Triqui Family Makes Life in Alaska,Violence Grips Triqui Region in Oaxaca (with recipe for Reyna's Oaxacan Chicken Mole)

Reyna Martinez DeJesus stood before a line of smoking grills at the back of “Ricos Tostaditos,” a Mexican food stand at the Northway Mall Farmers’ Market. Tall pots, tightly covered and steaming, crowded two of the grills. On another, flank steaks cooked over flame, sending their tantalizing aromas out into the market.

The irresistible smell of grilled meat drew me over. I ate some in a tostada, dressed with fresh homemade salsa and hot sauce. I wanted more of Reyna’s food. I ordered pozole, traditional Mexican soup made with hominy corn and finished with red chile sauce, intending to take it home for lunch. I tried taking just one bite, to see how the chile sauce tasted. It was amazingly good. Before I knew it, I’d powered down every bit of the pozole.

During repeat visits to Ricos Tostaditos, I learned Reyna, 35, her husband Lorenzo DeJesus Flore, 40, and their six children are Triqui, an indigenous people from the mountains of Oaxaca, a southern Mexican state. Triqui, not Spanish, is their primary language.

So how did a family of Triqui end up in Anchorage, Alaska? It started with Lorenzo’s decision to leave his violent region for the United States.

Lorenzo and Reyna told me their story when I was at their house learning how to make Reyna’s Chicken Mole. I wanted a cooking lesson. Lorenzo wanted somebody, anybody, to know what is happening to his friends and family in San Juan Copala.

As for Reyna’s Chicken Mole, like every bite of food that Reyna makes, it’s delicious.

Mediterranean Cooking in Alaska has moved as of March 2011. To read this post please go to

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Tomato Tart (Τάρτα ντομάτας)

Tomato Tart captures the essence of vine-ripened tomatoes and is a lovely way to highlight their tangy sweet flavor. Mustard goes surprisingly well with garden tomatoes and fresh herbs, and a buttery crisp crust is the perfect platform to show them off. Everyone in the family agrees on these points.

There is vigorous debate, however, on how long to cook the tomatoes for the ideal tart. I like them best when they’re just warmed through, leaving the tomatoes hot, juicy, and full of fresh tomato flavor. My husband prefers them oven-roasted to concentrate their glorious summer sweetness.

Since we both like both versions, I usually make whatever I have time for. With lots of time, I make the oven-roasted tomato version; with less time, the slice and bake version. No matter the version, since tomatoes are front and center, use the best quality tomatoes you can find. During the summer tomato harvest, when juicy red tomatoes are easy to find, my thoughts always turn to Tomato Tart.

Flavor-rich Greek tomatoes inspired Tomato Tart. I first started making it in 1987 when we lived in Greece and were blessed with a garden glut of the best tomatoes I'd ever tasted. When we returned to Alaska, and were stuck with insipid supermarket tomatoes, this dish was out of reach. In recent years, however, tomatoes bursting with summer flavor have been showing up at Alaska farmers' markets. When they're available, Tomato Tart is on the menu.

In addition to the fresh/oven-roasted tomato variations, I’ve made Tomato Tart with regular Dijon mustard and whole-grain Dijon mustard. I’ve made it with the herbs called for in this recipe, as well as with fresh sage, fresh thyme, dried thyme, and various combinations of all or some of the herbs. I’ve made it with every kind of cheese imaginable. The constants are tomatoes, mustard, cheese, and herbs; the specifics depend solely on what’s in the refrigerator.

There’s a reason I’ve been making Tomato Tart for over 20 years. It’s delicious.

Tomato Tart with Buttery Crisp Crust (Fresh Tomato Version)
Serves 4 – 6 (One 10” tart)
Like pizza, Tomato Tart is delicious served cold. Mix the dough for the crust first; while it’s resting in the refrigerator, prepare remaining ingredients. Although it isn’t absolutely necessary to peel the tomatoes, for the fresh tomato version the finished dish has better texture if peeled tomatoes are used. To peel them, cut a shallow “X” on the bottom of the tomato. Drop the tomatoes in boiling water for 20 seconds. Remove the tomatoes and drop them in cold water. Drain and slip off the peels.

