in peaks and will hold the whisk upright for a second or two. Keep
beating and adding more oil as necessary until this level of stiffness is
reached. You now have homemade mayonnaise.
To
turn into a salad dressing, add the vinegar gradually, beating after each
addition. Taste carefully until desired acidity is reached (this will depend on
the flavor of your oil and your own personal taste). ChefBilly usually makes
this dressing quite mild, without too much "bite", because lemon will
be added to the salad later.
The
dressing should be smooth and creamy. Beat in the tarragon. Chill.
ChefBilly's Super Salad
Allow
yourself plenty of time, mainly because of the cutting and cleaning.
Ingredients:
3
cloves garlic, minced (you garlic lovers may add more)
¼
tsp salt
1
medium cucumber, peeled, seeded, and thinly sliced
1
medium heart of Romaine lettuce (or available greens in season)
½
medium head of green leaf or iceberg lettuce
2
Tbsp fresh lemon juice
2
Tbsp dried chopped chives, or ¼ cup fresh
¼
cup grated Parmesan cheese
½
cup seasoned salad croutons, or more
2
beefsteak tomatoes cut into wedges and/or 1 cup cherry tomatoes
4
ounces feta cheese, crumbled
½
cup Greek (preferably kalamata) olives
1
ripe avocado, sliced
4
hard-boiled eggs, sliced
¼
tsp black pepper, coarsely ground
ChefBilly's
Secret Salad Dressing (above)
Ritual:
Wash
the greens well, tear into chunks and dry thoroughly, preferably in a salad
spinner.
In
a large salad bowl, crush the garlic into the salt using a strong fork and rub
this mixture all over the bowl. Recite an incantation, if you wish.
Spread
the sliced cucumber on the bottom of the bowl. Add half the lettuce, half each
of the chives and Parmesan, then the rest of the lettuce. May
be done ahead of time, as it is good to chill the salad at this point.
Just
before serving and in front of your guests, pour the lemon juice around the
sides of the bowl. May be done with a flourish and flick of
the wrist. Add the remaining chives and Parmesan and the croutons. Add
about ½ cup of ChefBilly's Secret Salad Dressing and toss thoroughly. Be sure
to toss up from the bottom to get all the cucumber and flavorful garlic mixed
in. Greens should be nicely coated with the dressing; add more dressing as
needed. Sprinkle with pepper, toss again, and taste carefully for seasoning.
Top
the salad with an attractive pattern of tomatoes, olives, feta cheese, sliced
hard-boiled eggs and avocados. Serve the salad on chilled plates, making sure
each guest receives a little of everything. Serve with additional dressing,
cheese, pepper, croutons, etc., as desired.
You
may want to serve the salad early to allow plenty of time for it to be savored!
Good with French bread, soup, and a bit of a rest before the main course.
with love,
--ChefBilly
Some
things all over the world are very much the same, one being the bachelor
apartment. From time to time, my friend Mareen and I
would visit Kostas at his flat outside of
If
we were there at noon, Kostas would open his door and
smile, just back from a house painting job on which he had been working since 5
a.m. "Yahoo!" he would say, his word for hello, then, "Just a
minute," as he tried to tidy up. He'd tell us to have a cold beer while he
took a shower, and emerging refreshed and alive, he sat down to join us at the
table by the window, enjoying a little cool breeze on a 100-degree day. As I
looked down on the chaos of the street below, hardworking people returning home
for lunch on tiny motorcycles and cars without mufflers, restaurant owners and
fishmongers calling to the crowds, I absorbed some of their vitality. Suddenly
I laughed and thought it would be absurd and insulting to imply that they had
time to do dishes.
Often
we relaxed in that apartment, talking about nothing, and if we were lucky, Kostas might make us one of his famous omelets. He did
little cooking, working as much as he did, but what time he spent in the
kitchen was joy to him, a vacation from his job. He seemed to have inherited a
talent from his Greek ancestors, a penchant for cooking which was a men's tradition
since ancient times. His face lit up, his eyes sparkled, and he broke into song
as he approached the stove, where any one of his few dishes, however simple,
became a gourmet event.
