Rabbit Recipes: Litsa's Rabbit and Onions & Froso's Wine-Marinated Rabbit with Onions and Potatoes (Κουνέλι της Λίτσας & Κουνέλι της Φρόσω)

In Greece, our village’s economy depends on wheat and barley farming. In the last 10 years, rabbit populations have spun out of control, ravaging newly sprouted fields, and destroying entire seasons worth of crops. As a result, local hunters work diligently to keep the rabbit population in check, sharing their bounty with fellow villagers.

In September, rabbit is common village fare. Last week, two of my friends, excellent village cooks, served braised rabbit for dinner, but cooked it different ways. I decided to try both their recipes. Both were delicious; I’ll make each recipe again.

Litsa’s Rabbit and Onions (Κουνέλι με Κρεμμύδια της Λίτσας)
Serves 4
The sweetness of onions and Litsa’s light spicing combine with wine and meat juices to form a wonderfully flavorful sauce for rabbit. Our guests were sucking bones, licking fingers, and cleaning plates with bread to capture every bit of the delicious sauce. Chicken may be substituted for rabbit.

Froso’s Wine-Marinated Rabbit with Onions and Potatoes (Κουνέλι Μαριναρισμένο σε Κρασί με Κρεμμύδια και Πατάτες της Φρόσω)
Serves 4
Froso’s deeper, richer spicing gives a more sophisticated, slightly Middle Eastern edge to rabbit’s simple clean taste. Taking bites of meltingly soft onions and rabbit together elicited sighs of pleasure from diners, who smashed the potatoes into sauce to maximize flavor. By using only a small piece of cinnamon, Froso prevents its flavor from dominating the rabbit. Froso says marinating rabbit for 2 days is best, however, 24 hours is sufficient. Use slightly waxy potatoes like Yukon golds or red potatoes, not Russets or baking potatoes which tend to fall apart when braised with meat. The small onions used in this recipe should be about 1 1/2” in diameter, nor pearl onions. Chicken may be substituted for the rabbit, in which case, marinate the chicken for 12-24 hours.


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Bhutanese Refugees in Anchorage, Alaska with Recipe for Lamb's Quarters & Tomatoes with Eggs (Χόρτα και Ντομάτες με Αυγά)

Lush baskets of greens lined the table: crumpled dark Lacinato kale, sweet golden-stalked Swiss chard, deep maroon piles of earthy red orach. The sign read, “Fresh International Gardens.”

“Good morning! Where’s your farm?” The answer to my standard market question was a surprise: “Mountain View.”

Mountain View, a densely populated neighborhood within Anchorage’s urban core, is an unlikely spot for a market garden. “How much land do you have?” “8000 square feet.”

A commercially viable garden in Alaska on less than 1/5 of an acre? I looked again at the people staffing the booth. Of diverse ages and ethnicities, they didn’t fit the typical farm family image.

“Is Fresh International Gardens a farm? Or a group?” I hesitated. “Or what?”

The answer: “Or what.” Fresh International Gardens is part of the Refugee Farmers’ Market Program. This program helps refugees, newly arrived in Anchorage, adjust to uprooted lives in a new country. In addition to gardening, the program teaches entrepreneurial and life skills essential to succeeding in Alaska.

The thriving program grew from a seed planted by Julie Riley, longtime Anchorage Cooperative Extension Service Horticulture Agent. In 2004, Riley successfully helped Hmong refugees from Southeast Asia adapt their gardening skills to Alaska’s cold climate. This success inspired Catholic Social Services to work with Riley and others to create the Refugee Farmers’ Market Program. Using municipal land next to Mountain View’s McPhee Park, the program is now in its fourth year.

Most refugees working on the 2010 garden are originally from Bhutan. Over the last 10 months, a group of nearly 100 Bhutanese refugees began the challenging process of creating lives in Alaska after many difficult homeless, stateless years.

Bhutan is a land-locked country the size of Switzerland. It lies between China and India on the Himalayas’ eastern edge; Nepal is to the west. In the late 19th century, the Lhotsampa (meaning southerner in Bhutanese) began emigrating to Bhutan from Nepal, largely to work as laborers for the Bhutanese.

The Lhotsampa settled, built homes, and grew families in Bhutan. Life continued uneventfully until the late 1980s. At that time, the ethnic majority ruling Bhutan became worried about its ethnic group being outnumbered by Lhotsampas. To prevent this, the rulers began a program of ethnic cleansing, forcibly expelling many Lhotsampas from the country.

The forcible expulsions left over 100,000 Lhotsampas, including Anchorage’s new residents, stranded for nearly two decades in Nepalese refugee camps. It wasn’t until 2008 that various countries, including the US, began admitting Bhutanese refugees for permanent resettlement.

Last Thursday I went to the Fresh International Garden site on McPhee and talked with gardener and market entrepreneur Bishnu Subedi.