Crust:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp. salt
9 Tbsp. butter
1 egg yolk
2 - 3 Tbsp. ice water

Herb-Mustard Paste:
2 tsp. minced fresh rosemary
1 Tbsp. minced fresh basil
1 tsp. crushed dried oregano
2 cloves chopped fresh garlic
1-2 Tbsp. olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbsp. Dijon mustard

Filling:
Herb-Mustard Paste
1 1/2 cups coarsely grated graviera, asiago, Edam, or another good melting cheese
6-8 medium fresh ripe tomatoes (or 3 large), sliced 3/4” thick
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1/4 tsp. crushed dried oregano
Drizzle olive oil

Preheat oven to 425°F.

Make Crust: Whir flour and salt together in food processor. Cut butter into chunks, add to food processor, and pulse until butter is mostly combined with flour, but a few pea-sized pieces remain. (You can also cut butter into flour with two knives or a pastry blender.) Add egg yolk and 2 Tbsp. ice water and pulse to combine. If dough is too dry to hold together when pinched, add remaining 1 Tbsp. ice water and pulse. Dump dough out onto a piece of wax paper or plastic wrap and form into a solid disk. Wrap and refrigerate for 30-60 minutes.

Make Herb-Mustard Paste: Pound all ingredients for Paste together in mortar and pestle or combine well in a blender. (Start with 1 Tbsp. olive oil; add more as needed for smooth paste.)

Bake Crust: Roll out dough into 13 - 14” diameter circle. Center in 10” tart pan, pressing dough towards center and into edges. Trim overhanging dough so that it is size of the tart pan’s sides; fold over the overhanging dough to form a double-thickness side crust. Prick bottom of dough all over with a fork. Cut a piece of aluminum foil double the size of the tart pan, fold foil in half, and press it firmly into the dough (the foil prevents the dough from bubbling up while baking). Bake in preheated oven for 20 minutes. Remove foil and bake for 5 more minutes. Remove from oven.

Assemble Tart: Turn oven down to 400°F. Spread Herb-Mustard Paste over hot, prebaked crust. Evenly distribute grated cheese over mustard paste and top with sliced fresh tomatoes. Where necessary, cut tomato slices into pieces to fill in any gaps in tomato coverage. Lightly drizzle with olive oil, and sprinkle with salt, freshly ground black pepper, and crushed dried oregano. Bake for 20 minutes, until cheese is melted and tomatoes are just warmed through. Serve immediately.

Oven-Roasted Tomato Variation: Preheat oven to 400°F. Increase quantity of tomatoes by 4 medium or 2 large. Don’t peel tomatoes. Line 2 rimmed baking sheets with foil. Put tomato slices on baking sheets in single layer. Drizzle with olive oil and season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Bake until tomatoes have dried slightly and the oil is browning on the foil around the tomatoes, but are still soft in the middle, about 45-60 minutes, depending on the tomatoes’ size. Remove from oven and cool on racks. Continue with recipe, as above.

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.

Eggplant Recipes: Melitzanosalata & Hünkar Beğendi with Tomato-Lamb Stew (Μελιτζανοσαλάτα με Πιπεριές & Χιουνκιάρ Μπεγiεντί με Αρνί Κατσαρόλας)

Two simple and delicious ways to use eggplant are Eggplant-Red Pepper Dip (Melitzanosalata) and Hünkar Beğendi, a smoky eggplant purée that pairs perfectly with Tomato-Lamb Stew.

Even though we recently returned from Greece, I’m still craving Greek food. Luckily, when I went to Costco to restock our supplies, they had fresh eggplant and figs. Combined with the lamb, crusty bread, and cheese Costco always has on hand (and a quick trip to the farmers’ market for a pile of vegetables), we had everything necessary for a Greek feast. Or two. Or ten.

I was particularly happy about the eggplant. They were in perfect condition: firm flesh and shiny, unmarred skin. Unlike many eggplant sold in Anchorage, these were picked small, and hadn’t developed a large mass of seeds inside.

