MEZE
meze
We have all come together to eat, family and friends, a sacred occasion but not a rare one. This time the congregation is eating out at a local taverna, one of many in North London, amidst the Cypriot community living in the neighbourhood. The word taverna is derived from the latin taberna which can mean inn, shop, shed or even workshop and I rather like the romantic notion that the latter is exactly what it is. A cook's workshop, where they can fine-tune their offerings for their dining guests' pleasure. Nothing too pretentious, just good food cooked in a traditional way.
We enter the taverna and walk to the table, all of us urgently strategizing where to sit - you only have a few seconds so the pressure is immense. Yiayias and papous have an automatic rank of seniority that only comes with age and instantly dictates their seats but the young (basically the army privates of any Greek family) who have not yet earned their stripes are not given a choice. The old with the old, the young with the young. If you procrastinate too long you may get a seat in the wrong division, but that's okay - you'll jump to another one as soon as a call of nature leaves it free. Conversation starts to warm up as the piles of charred pitas arrive along with an array of colourful whipped dips and bowls of glossy olives. Once we are all settled in, a second wave of dishes appears; small plates, some steaming hot, some chilled, all delicious. I hear the music from Zorba the Greek playing in the background (and briefly wonder if it's just in my own head) as the animated conversation around me reaches a crescendo and plate after plate of lovingly made food continues to appear on the table in front of us.
As the bottom of each plate starts to peep through, a waiter discreetly slips it under another full one and another wave of mezedes hits the table. This time the scent of the ocean arrives with it: deep-fried calamari, octopus, grilled fish, an aquatic precursor to the meats. Lemons are juggled across the table, pinches of salt scattered across dishes, the concept of eating together is not contrived, it's just the way it is done. Soon the smell of charcoal, charred lamb and rich stews meanders through the air, making the carnivores salivate as if the previous hours of food hadn't existed. Then the meats arrive, again as before, small dishes, rich in flavour and just enough to share with a little left over. More pitas are ordered, wine glasses are topped up - kids sneak a sip whenever the watchful eyes of the higher-ranking family members wander. Heated debate, that to an outsider might sound like a family intervention, is just the whispering of sweet nothings for us, and I am guessing it's the same for all the other Greek and Cypriot families as well.
There comes a point when the food slows, empty dishes and plates start to disappear from the table and the unconscious hankering for something sweet is satisfied when a selection of bite-sized desserts arrive. Baklava, glyko - one or two bites is just enough to sate the need for sugar and are washed down with a strong Greek coffee and a shot of zivania (a clear Cypriot brandy). So what makes a meze? Simply put, it is small plates, any of your choosing, brought to the table on what appears to be a conveyor belt of food - the only criteria is that you have good company to share it with. The food is, of course, divine, but we all know it's not really about that... it's about the family, the friends, the conversation and the human connections. Philosophizing, making controversial statements designed to raise embarrassed laughter, debating about life, love and the world with a little local gossip thrown in for good measure - you know, all the important stuff in life. To share food is to create a bond and the tradition of breaking bread is as old as time itself with one purpose; to build relationships. So many cultures have their own tradition of small shared plates from Spanish tapas and Venetian cicchetti to Moroccan kemia. Sometimes it is as simple as a small selection of nibbles to be grazing on with a glass of wine at sunset, sometimes it is a substantial feast eaten as a meal, but there are no rules other than to enjoy the food, the company and yourself!
SEA BREAM & WATERMELON CEVICHE
me ceviche karpouzi
On hot afternoons in w, sometimes I'd be quietly lazing about, with only the scent of the sun-kissed earth between the lemon trees and sound of the waves meandering through the air for company... Suddenly I'd hear shouts of 'Karpouzi! Karpouzi!' as a gravelly voiced old farmer drove through the village in an open-top trailer piled high with watermelons. But I didn't mind being startled and falling off my chair... they were damn good watermelons. My ceviche is inspired by those moments and the memory of eating the sweet fruit with the juices running down my chin and the salty breath of the sea.
1 sea bream fillet (120 g/4¼ oz.)