Subedi said he was forced from his home by the Bhutanese government in 1992. He lived in Nepalese refugee camps until Alaska welcomed him last year. “Seventeen years. Seventeen years, no home. Now, in Alaska, apartment. A home.” Subedi smiled, hesitantly.

While we talked, Subedi and a fellow refugee cleaned and turned a new garden bed, planting it with spinach seed. The men were neatly dressed; their shirts freshly ironed. They deftly and swiftly worked shovel and hoe with bare feet.

Subedi is just now learning English, and spoke it haltingly. He described his plans: work hard, feed his family, get a green card, become a citizen. He laughed, shrugged, and said, “For now, have apartment. But is home. Home.” He smiled again, this time broadly.

I walked further into the garden where three Bhutanese women were weeding beds of thickly planted greens. They heaped all but one kind of weed in piles for disposal. The women treated lamb’s quarters (Chenopodium album) differently. This plant was separated out and added to plastic grocery bags that were already full when I arrived.

Though weeds, lamb’s quarters are delicious edible greens. Since none of the women spoke English, I couldn’t ask if they planned on eating lamb’s quarters. Kelly Ingram, a Vista volunteer working for the Refugee Farmers’ Market Program, had an answer: the women used lamb’s quarters as an ingredient in curry.

Wild lamb’s quarters are gathered for food all around the globe. Uniquely, the Himalayan region, where Lhotsampas survived in Nepalese refugee camps, is the one area in the world where lamb’s quarters are domesticated. It is grown there for its leafy greens and as a grain crop. Lamb’s quarters is a quinoa relative; up to 70,000 poppy-sized seeds grow on every plant. The seeds are ground into flour, cooked as porridge, made into alcoholic beverages, and used as livestock feed.

Unlike countries with subsistence economies, wild foraging is a rarity in modern America. Lamb’s quarters and other wild greens are usually seen only as noxious weeds that pop up in home gardens and interfere with efficient commercial crop production. As a result, few Alaskans have tried tasty lamb’s quarters.

Lamb’s quarters are related to spinach and Swiss chard, and can be substituted for those greens in any recipe. Its flavor is milder, and its leaves slightly firmer, than spinach. Although young lamb’s quarters leaves may be eaten raw, I prefer them cooked. Then again, I also prefer spinach cooked.

Of the wild greens that grow in Alaska, lamb’s quarters is one of the easiest to harvest. (First time foragers may want to review my Rules for Gathering Wild Plants.) Cut off the top 6-8” of each plant, remove any damaged or diseased leaves (look carefully, lamb’s quarters are susceptible to leaf miner damage), and strip the leaves and soft seed heads from the stem. These are ready to use in your favorite greens recipe; the stem may be discarded.

Lamb’s quarters freeze well. Harvest the greens before seeds form, blanch in boiling salted water for 30-45 seconds, drain, cool, squeeze out excess water, package in freezer bags, and freeze.

Lamb’s quarters thrive on land that’s been previously cultivated, or any place they can get an easy foothold. In my yard, they're particularly fond of the topsoil pile, where loose dirt and ready nutrients attract a nice patch of lamb’s quarters every year.

Returning from my trip to the Fresh International Gardens, I had a powerful hankering for lamb’s quarters. Lacking a Bhutanese curry recipe, but being rich in farm fresh eggs, I lunched on a Greek village favorite: eggs cooked on a bed of wild greens and tomatoes.
Lamb's Quarters and Tomatoes with Eggs takes less than 30 minutes to make, including the time to harvest the lamb’s quarters (assuming you're behind on your weeding so have lamb's quarters readily available). Despite its simplicity and humble ingredients, the flavors are luxuriant: runny yolks combine with vegetable juices to form an enthrallingly rich sauce.

Lamb's Quarters and Tomatoes with Eggs (Χόρτα και Ντομάτες με Αυγά)
Serves 2
Any wild or domesticated greens may be used in this recipe. Milder greens, such as lamb’s quarters, nettles, spinach, and Swiss chard, taste best. Feta cheese, bread, and Kalamata olives typically are served with this dish.

6 cups greens, cleaned of stems and damaged leaves
1/2 cup diced onion, 1/4” dice
1 Tbsp. olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 cup diced fresh tomato, 1/4” dice
2 Tbsp. minced fresh mint or basil
4 eggs

Blanch greens in boiling salted water for 30-45 seconds. Drain, rinse with cold water, and squeeze out as much water as you can from greens (do this in batches using your hands or all at once using a clean dish towel). Roughly chop the blanched greens.

Sauté onion, lightly seasoned with salt and freshly ground black pepper, in olive oil. When onions begin to turn golden, add chopped greens and tomato. Mix well. When greens are hot, taste and add salt or freshly ground black pepper as needed. Stir in mint or basil.