The Costco eggplant came 4 to the 1.75-pound bag. To be efficient and save energy, I oven-roasted them all at one time. (If you want to store eggplant raw, here’s how.) Half the roasted eggplant went immediately into Melitzanosalata; the other two I refrigerated to save for Hünkar Beğendi.

Fire-grilled eggplant tastes better in recipes than oven-roasted but, the day I cooked eggplant, we were too damn tired from the trip home to start a fire. To add smokiness to my Melitzanosalata, I added a grilled-over-a-gas-burner red pepper. It’s lucky there were only two of us; the pepper-laden Melitzanosalata disappeared quickly.

I used a different technique to add smokiness to Hünkar Beğendi. I had roasted 2 eggplants whole, and stored them without breaking the skins (if you break the skins, the eggplant juices leak out). I took the eggplant directly out of the refrigerator and charred their skins over a gas burner. Because the eggplants were cold when I started charring them, they didn’t leak juices over the stove, as I 'd feared they might. This “smoking” technique was quick, easy, worked well, and added lots of flavor. I’ll do it again.

Hünkar Beğendi is a famous Turkish eggplant dish that’s also made in Greece, particularly in areas where many people have roots in Constantinople (Istanbul), Smyrna (Izmir), or other parts of Anatolia (Asia Minor). Translations for “Hünkar Beğendi” abound: Sultan’s Delight, Sultan’s Pleasure, The Sultan Liked It, Her Majesty’s Delight, Her Majesty’s Favorite, and The Sultan Approved.

The origins of Hünkar Beğendi are murky. Some say the dish was created in the early-17th century for Sultan Murad IV (who was half-Greek). Others say it was created for a French empress in the late 19th century. My favorite version of this story is in The Art of Turkish Cooking by Neset Eren (New York 1969):

When the Empress Eugénie, the wife of Napoleon III, was in Istanbul as the guest of Sultan Abdulaziz, the Ottoman emperor, she fell in love with eggplant purée, at that time a specialty of the Topkapi Palace. She asked her host if he would allow his chef to teach her cook how to prepare it. The sultan obliged. The next day the French chef requested an audience with the empress and begged to be excused from this impossible task. “I took my book and my scales to the Turkish chef,” he said, “and he threw them out. ‘An imperial chef,’ he told me, ‘cooks with his feelings, his eyes, his nose.’” The empress returned to France without the recipe for her favorite dish.

In Lords of the Horizons: A History of the Ottoman Empire (London 1998), historian Jason Goodwin repeats the Empress Eugénie story. However, in Η Οθωμανική Μαγειρική: 99 Παλατιανές Συνταγές (Ottoman Cooking: 99 Recipes from the Palace) (Athens 2004), an extremely interesting and well-researched book, author Marianna Gerasimos says:

I searched hard to find how and when the famous eggplant puree, called Hünkar Beğendi, entered Ottoman cuisine. … There are many rumors and allegations about [it being made for Empress Eugénie] but, for now, there is no written historical evidence of this.

Although Empress Eugénie may not have feasted on Hünkar Beğendi, I certainly have. In the same way that mashed potatoes are exactly right with turkey and gravy, Hünkar Beğendi and Lamb Stew are wonderful together.

Eggplant-Red Pepper Dip (Melitzanosalata) (Μελιτζανοσαλάτα με Πιπεριές)
Makes 1 cup
The smoky flavor of eggplant grilled over an open fire makes the best Melitzanosalata, although it’s not absolutely necessary to success. When I don’t want to start a fire, I oven-roast the eggplant and add a grilled red pepper for smokiness. Although you can make Melitzanosalata in a food processor, I far prefer the more rustic texture that results from knife-chopping the eggplant. Serve with crusty bread and olives for a tasty appetizer, or as a flavorful accompaniment to grilled meat.

1 1-pound eggplant, or 2 1/2-pound eggplants
Olive oil
1 red bell pepper
2 cloves garlic
1/2 tsp. salt
Freshly ground black pepper
4-6 tsp. white wine vinegar
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil

Preheat the oven to 400°F.