1 garlic clove
freshly squeezed juice of 2 lemons
70 g/2½ oz. watermelon, flesh diced into 1.25-cm/½-inch cubes
20 g/¾ oz. red onion, finely diced
1 teaspoon finely diced fresh red chilli/chile
a generous pinch of freshly chopped coriander/cilantro leaves
1 tablespoon olive oil
salt
crisply toasted pita bread, to serve
SERVES 2 AS AN APPETIZER OR 4 AS MEZE
If it isn't already prepared, prepare the fish fillet by skinning and deboning it, and cutting away the darker meat that runs lengthways along the fish where the skin was. The easiest way to do this is, once the fillet is skinned and deboned, simply turn it over (skinned-side up) and cut a 'v' lengthways along the middle. Once done, cut the flesh into 1.25-cm/½-inch cubes.
Gently crush the garlic clove to just break the shell but keep the clove whole, more or less.
Add the garlic, cubed fish and lemon juice to a bowl, ensuring the fish is completely covered by the lemon juice. Let it 'cook' for 15 minutes, by which time it will have turned opaque.
Remove the fish from the lemon juice, shaking off any excess liquid, and place the fish in a clean bowl (reserving the liquid). Add the watermelon, red onion, chilli and coriander a little at a time, tasting to ensure the flavour is evenly balanced. Once done, add the olive oil, a pinch of salt and a teaspoon of the reserved lemon liquid.
Serve immediately. It goes well with some crisply toasted pita bread.
TIP You can substitute sea bream with sea bass. Always ensure you use the freshest fish possible.
SALT-BAKED BEETROOT WITH WILD GARLIC
pantzaria salata
One of the mainstays at our family's kitchen table is a bowl of pantzaria salata. At its heart, it is sliced beetroot with a light dressing of olive oil, vinegar and raw slices of garlic. Here salt-baking the beetroot both intensifies the flavour and seasons it, while the wild garlic leaves and flowers maintain that traditional flavour combination but in a slightly more subtle way.
1 egg white
350 g/1¾ cups coarse rock salt
150 g/¾ cup sugar
4-5 small beetroots/beets (about 350 g/12 oz.)
a few sprigs of fresh thyme
1 small garlic clove, peeled
12 wild garlic/ramps leaves
freshly ground black pepper
olive oil, for drizzling
red wine vinegar, for drizzling
a roasting pan or deep-sided baking sheet, lined with baking parchment
SERVES 6
Preheat the oven to 180°C (360°F) Gas 4.
First make the salt crust by whisking the egg white, then folding in the salt and sugar. You should have a wet cement-type consistency; add more salt if needed.
Put a little of the salt mixture in the centre of the parchment on the prepared roasting pan to make a bed for the beetroots to sit on. Group the beetroots together on top of this, add the thyme sprigs and spoon the remaining salt mixture over the top, ensuring the beetroots are fully covered. Bake in the oven for 1½-2 hours, depending on the size of the beetroots.
Once done, leave to cool for 10 minutes before breaking open the salt crust. Remove the beetroots and, while they are still warm (but cool enough to handle), peel the skin off. If they go cold, the skin is harder to peel. Slice the beetroots into discs about 5 mm/¼ inch thick. (A good life hack is to rub olive oil on your hands before touching the beetroot and it stops it staining your fingers!)
Slice the garlic as thinly as you can scatter it over the beetroot. Season with black pepper and drizzles of olive oil and vinegar. Roughly slice the wild garlic leaves, leaving a few whole just for show, and gently fold all the ingredients together. Serve at room temperature.
TIP If you have wild garlic flowers you can add these to the salad as a final garnish, dotted over the salad after you have plated up.
RAINBOW TOMATO SALAD
tomatosalata ouranio toxo
There is almost nothing as wonderful and satisfying to eat as a naturally grown tomato. Bursting with colour, sweetness, and a heady summer aroma that lingers in the air, a beautiful plump tomato is a gift from the Gods. Buy tomatoes in season and never store them in your fridge. I always include a few of the plum variety in this salad to ensure sweetness and then simply anoint them with a pomegranate molasses and white balsamic dressing to complement their ripe flesh. Served flat on a plate, rather than...