Spread greens evenly over bottom of the pan and make an indentation for each egg in greens. Break one egg into each hole, lightly season with salt, turn heat down to low, and cover pan. Cook until egg whites just solidify and yolks are still liquid. Serve immediately.

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Fresh International Gardens sells produce every Wednesday at the Northway Mall Farmers’ Market and alternating Saturdays at the University Center Farmers’ Market and the Spenard Farmers’ Market. Volunteers are needed to help with the Refugee Farmers’ Market Program; for more information about volunteer opportunities, contact Kelly Ingram at 786-6331.
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This post is included in Weekend Herb Blogging compiled by Susan at The Well-Seasoned Cook.

Recipes for Swiss Chard Braised with Olives and Feta (Σέσκουλο με Ελιές και Φέτα) & Pancakes with Leftover Greens, Olives and Feta

Greens season is here. Gardens and farmers’ markets in Anchorage are filled with every type of cool weather green. Swiss chard, spinach, and kale are in their prime.


It’s also the season during which many Alaskans are doing hard duty out on the salmon grounds, making sure freezers are filled with fish for the upcoming winter.


The best reason to eat greens and salmon is they just plain taste good. Luckily, both are good for your health: greens because they’re high in vitamins, minerals, and fiber and salmon because it’s loaded with omega-3 fatty acids


Freshly caught salmon has so much flavor it doesn’t need anything more than salt, pepper, and a little time on the grill or cast-iron pan.  Swiss Chard Braised with Olives and Feta is a good accompaniment. The greens’ earthiness, when paired with salty olives and feta, balances fresh salmon’s richness.

Swiss Chard Braised with Olives and Feta (Σέσκουλο με Ελιές και Φέτα)
Serves 4
Any greens, wild or domesticated or, better yet, a mixture of greens, can be substituted for Swiss chard.  This is delicious made with plain Kalamata olives, but I prefer using Roasted Kalamata Olives. Dry-cured or salt-cured olives (such as those from Thassos) may be substituted, but be sure to taste them and use less than 1/2 cup if they’re strong flavored. Most Greeks squeeze a lemon wedge over braised greens; I like them better plain. Serve lemon wedges on the side so each eater can choose their own amount of lemon. Swiss Chard Braised with Olives and Feta goes well with grilled or pan-fried salmon and other simply cooked seafood.


2 large or 3 medium bunches Swiss chard (about 10-12 cups cleaned, chopped leaves)

2 Tbsp. olive oil

2 Tbsp. minced garlic

1/2 cup pitted Kalamata olives, roughly chopped

Freshly ground black pepper

Salt

1/2 cup feta cheese, crumbled

Lemon wedges


Strip Swiss chard leaves from stems; reserve stems for another use.  Wash and roughly chop the leaves (don’t dry leaves; the clinging water helps cook them).

In a Dutch oven or deep sauté pan, sauté garlic in olive oil over medium heat for 30 seconds, being very careful not to burn the garlic. Stir in Swiss chard, olives, a liberal seasoning of black pepper, and a light seasoning of salt (olives and feta also add salt). Cover, turn heat down to low, and cook until chard is tender, but not falling apart. (The dish may be made ahead to this point and reheated just before serving.)

Remove chard and olives from pan with slotted spoon. Put in serving bowl along with the feta. Toss well.  Serve with lemon wedges on the side.

Bonus Recipe

Pancakes with Leftover Greens, Olives and Feta
Makes 4-6 pancakes
Too lazy to make crepes, I mixed leftover Swiss Chard Braised with Olives and Feta into a simple batter and cooked it into pancakes. These cakes contain the same flavors as crepes, but can be mixed and cooked in less than 1/2 hour with a lot less hassle.  I served the savory pancakes with soft goat cheese, basil shreds, and thinly sliced prosciutto; they made a lovely lunch.


3/4 - 1 cup leftover greens, olives, and feta

3/4 – 1 cup milk

3/4 cup flour

1 egg

Salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Oil for griddle


Put leftover greens in a strainer set over a bowl, press down to squeeze out as much liquid as possible. Measure the liquid and add enough milk to make one cup.  Whisk egg and half the milk mixture into flour. Whisk in remaining milk mixture. Whisk in greens and season with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Heat small amount of oil in a griddle or cast iron frying pan over medium heat.  When pan is hot, ladle in 1/2 cup batter, spreading it out to form a 7” circle. Cook it on one side until it’s dry around the edges and the underside is nicely browned when lifted. Flip and cook on the second side.  Repeat until all the batter is used.

Serve plain, with cheese, or with thinly sliced prosciutto or salami.

A 2 Part Tale of 2 Plants in 2 Countries with 2 Recipes: Purslane-Tomato Salad (Ντομάτα Σαλάτα με Γλιστρίδα) and Beach Lovage-Tomato Salad/Salsa (Ντομάτα Σαλάτα με «Άγριο Σέλινο»)

Introduction

In Greece, friends and relatives are endlessly curious about Alaska. We’re quizzed about daylight, animal life, cost of living, how many thousand miles we live from family. Every exotic Alaskan detail is examined and catalogued.