Rub the whole, uncut eggplant with olive oil, and place on a rimmed baking sheet. Bake for 45 – 70 minutes, depending on the size of the eggplant, or until the eggplant collapses and is cooked all the way through. (Better yet, grill the eggplant over fire until it’s cooked through.) Peel the eggplant, cut it into large chunks, and place the chunks in a colander for 15 minutes to let some of the juices drain off. When the eggplant is cool enough to handle, use your hands to squeeze out as much liquid as you can.

Roast and clean the pepper (see Note below).

Place the eggplant flesh on a cutting board, finely chop, and put in a bowl. Finely chop the roasted red pepper and add to the bowl. Purée the garlic by mashing it into the salt, and add to the bowl. Add freshly ground black pepper, 4 tsp. vinegar, and extra virgin olive oil, and mix well. Taste and add vinegar or salt, as needed.

To serve, spread the Melitzanosalata evenly over a plate and drizzle with a small amount of extra virgin olive oil.

Note on Roasting and Cleaning Peppers: The traditional method of roasting peppers is over a hot wood fire, but you can also roast them on a gas grill, directly on a gas burner (without a pan), under the broiler, or by baking in a 450° oven for 30 minutes. Unless you are baking them in the oven, turn the peppers frequently as they roast to ensure the skins char evenly and the flesh doesn’t overcook. When the skin is completely blackened, place the peppers in a paper bag and close it up for 5 minutes. Hot pepper flesh releases steam in the closed bag, loosening the charred skin and making it easier to peel.

Once the peppers are cool enough to handle, remove the burned skin from the softened flesh with your fingers or a paper towel, gently scraping away any stuck bits with a knife. Resist the temptation to rinse the peppers in water, as doing so washes away too much flavor. If necessary, dip your fingers in a bowl of water to release clinging charred pepper skins. Remove the seeds and any white pulp from the inside of the pepper.

Smoky Eggplant Purée with Tomato-Lamb Stew (Hünkar Beğendi) (Χιουνκιάρ Μπεγiεντί με Αρνί Κατσαρόλας)
Serves 4
Beef can be substituted for lamb in the stew; meatballs and grilled meats also go well with Hünkar Beğendi. In Anchorage, the best price for lamb is often on boneless leg roasts at Costco. I cut out and grill a couple “steaks” from the center of the roast, and then make stew out of each end. If you use lamb with bones, cook them in the stew for extra flavor. Unlike Melitzanosalata, smokiness is an essential flavor in Hünkar Beğendi. If you don’t have access to a grill, oven-roast the eggplant as described in the Melitzanosalata recipe, refrigerate them without puncturing the skin, and thoroughly char the skins directly over a gas burner.

Tomato-Lamb Stew:
1 1/2 – 1 3/4 lb. boneless lamb, excess fat removed
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 cups diced yellow onion, 1/4” dice
1 Tbsp. minced garlic
1 tsp. Aleppo pepper or 1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
1 14.5 ounce can (or 2 cups fresh) diced tomatoes
1 Tbsp. dried oregano, crushed
2 Tbsp. tomato paste
2 cups water

Smoky Eggplant Purée:
1 1-pound eggplant, or 2 1/2-pound eggplants
2 Tbsp. lemon juice
1 cup whole milk
2 Tbsp. butter
3 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
1/2 cup grated kasseri or Romano cheese
Pinch of nutmeg

Make the Tomato-Lamb Stew: Wash and dry the meat, cut it into 1” cubes, and season on both sides with salt and freshly ground black pepper. In a large pot, cook the lamb in olive oil until it is browned all over. Stir in the onions, lightly season with salt and freshly ground black pepper, and sauté until the onions begin to turn golden. Stir in the garlic and Aleppo pepper and cook for 1 minute. Stir in the tomatoes, oregano, tomato paste, and water, bring to a boil, cover, turn down the heat as low as possible, and simmer for 1 hour. Remove the cover and simmer for 30-60 minutes, or until the lamb is very tender and the sauce the thickness you prefer. Stir the sauce from time to time and, if it starts sticking, add a little bit more water. Taste and add salt and freshly ground black pepper, as needed. (The stew can be made ahead, refrigerated, and reheated just before serving.)