After
lunch and a second beer, Kostas would take a
well-deserved nap, while Mareen and I might doze off
upon the couch, a way of passing over the
Kostas's Tomato and Feta Omelet
Ingredients:
1
Tbsp each butter and olive oil
4
eggs, well beaten
1
medium tomato, coarsely chopped
2
ounces feta cheese, crumbled
1
pinch each of salt and freshly ground pepper
1
Tbsp chopped fresh parsley
1
tsp chopped fresh basil, or a pinch dried (optional)
Method:
In
a medium skillet, heat the olive oil over medium flame, and then add the
tomatoes. Stir a minute or two until tomatoes begin to soften. Sing a little
song if you wish. Add the butter and let it melt. Pour the eggs over the tomatoes
and do not stir at this point, but shake the pan from time to time until the
eggs begin to set and slide at the bottom. Toss in the feta cheese and sprinkle
with salt, pepper, and herbs. In about a minute, when omelet is almost
completely set (eggs will still be a little runny on top) fold both sides of
the omelet onto the middle with a spatula. Turn off flame and let the omelet
"rest" in the warm pan a minute or two. Then slide the omelet onto a
warm serving plate, gently turning it over as you slide it out so that the fold
is on the bottom and the top of the omelet is seamless.
For
lunch, this is good with a salad, crusty French bread dipped in olive oil, and
cold beer. The wonderful combination of the flavors of tomato, feta, and eggs
in the omelet is unforgettable.
SERVES 2-3.
Late
in the summer, Kostas decided that it was time for
another trip. Having finished one house painting job, and with no others lined
up, he declared that he had "had enough of money" and it was time to
set loose his chains. "Yours too, Billy," he waved a stout finger at
me. "Enough of your books." Early the next
morning I found him down by the docks, kneeling by the edge of an old wooden
pier, scraping the hull of his Uncle Nikos's fishing
boat. Sweating, he spat, "We take her tomorrow. Help me."
As
the humid heat of the harbor rose in our faces, we scrubbed, mopped, and
painted, wiping our brows with wet rags that Kostas
kept in a bucket of ice water under the deck. Kostas
repaired some of the cracks in the old girl, hammering at the railings and at
the masts as the
In
the evening we stretched out the fishing nets and quietly sewed up some of the
tears, checked the rigging, and furled the sails neatly on board. Next we
covered the deck with a tarp. "For when it rains," Kostas said, as if sensing some portent of the coming
weather beneath the clear, purple skies. I spent the night at Kostas's place, which was near the dock from which we would
be leaving "very early," he said. "Too soon
for you to change your mind."
In
the black before the early morning, after half a night's sleep, I splashed some
cold water over my face. I looked past the balcony at the bay, at what seemed
to be the giant, silver hand of God coming down from the sky, long fingers gleaming
in the dark, dipping down into the inky, wavy waters to gather up the boats.
The crimson thread of dawn stretched beneath a heavy bank of clouds, to me the
sure sign of a coming storm, and I felt my stomach squeeze.
In
the meantime, I heard Kostas stirring behind me and
smelled strong coffee. He was making breakfast and singing. "Did you see
the sky?" I asked shakily.
"Beautiful!"
he exclaimed. "Are you hungry?"
"I
mean, red sky in the morning!"
"Sailor
take warning? Do you believe that?" he asked. As
I stared at him, he grabbed me by the shoulders and sat me down at the table.
"Don't worry," he explained quickly, "I will be with you. And so
will Uncle Nikos, and he is the best sailor I know.
If you worry, you will not be free," he shrugged. "Eat."
He
laid out a mountain of scrambled eggs, feta cheese and tomatoes, a basket of
warm bread, a platter of olives, leftover octopus, and a huge pot of black
coffee. As we ate, the silence of the room rested between us, and I knew that
he knew that I was still scared. Finishing his food, he tilted back in his
chair, balanced on its hind legs, and slowly smoked a cigarette. He looked at
the sea and then straight at me, studying my expressions as if I were his
little brother. "Love is always dangerous," he said. "If you
love her, you must endure the danger." And at that moment, when we became
too serious, we suddenly burst out laughing.