Back in Alaska, a vast land peopled largely by recent transplants, we describe life on a Greek island in a small village filled with relatives (family roots on the island go beyond reach of transmitted memory). We divert Alaskans with stories of family intrigues, open-handed generosity, and island bureaucratic snafus.

Greece and Alaska could not be more different. Yet, in both places, I shop for groceries, forage for wild edibles, and cook with abandon.

A friend of mine recently asked whether a dish cooked in a Greek kitchen tastes the same when made in Alaska. The simple answer: no.  The same recipe tastes different in Greece and Alaska because the ingredients aren’t the same in the two places.

For example: Greek tomatoes have more flavor, as do Alaska spinach and lettuce. Wild greens available in Greece don’t grow in Alaska and vice versa. American and Greek flour, butter, and eggs all bake up differently. Similar differences are found with virtually every ingredient. In both countries, I use the same basic recipes, but the results always vary, sometimes slightly, sometimes significantly.

No matter where one cooks, the key to a good result is tasting what you are making as you are make it. No one should ever blindly follow a recipe (even mine), no matter how trusted the source. The flavors of vegetables, herbs, spices, meats, cheese, fruits, you name it, all change subtly from purchase to purchase and day to day. The only way to compensate for these changes, and to generally adjust a recipe to please your palate, is to taste.

Two articles with recipes follow that illustrate this point. Part One was written in Greece last summer. It’s about purslane, Portulaca oleracea, a weed growing rampant in much of the world (including North America, but not Alaska). I combined the purslane with tomato to make a cooling salad.

Part Two is about a recent gathering expedition for beach lovage, Ligusticum scoticum, in Alaska. Using the Greek Purslane-Tomato Salad as the starting point, I tweaked the flavors to accommodate my Alaskan ingredients.  I served Beach Lovage-Tomato Salad with grilled king salmon; loaves’ herby freshness and the salad’s tart dressing nicely complimented king salmon’s richness.

Part One: Purslane-Tomato Salad in Greece

For years, our yard in Greece was a wasteland of weeds.  Every year on arrival we whacked down the tangle and borrowed a truck to haul away several loads of debris.

Our messy yard contrasted sharply with the carefully tended gardens of family, friends, and neighbors. Cousin Effie has an especially green thumb.  Most of her yard is paved over, but her narrow strip garden holds an impressive collection of flowering plants.

A couple years ago, Effie was sighing over her lack of a vegetable garden.  Since she lives only a few blocks away, and we are in Alaska for most of the year, we suggested she use our yard.

Now, when we arrive in Greece, we open the gate to a healthy, green garden, both decorative and edible, instead of a jungle. We planted roses and a bottle brush tree.  Effie and cousin Tzani have surrounded them with smaller, flowering plants. Blue jasmine from Tzani and a sweet-smelling white-flowered vine climbs the neighbor’s wall. What were tiny rosemary starts are now bushes.

This year the vegetable garden includes eggplant, okra, green beans, summer squash, tomatoes, mint, and celery.  The eggplants are heavily laden with fruit.  We pick them only when it’s time to cook (or gift eggplants); their texture and flavor are dramatically better than any supermarket eggplant available in Alaska.

While in the village, we take over weeding and watering the garden.  This year, purslane and crab grass were the most dominant weeds. While crab grass is purely an annoyance, purslane makes a tasty edible green.

Purslane has been used in Greece throughout recorded history.  Hippocrates, Galenus, and Dioscurides documented its many medicinal uses.  In the kitchen, it’s used raw in salads, mixed with yogurt, added to soups, served with meat or fish, and pickled for winter salad.

In Greece, purslane is best harvested by June or July, at which time both stem and leaves can be used. In September, stems are too tough to eat, but leaves still taste great.

This year, our first day back on the island, we drove to the main town to shop for basics. The day was a scorcher; we returned home hot and tired.  I wasn’t in the mood to cook and, after a day spent under the relentless Greek sun (at least to an Alaskan), didn’t want to eat more than a salad.

While I cut vegetables, Steve collected a colander full of purslane from the garden. Its succulent, slightly sour leaves, combined with sweet tomatoes and tart lemon juice, made a refreshing salad, perfect for a hot day.

Purslane-Tomato Salad (Ντομάτα Σαλάτα με Γλιστρίδα)

Serves 2 – 4

If you don’t have fresh purslane, see the recipe below for Beach Lovage Salad and follow the recommended substitutions there for a fresh, cooling summer salad.

Dressing:

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice

Salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Salad:

1 1/2 cups diced tomatoes, 1/2” dice

1 1/2 cups cleaned purslane leaves

3/4 cup diced cucumbers, 1/2” dice

3/4 cup diced red onions, 1/2” dice

1/4 cup minced fresh parsley

1 Tbsp. minced fresh mint

Make the dressing: Whisk the olive oil into the lemon juice. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste.