Make the Smoky Eggplant Purée: Grill the eggplant whole until it softens, collapses, and is slightly charred on all sides (or oven-roast and char as described in note above). Peel the eggplant, cut it into large chunks, and place the chunks in a colander for 15 minutes to let some of the juices drain off. When the eggplant is cool enough to handle, use your hands to squeeze out as much liquid as you can. Place the eggplant flesh on a cutting board, finely chop, and sprinkle with the lemon juice.

Warm the milk over low heat or in the microwave. Melt the butter in a saucepan, mix in the flour and cook for two minutes, stirring constantly; be careful not to brown this mixture. Slowly stir in the warm milk and cook, stirring, until the sauce is thick and smooth. Add the eggplant, cheese, and nutmeg and cook, stirring constantly, until the ingredients are thoroughly combined. Taste and add salt, as needed.

To serve, spoon some Smoky Eggplant Purée onto a plate and top with the Tomato-Lamb Stew.
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This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, hosted this week by Cinzia from Cindystar.
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Bob, in a rabbit stupor

Ingredient: Tepary Beans with Recipe for Tepary Bean and Vegetable Stew

The snow in our front yard is nearly gone, the ice in the pond has melted, and spring is quickening. After our difficult winter, I’m looking forward to seasonal change even more eagerly than usual.

Speaking of winter, the overwhelming support from the blogging community during my father’s long illness and ultimate death was much appreciated. It’s not easy to lose a parent, but the kindness and concern shown by so many helped. Thank you all so much.

Because I spent so much of the winter in Washington near my parents, I was able to see my sister regularly, to my great joy. Though we’re two years apart and have the closeness that comes from childhood bedroom-sharing, as adults we’ve always lived far away from each other. It was indescribably soul-satisfying to have her (and her husband and dogs) be part of daily life the last few months.

Shopping for food and cooking dinner with my sister brought new life to what too often are routine activities. Despite our years apart, we’ve developed similar cooking styles and work together smoothly and easily in the kitchen.

One of the projects we undertook was finding and cooking tepary beans for My Legume Love Affair Ninth Helping. Despite searching in numerous Seattle area stores, we were unable to find tepary beans and resorted to ordering them online. When they arrived, we made Tepary Bean and Vegetable Stew and loved it. I’ll definitely be cooking with tepary beans again.

Tepary beans (Phaseolus acutifolius) are a bush bean originating in the desert areas of Mexico and the American Southwest. They grow best in extreme heat and under very dry conditions. Tepary beans’ taproot is twice as long as common beans’ (Phaseolus vulgaris), which allows teparies to efficiently take advantage of even small amounts of soil moisture.

Nutritionally, tiny tepary beans (1/4” long, the size of large lentils) are higher in protein, iron, calcium, and fiber than most beans. Their nutritional benefits, sweet, nutty flavor, and relatively quick cooking time make teparies well worth searching out.

Jay Bost, in the June 2006 Seeds of Change newsletter, wrote a fascinating article about tepary beans. His discussion of the growing conditions under which teparies thrive makes me interested in trying them in Greece, which has the necessary hot dry summers:

“Due to its native habitat in the Sonoran Desert, domesticated tepary beans … are considered by many to be the most drought-tolerant annual legume in the world. They are capable of producing a harvest of beans with a single rain in the harshest conditions; when irrigated, they produce higher yields only up to a certain point, after which excess moisture becomes a detriment and leads to overproduction of foliage and low bean production. In fact, it appears that moisture stress is necessary to trigger fruiting. Part of the tepary bean's secret to success in dry areas is to grow quickly when water is available. While pinto beans take 90 to 120 days to maturity, teparies take only 75 to 85. As water shortages become a reality in many parts of the U.S. and around the world, teparies will undoubtedly play an important role in dryland agriculture. In fact, tepary cultivation is now taking place in dry areas of Africa and is being revived in southern Arizona.”