Uncle
Nikos, Kostas told me,
lived a half block down the street, and as we scurried up the stairs to his
Uncle's room, I wondered what this accomplished sailor would be like. We were
greeted at the door by an old man whose voice was dry and whose face was full
of rivers. We had to carry him down the stairs. "He want
to sail one more time," Kostas puffed, lifting
his end of the stretcher. "It may be his last." And as we rocked the
old man down the street, he pointed one wrinkled finger constantly toward the
bay, as if he were indeed leading the way.
Ahead,
a soft shadow appeared by the side of the boat, a billowing dress, a stream of
long hair trailing wild in the wind. I squinted. Was she real? It was Mareen come to meet us, and I smiled at the surprise.
"You can't be afraid now," Kostas laughed
quietly behind me. "She's not."
Nikos looked upon his craft longingly,
with a gentle hum and a very gentle smile, with the reverence of a priest
toward his tabernacle, his sanctuary for his worship of the sea. When we sat
him like a statue on the bow, he watched as we unveiled his home, removed the
tarp and set up sail, preparing as it were the alter
for his ceremony, the place where he had sojourned and had prayed so many
times. He directed us with both hands, his feet
tapping, his eyes dancing, as if conducting music.
We
were a doubtful crew, I thought, as the wind whipped up from the choppy waves
and tipped the hull. Mareen, I knew, had never
sailed, had never been to sea, had never been in Greece, in fact, had never
left New York, had never left the Borough of Queens before. I, indeed, had
never sailed, though Kostas had vowed to teach me.
But watching dark clouds roll in and raindrops pelt the water, I had some
questions about his judgment. He was ever the philosopher, I whined in my mind.
He was a philosopher without books. But where would philosophy get us when the boat
sank? As we wrapped Uncle Nikos in thick, woolen
blankets, and secured him on a cot upon the deck, I nearly turned back.
But
Mareen, so unafraid, was already helping Kostas stow our gear, prepare the masts, and untie the bow
lines so we could cast off. Like a breeze she whirled gently and quietly about
the deck, following Nikos's commands, getting the
rigging in order, setting the scene with the ease of a paintbrush on canvas.
Her life had been the world of books, and I knew that in her imagination she
had been to sea, had been on board a boat many times before. As I watched the
three of them work together like parts of a finely tuned timepiece, I thought
that if there was a doubtful crewmember, it was probably I.
"Come
on, Billy!" Kostas yelled at me to get me going.
"Kostakes!" I
yelled back, for by then we knew each other well enough to call each other by
our childhood names. I joined him, tugging at the stern lines, our knuckles
white and bulging, our hands like steel traps.
Nikos decided that it was too windy
to raise the sails, and so we relied on an outboard assist, a rusty old engine
with the horsepower of one tired nag. Kostas sloshed
some gasoline down its throat from a half-empty tin can. "Do you have
extra gas?" I asked him.
"All
we need," Kostas shrugged, though I saw no other
cans. As for the food for our journey, all I saw was one small, muslin sack,
and when I asked Kostas about it he replied, "I
wouldn't have brought so much, except that we have a woman on board."
"The
sea will provide all we need!" Nikos's voice
vibrated suddenly from his cot.
At
once we were on our way. "Too soon for me to change my mind," I
remembered. The old nag belched and wheezed and jerked us out of the harbor,
smoke and a smell of oil following behind. "She burn that out soon," Kostas told me when I sniffed. "The
oil." Nikos complained that Kostas had not used the engine enough in recent months.
Passing docks crowded with tall schooners, cruise ships, and yachts of the
rich, we coughed into the freedom of the bay. Nikos
waved one hand back toward the vanishing port and muttered something about
"the rabble."