Make the salad: Toss all the ingredients together. Drizzle with the dressing and toss again. (You may not need all the dressing.) Taste and add salt or freshly ground black pepper, as needed.

Beach Lovage and Chocolate Lilies

Part Two: Beach Lovage-Tomato Salad in Alaska

Nearing the spring equinox, by June’s second week Anchorage was enjoying almost 20 hours of daylight. Winter doldrums were a distant memory; the whole town was in a good mood.

Sunday we woke early. Sun streamed in the window, warming our faces. The sky was clear bright blue. Staying in bed wasn’t possible. We headed out to find a beach where we could harvest wild plants.

After making the circuit of possible foraging sites, we finally came across a field of beach lovage (Ligusticum scoticum).  Also known as Scotch lovage, sea lovage, wild celery, and petrushki, beach lovage grows on sandy beaches along the coasts of Alaska, Canada, and the Northeastern United States.

Beach lovage is easy to identify with its three-lobed leaflets and smooth, reddish-purple stem.  It’s best harvested before flowering.

One caution: Beach lovage is in the Umbelliferae family and its flowers are similar to those of relatives like carrots, parsley, and dill. However, water hemlock, a poisonous plant is also in the Umbelliferae family, and has similar flowers but very different leaves. As with all wild foraging, be certain you know what you’re gathering and be sure to follow the forager’s primary rule: “when in doubt, throw it out.”

The flavor of fresh beach lovage is unique and wonderful. The closest approximation would be to mix celery, parsley, and a little lemon zest, but there is still a missing flavor, the hint of wild bitterness that makes beach lovage special.

Although the flavors of purslane and beach lovage are not at all the same, both have a tart freshness that can't be purchased in a supermarket. As I tossed about ideas for using the beach lovage, I kept thinking about the Purslane-Tomato Salad we'd had last summer. With that in mind, I started mixing and tasting, adding cucumbers, then more mint, then more lemon juice, a little of each at a time, until the balance of flavors was correct for beach lovage - and for our palates.

In the last two weeks, I’ve used beach lovage in a risotto that was devoured by guests, a lovely topping for pan-fried halibut, and delicious halibut cakes.  The best way I served beach lovage was in the modified version of my Greek Purslane-Tomato Salad.

Beach Lovage-Tomato Salad/Salsa (Ντομάτα Σαλάτα με «Άγριο Σέλινο»)

Serves 4 as a salad, or 8 as salsa for serving with fish

If you don’t have beach lovage, substitute 1/4 cup minced parsley, 1/4 cup minced celery leaves, and 1/2 tsp. finely grated lemon zest (or 3 Tbsp. minced parsley, 1 Tbsp. minced lovage, and 1/2 tsp. finely grated lemon zest).

Dressing:

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

3 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice

Salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Salad:

1 1/2 cups diced tomatoes, 1/2” dice

1 1/2 cups diced cucumbers, 1/2” dice

3/4 cup diced red onions, 1/2” dice

1/2 cup minced fresh beach lovage leaves

3 Tbsp. minced fresh mint

Make the dressing: Whisk the olive oil into the lemon juice. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste.

Make the salad: Toss all the ingredients together. Drizzle with the dressing and toss again. (You may not need all the dressing.) Taste and add salt or freshly ground black pepper, as needed. 

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This post is included in Weekend Herb Blogging compiled by Chris from Mele Cotte.

Recipe: Spinach Saganaki (Σπανάκι Σαγανάκι)

Fresh garden greens started trickling into Anchorage farmers’ markets this morning. In two weeks, the trickle will turn into a flood. Greens of all kinds thrive in our cool maritime climate.

Though cultivated greens are only now appearing, we’ve been eating wild greens for the past month. As soon as the snow melted, dandelion greens insistently pushed their way through the saturated earth and were ready to be harvested.  Fireweed shoots, devil’s club, and nettles; chickweed, dock, lamb’s quarters, and shepherd’s purse; all end up in the pot. (For tips on harvesting wild plants, go here.)

Until my husband and I first lived in Greece (1987), eating wild plants never once crossed my mind. I grew up in a family where picky eating was an art form. My father didn’t eat cheese, yogurt, or sour cream. My mother didn’t eat lamb, broccoli, cauliflower, cucumbers, squash, green pepper, and so many other foods I could never keep track.  If my parents didn’t eat it, neither did we.  Plus I had my own food quirks; raw tomatoes didn’t pass my lips until I was 24.

So wild greens? Not likely. It wasn’t just my family; the concept of eating wild greens didn’t remotely exist in the small Pacific Northwest town in which we were raised.  In our world, food came from the grocery store. Food could also come from the garden, but only from seeds that were planted and carefully tended. For wild food, we only knew berries, seafood, and dead animals. 

When  the first rains came the autumn of our arrival in Greece, there was a palpable sense of excitement in the village.  Once the rain stopped, half the village took to the fields, quickly gathering the emerging flush of snails. Over the next week, the dirt roads surrounding the village became peppered with the bent-over backsides of black-clad women, systematically working their way through the fields, gathering an abundance of fresh wild greens.

Though my Greek was limited in those days, I learned by example which greens were tastiest, how to harvest them, and how to clean them. I learned a mixture of different greens cooked together tastes better than a single variety cooked on its own.  I learned to love and crave greens of all kinds, wild and domesticated.  Most importantly, foraging became a permanent, enriching part of our lives.

These days, we eat greens several times a week, and I regularly post recipes using them.

For the past year, my favorite greens recipe has been Spinach Saganaki, based on a dish we had at Tzitzikas and Mermigas (Τζίτζικας και Μέρμηγκας), a restaurant on Mitropoleos Street, just off Syntagma Square, in downtown Athens. (A tasty place to eat on a shady street, particularly if you’re carrying a heavy load of way too many cookbooks; but that’s another story.) I’ve made the dish with a wide range of different greens, alone and combined, including spinach, Swiss chard, kale, amaranth, nettles, and dandelions; every version has been a success.

Two notes about the name:

1) I like calling it Spinach Saganaki only because it translates in Greek to the perfectly alliterative “Spanaki Saganaki.” Ignore the name and don’t limit yourself to making it with spinach; the dish is delicious with all kinds of greens. 

2) I recently described this dish to someone who asked why it had “saganaki” in the name since it didn’t include flaming cheese.  In Greek, “saganaki” is a small two-handled frying-pan, and gives its name to a range of dishes that are traditionally served in the pan, including shrimp saganaki, mussels saganaki, and cheese saganaki. As for setting cheese saganaki on fire, I’ve seen it done in Greece rarely, though it’s common in the US. I can’t explain the difference.

Spinach Saganaki (Σπανάκι Σαγανάκι)

Serves 4 as vegetable or 8 as part of appetizer spread (mezedes/μεζέδες)

Inspired by Βλητοκορφές Σαγανάκι at Tzitzikas and Mermigas/Τζίτζικας και Μέρμηγκας in Athens, Greece

Any wild or domesticated greens, alone or in combination, may be used for Saganaki. Because they cook fastest, it's easiest with greens like spinach, Swiss chard, domesticated dandelions, nettles, vlita (amaranth greens), or poppies. The recipe may be assembled hours in advance and refrigerated; bring to room temperature before baking.)

1/4 cup chopped fresh dill

1/4 cup chopped Italian parsley

3/4 cup chopped green onions, both white and green parts

3/4 cup diced fresh tomatoes, 3/4” dice

1/2 - 3/4 cup roughly crumbled feta cheese

3 -4 Tbsp. olive oil

Salt

Freshly ground black pepper

1/2 pound spinach, or any roughly chopped, cleaned greens (6 packed cups raw, 1 1/2 cups cooked)

Preheat the oven to 400°F.

Mix together all the ingredients except the spinach.

Bring a large pot of salted water to the boil. Add the spinach and cook just until it wilts (NOTE: The length of cooking time depends on the greens used. Spinach is done after 10 seconds; tougher greens will take longer.) Drain the spinach, quickly squeeze out any excess liquid, and mix it with the other ingredients. (The recipe may be made ahead to this point.)

Put the greens mixture in a 9” glass pie pan or other shallow baking dish.  Bake for 10 minutes.  Serve immediately with crusty bread and olives.

Variation: Substitute Peppadew peppers, or roasted red peppers, for the tomatoes. I’ve done this when I’ve been out of tomatoes and it changes the dish entirely, but in a very delicious way.  With tomatoes, the flavor of the dish is lighter and fresher; with peppers the flavor is deeper and heartier.

Variation: Substitute wild sea lovage or purslane for the parsley. (I’ll write about wild sea lovage and purslane tomorrow or the next day.)

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This post is included in Weekend Herb Blogging hosted by Rachel from The Crispy Cook.

Salty Cake (Easy Cheese Bread) (Kέικ Αλμυρό)

Greeks are famously hospitable.  Visitors to Greek homes are warmly welcomed and showered with treats of all kinds.  Coffee with sweet pastries, ouzo with savory delicacies, water with preserved fruits; no matter your beverage, a Greek hostess quickly puts together a tasty accompaniment.

For some of us, enjoying Greek hospitality comes with a cost: overeating.  Before I spoke Greek, this was more of a problem. Because we couldn’t converse, people communicated love and affection by giving me double portions. Since everything was delicious, and I didn’t know how to decline, I ate it all.  Unfortunately, I was gaining 5-10 pounds for every month we spent in Greece, and dieting for 2 months afterwards so my clothes would fit again.