At
sea, the waves grew higher and the wind stronger, whitecaps breaking against
the bow, salty spray on our faces. Mareen tucked the
warm blankets around Nikos, wrapped one around
herself, and sat near the starboard railing, her complexion a little green. As Kostas rigged the tarp over the deck to shelter us from the
rain, I sat down beside her and made small talk. "Nice weather we're having,"
I joked. "Everything is going to be all right." And when we both
began to tremble, we wrapped our arms around each other in the cold like two
fearful monkeys.
"Women
are like the surface of the sea," Nikos mused.
"They embrace the earth. No matter how deep we swim, we must always return
to the surface."
Kostas suddenly stood on the bow and
faced the cloudburst. As the rain slapped his face and poured down his back, he
raised both fists and bellowed at the sky. The boat raised
up on a roller and then slid into a deep valley of foam. "I'm all
right," said Mareen, as a spirit seemed to
settle on the water, a wave of human strength that spread upon the storm.
Beneath my arm, I felt her heartbeat slow, her breathing quell,
and peace befell the surface of the sea.
Soaking
wet, but with a look of triumph, Kostas peered at the
horizon as if guarding against any further attacks, his eyes following the
retreating clouds. Then he lay down on the deck by our feet and took a swig
from a bottle of wine. We passed it around. "Are you hungry? We'll go
fishing soon," he told us, then folded his arms across his chest and fell
asleep. As the boat rocked gently back and forth, Mareen
and I finished rigging the tarp over the deck, sheltering Kostas,
who was sleeping in the one spot where it was still raining.
By
the time he awoke we were indeed hungry, and I was wondering how much food
there could be in that little muslin bag he had brought. A
loaf of bread maybe? Some cheese? We were going
to rely on the sea, for sure. Nikos was already
fingering the fishing nets. Kostas and I rolled them
out and then trailed them into the gray water. Kostas
cut the engine so the noise would not scare the fish away, and we raised sail,
catching a mellow breeze. The shore long out of sight, our little boat glided
into a vast confluence of water and sky, the nets sinking down into darkness. Nikos pointed ahead. As ripples licked the hull, he
murmured a prayer in Greek, which I asked Kostas to
translate.
Sitting
by the stern, Kostas crossed his legs and closed his
eyes.
"The
sea is my soil,
No
boundaries I keep,
No
land do I toil,
God's
harvest I reap."
I
felt the boat slow, something tugging at the hull. A dolphin jumped and
squeaked at us, toying with the lines. Nikos clapped
his hands and Kostas obeyed, snapping to his feet and
dragging in the nets. Red fish wriggled in the waves and then danced into the
air.
'Snapper!" Kostas
smiled as we clawed at the ropes and hauled the fish on board. Some got loose
and flopped around the deck before we snatched them with slippery hands and
tossed them into the live well. Nikos selected some
to be cleaned for our meal, while the rest would be saved to be sold on the
"This
is how you do it," Nikos instructed, pulling me
toward him as he scaled and gutted the fish and then laid them out on a bed of
sea salt that had dried out on the deck. Kostas lit a
small charcoal grill near the stern, hickory and the sweet scent of fennel
replacing the gasoline fumes of before, spicy puffs of smoke that signaled the
gulls to come. Mareen was picking through the nets,
finding some shrimp, some squid, and a couple of small octopus,
her face still a little green. Nikos began
pounding the octopus against the side of the boat.
"Nikos will show you how you clean those," Kostas pointed, already placing the first snapper onto the
grill. One by one, he rubbed the cleaned and salted fish with olive oil and
with a freshly cut lemon from the mysterious muslin bag. Arranging the fish on
the rack close to the red-hot charcoal, he sprinkled them with chopped parsley
and oregano and then stuffed stalks of dry fennel into the flames underneath.
As the savory aromas reached our noses, our stomachs growled with hunger. Nikos found a large, spiny lobster, unnoticed by the rest
of us, hiding in one of the nets.