I finally learned how to say no. This is more difficult than it sounds.  It’s nearly impossible for a Greek hostess to accept “no” for an answer. The more you decline, the more you’re offered.  It’s also slightly rude on my part; if I were a more polite guest, I’d graciously accept some of the tasty tidbits.

After ten years of declining all snacks (and apologizing for being such a difficult guest), our friends and family have grudgingly accepted this peculiarity of mine – at least when it comes to sweets. Diabetes is rampant in the village and, in the last few years, turning down sweets has become a medical necessity for many.  Since so many can’t eat sweets, village hostesses now keep a supply of “salty” (almyro-αλμυρό) snacks on hand.

In the village, salty snacks aren’t things like potato chips, pretzels, and peanuts. Salty, in this context, just means not sweet.  Salty cookies (koulourakia) look identical to sweet cookies but, without the sugar, taste like thick crackers. Salty cakes include ingredients like cheese, olives, or ham; in the US, they’re called quick breads.

Lately, when I decline something sweet, a hostess may triumphantly declare that she has something salty instead.  Surely, I can try a few bites of a salty treat, something with absolutely no sugar? No, I sadly say, I can’t manage anything salty either, even though I’m sure it’s absolutely delicious.

Although I’m a difficult guest, I happily fulfill my duties as a hostess. In our village house, where visitors constantly stop by, the refrigerator is stocked with beverages, pastries are in the cupboard, and there’s even a salty little something for those who don’t eat sweets.

Treasured Recipes: A Collection of Personal Recipes from the Women Members of the Hellenic Athletic Club of Khartoum and Their Friends (Khartoum 1983), the Sudanese-Greek cookbook I recently wrote about, has an interesting recipe for Salty Cake.  This recipe is quite simple, but produces a rich, cheesy quick bread with wonderful flavor and a hint of mint. It’s tasty served to visitors as a snack or for brunch, but it also makes a nice accompaniment to soup or chili.

Salty Cake (Easy Cheese Bread) (Kέικ Αλμυρό)
Makes 1 9”x9” square bread or 1 9”x5” loaf
Adapted from Lefko Tsanakas and Lucy Vassiliou’s recipe for “Cake Almiro” in Treasured Recipes: A Collection of Personal Recipes from the Women Members of the Hellenic Athletic Club of Khartoum and Their Friends (Khartoum 1983)

Lefko and Lucy call for either feta or a combination of various cheeses, but emphasize using some “feta cheese is essential.” The recipe may be doubled and baked in a Bundt pan for an attractive brunch offering (when doubling the recipe, use 7 whole eggs and no egg yolks). This bread is best served warm. If you bake it ahead, wrap it in foil and refrigerate; to serve, warm in a 350°F oven for 20 minutes.

3/4 cup softened butter
3 large eggs
1 egg yolk
2 cups crumbled feta or 1 cup crumbled feta and 1 cup grated graviera, asiago, or other cheese
2 Tbsp. dried mint, crushed
1 3/4 cup flour
1 1/2 Tbsp. baking powder
3/4 cup milk

Preheat the oven to 350°F.

Butter a 9” square pan or 9”x5” loaf pan, dust bottom and sides with flour, tap out and discard any excess flour.

Beat the butter until creamy. Beat in the eggs and yolk, one at a time.  Add the cheese and mint and mix to combine.  Stir together the flour and baking powder.  Add flour to the cheese mixture one third at a time, alternating with additions of milk (one third at a time), until all is combined. Pour batter into the prepared pan. Smooth out the top to evenly distribute the batter.

Bake for 45-60 minutes, or until the bread has a nice brown crust on top.  Let cool for 30 minutes and remove from pan. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Greek Cookbooks: Hellenic Athletic Club of Khartoum with Recipe for Spiced Gazelle Pilaf (Πικάντικο Πιλάφι με Κρέας)

Modern Greeks have been in Sudan since the early 20^th century.  In 1910, a Greek Orthodox church opened in Khartoum.  By 1956, there were 6000 Greeks and 1000 Cypriots in the country.  “The Greek presence was particularly strong in the capital, Khartoum, where all the restaurants, cafes, hotels, cinemas, and most shops were Greek-owned.” 

In 1983, the Sudanese president imposed Islamic Sharia law, which fanned the flames of civil war between the Muslim north and Christian-Animist south.  From then to now, civil war and famine have killed millions of Sudanese. Many Europeans fled to their homelands. By 1992, only 500 Greeks remained in Sudan.  Today, there are only about 300.

Dancers at the Greek School in Khartoum, Sudan

Photograph courtesy of Apouro

Although the way of life for Sudanese Greeks has changed since 1983, there is still a Greek Orthodox church and Greek school in Khartoum.  The Hellenic Athletic Club is a hangout for Khartoum expats.  The Greek school’s students celebrate Greek Independence Day, Greek Easter, Oxi Day (when Greece stood up to Mussolini), and the 1973 Athens Polytechnic Uprising against the then-ruling Fascist junta.

Greek readers should check out this compelling description of a scalding hot Greek Easter in Khartoum, written by the Greek Ambassador to Sudan. For English speakers, the poetry of the original Greek is so powerful, it seeps through the vagaries of Google translator. Anyone interested in more about Khartoum can read this fascinating blog written by a Greek teacher who lives there (in Greek, but with fun pictures).

In 1983, the year the Sudanese civil war reignited, Greeks in Khartoum published a cookbook: Treasured Recipes: A Collection of Personal Recipes from the Women Members of the Hellenic Athletic Club of Khartoum and Their Friends (148 pages, 191 recipes, 6.5” x 9”). The editors explain the recipes “reflect the nature of our community here in the Sudan, and the influences upon our cooking, resulting from our way of life, from travel, and through marriage to other nationalities.”

Just as I’ve learned to cook Mediterranean food in Alaska, Greeks in Sudan adapted traditional recipes to their new country.  Fish recipes call for Nile perch, a giant freshwater fish that grows over 6 feet long and over 500 pounds.  Sudanese limes are recommended in lieu of lemons. Egyptian Roumi (Romy) cheese stands in for traditional Greek varieties. Spicy shatta is used for seasoning.

The recipe for Stifado (Greek stew) calls for gazelle meat. Its creator says when the stew is done, “The only thing left is to sit before the camp fire with some friends and polish the whole thing off!”  Gazelle also makes an appearance in George Limnios’ recipe for “Rice and Gazelle Pilaf.”  (An internet site counsels Khartoum visitors who “fancy” a camping safari to call “Greek guide George Limnios [who] happily provides safari advice and organizes trips.”)

Other interesting recipes in Treasured Recipes include: Tomato-Bacon Soup, Eggplants with Eggs, Spaghetti with Bacon-Olive Sauce, Sheftalia, Purslane Stew, Stuffed Mortadella Rolls, Baked Eggplant Packets, Grape Leaves with Onion, Zucchini, and Carrot Stuffing, Salty Cake, and four different recipes for Olive Bread (no explanation for the abundance of Olive Bread recipes).

The idea of “gazelle pilaf” stuck in my mind; I had to make it. (I also had to buy my home when I saw it had a gazebo and have a strong attraction to gazetteers.)  Luckily, there were moose steaks in the freezer to stand in for gazelle, though deer, lamb, or beef would also work. 

The tantalizing, cinnamon aroma of tomato-meat sauce soon filled the house.  Even before adding rice, the rich and spicy sauce was amazing on its own; neither of us could keep our tasting spoons away from its deliciousness. (The sauce, thinned with a little stock, would make terrific soup.)  The tastes of the individual spices had blended into an entirely new and wonderful flavor; no single spice dominated.  The rice soaked up the sauce, ensuring we enjoyed every last bite of the pilaf.

Spiced Gazelle Pilaf (Πικάντικο Πιλάφι με Κρέας)

Serves 4-6

Adapted from George Limnios’ recipe for “Rice and Gazelle Pilaf” in Treasured Recipes: A Collection of Personal Recipes from the Women Members of the Hellenic Athletic Club of Khartoum and Their Friends (Khartoum 1983)
The cinnamon sticks and whole cloves must be removed before serving. To make this easier, wrap the spices with cheesecloth or muslin and tie the packet up with string, instead of cooking them loose in the liquid.

1 lb. boned and trimmed gazelle (or moose, deer, lamb, or beef) meat

Salt

Freshly ground black pepper

1/4 cup olive oil

3 cups diced yellow onion, 1/4” dice

2 Tbsp. minced garlic

1 tsp. coriander seed, ground

1 tsp. cumin seed, ground

1 tsp. Aleppo pepper or 1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes (optional)

1 cup red wine

1/4 cup tomato paste

4 cups water

3 cinnamon sticks

8 whole cloves

1 cup long-grain rice

Wash the meat, dry it well, and cut it into 1” cubes. Season the cubes on all sides with salt and freshly ground black pepper.  Heat the olive oil in a large pot (that has a lid) and thoroughly brown the meat.  Stir in the onions, lightly seasoned with salt and freshly ground black pepper, and sauté until they soften and begin to turn golden. Mix in the garlic, coriander, cumin, and Aleppo pepper and cook for 1 minute.  Stir in the wine, bring to a boil, and cook until it reduces by half. Stir in the tomato paste until it’s evenly distributed.

Stir in the water and packet of cinnamon sticks and cloves.  Bring to a boil, turn down the heat, and simmer for 75-90 minutes or until the meat is tender and the liquid reduced to about 2 1/2 cups.  Remove and discard the cinnamon sticks and cloves.  Stir in the rice, cover the pot, turn down the heat as low as possible, and cook for 20 minutes or until the rice is cooked and the liquid absorbed.  Serve immediately.