"When
will it be ready? Hurry up!" Mareen suddenly
laughed, apparently cured of her nausea. Nikos began marinating
the octopus and filets of squid and also some of the shrimp to add to our
For
four people:
4
freshly caught whole red snapper, scaled and cleaned
2
medium squid, bodies cut into inch-wide strips and tentacles left whole
2
medium octopus, tentacles left whole and bodies cut into 3 flat strips
8
large, fresh shrimp, shells on
1
spiny lobster, split in half lengthwise
Lemon
juice
Olive
oil
Oregano,
dried or freshly chopped
Parsley,
freshly chopped
Kosher
salt (optional)
Pepper
to taste
Dried
fennel stalks (optional)
Ouzo
(optional)
You
may substitute whatever fish the sea happens to offer.
The
octopus must be tenderized. Nikos did this by
pounding for about 20 minutes until milky juices began to ooze from the meat.
This is the traditional method. But you may parboil the octopus until tender,
about 30 minutes. Timing depends on the size and the quality of your octopus.
Split
the raw lobster in half by cutting from head to tail down the middle of the
back. Use a sharp, thin knife and work carefully, because the shell is very
slippery.
Make
a mixture of one part freshly squeezed lemon juice and two parts olive oil and
rub over all the fish and seafood before grilling.
To
prepare your grill, arrange charcoal in a single layer and burn until flames
subside and coals are red-hot. Position the rack, well cleaned, as close to the
coals as possible. Just before grilling, stuff optional dried fennel stalks
into the coals to make aromatic smoke. If they flare up too much, moisten the
stalks a little bit before placing them into the fire.
Begin
grilling the red snapper and octopus, which take about 8 minutes on each side,
depending on thickness. Sprinkle with pepper, oregano and parsley to taste, and
with some coarse kosher salt if you like a salty crust. Douse with more of the
lemon marinade and turn when the first side is nicely browned, almost black.
You may begin grilling the lobster and the shrimps at this point. Watch the fish
carefully on its second side. Test by pulling a little of the skin away from
the backbone with a fork. If the meat looks white, not pale gray, and can be
pierced easily, the fish is done. Be careful not to overcook the fish until it
is dry and flaky, or it may begin to fall apart through the grating and into
the coals. Octopus is done when it is fork tender and brown on the second side.
The
lobster should be placed meat side down on the grill for about 4 minutes. When
seared, turn the lobster halves onto their backs, shell side down. Douse
generously with the lemon marinade and sprinkle with parsley, oregano, pepper,
and optional kosher salt. Kostas likes to drizzle some good quality olive oil right over the meat and
let it collect in the bottom of the shells where it will sizzle and sauté the
lobster. After 4 more minutes the shells should be bright red and the meat snow
white and fork tender.
Shrimp
require a little less cooking, just 2 or 3 minutes on each side, depending on
size. Drizzle generously with the marinade and sprinkle with the herbs and
optional salt. The shrimp are done when the shells are bright red and the meat
white.
Squid
is quite delicate and should be placed on the grill toward the very end. Fresh
squid require only about a minute on each side, two at the most. They should be
little more than heated through until the juices ooze. At this stage they will
be very sweet, succulent, and tender, a real gourmet treat. If cooked longer,
they will toughen and can only be made tender again by slow stewing.
When
everything is done, season to taste with more of the marinade, herbs and salt.
For final drama, douse with a jigger of ouzo and let the alcohol flare up for a
moment to make a tasty, blackened crust. This was Kostas's
favorite part.
Remove
the grilled fish and seafood to a warm serving platter.
As
we began to eat, Kostas threw some thickly sliced
onions and eggplant onto the grill, dousing with the lemon marinade and the
herbs and grilling a few minutes on each side until tender. He added some
sliced, crusty bread, toasting on each side, then served with a big bowl of
olive oil mixed with minced garlic, oregano, and grated kefalotyri
cheese for dunking.
You
may substitute Parmesan or Romano for the kefalotyri.
Nikos prayed, "I shall not
want." As we devoured the gifts we had received, savoring the sweet and
salty tastes, the aromas of smoke and surf, the afternoon sea unrolled in front
of us like a glossy, satin sheet. She was inviting us to come. I wondered where.
Return to the
ChefBilly website for the next installment of The Odyssey.
Copyright ©2006 by William Gordon
McDonald
ChefBilly Home Top of Easter Page