Bost details teparies’ nutritional benefits:

“Part of the tepary bean's appeal, in addition to its drought tolerance, is its superior nutritional content. It has a higher protein content (23–30%) than common beans such as pinto, kidney, and navy, as well as higher levels of oil, calcium, iron, magnesium, zinc, phosphorus, and potassium. While higher in all of these desired nutrients, tepary beans are lower in polyunsaturated fat and in the anti-enzymatic compounds which make common beans hard to digest (Hamama and Bhardwaj 2002). … Tepary beans are proving to be an ideal food for people prone to diabetes or suffering from diabetes owing to the beans' high fiber level, which make them a "slow-release food"; that is, tepary beans' sugars are released slowly and steadily, rather than in a spike as in many high carbohydrate, low fiber foods common in our diets.”

The Ark of Taste is a list of endangered food plants and animals that the Slow Food Foundation for Biodiversity seeks to protect and defend. Tepary Beans are now on the Ark of Taste list for the United States.

I can’t wait to start playing around in the kitchen with tepary beans, and hope to soon convince a local store to carry them!

Tepary Bean and Vegetable Stew
Serves 4
Adapted from Heirloom Beans by Steve Sando and Vanessa Barrington (Chronicle Books 2008)
Tepary beans’ firm texture and sweet flavor pair well with most vegetables. This stew includes peppers, green beans, zucchini, and tomatoes, all of which, like tepary beans, originate in the Americas. I roast red peppers directly over a gas burner while the beans are cooking, put them in a closed paper bag until cool (which makes them easier to peel), remove the charred skin with my fingers (don’t use water; it’ll take away too much flavor), and cut them into thin strips. The sweet bean and vegetable stew is perfectly set off by best-quality, sharp, salty feta cheese from Greece.

1/2 pound dried tepary beans
Water
3 cups diced onions, 1/2” dice (1 large onion)
1/4 cup olive oil, divided
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbsp. minced garlic
1 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes, preferably fire-roasted
1/2 pound green beans, trimmed and cut into 1” lengths (4-5 cups)
1 large zucchini, cut in half lengthwise and then diagonally into 1/4” slices (4 cups)
2 tsp. minced fresh thyme
2 red bell peppers, roasted, cut into strips and then in half
4-6 ounces best quality feta cheese, crumbled, for garnish

Spread out the tepary beans in a flat pan and inspect carefully, removing any pebbles or debris. Rinse well with cold water. Put the beans in a large pot with enough water to cover them by 3 inches. Bring to a boil, and cook for 5 minutes. Cover and turn off the heat. Let sit for at least one hour. (NOTE: Next time I cook tepary beans, I’ll try eliminating this step; I suspect tiny teparies don’t need pre-soaking or pre-cooking.)

Bring the tepary beans and their liquid back to the boil (do not discard the original water). Turn down the heat, and simmer for 1 – 2 hours, or until the beans are just tender and not at all mushy.

In a separate pan, sauté the onions, lightly seasoned with salt and freshly ground black pepper, in 2 Tbsp. olive oil until the onions soften and start to turn golden. Stir in the garlic and cook for 1 minute. When the tepary beans are done simmering, scrape the onions, garlic, and oil into the bean pot. Stir in the tomatoes and green beans. Bring to a boil, cover, turn down the heat, and simmer for 15-20 minutes or until the green beans are tender.

While the green beans are cooking, using the same pan in which the onions were cooked, sauté the zucchini, lightly seasoned with salt and freshly ground black pepper, in olive oil. Cook until the zucchini browns lightly and begins to soften. Turn off the heat and stir in the thyme.

When the green beans are tender, scrape the zucchini, thyme, and their oil into the bean pot. Stir in the roasted red pepper pieces. Simmer for 5 minutes.

Serve hot, garnished with crumbled feta.
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This is an entry for My Legume Love Affair – 9th Helping (MLLA9), created by Susan of The Well-Seasoned Cook, which I hosted in March 2009. My Legume Love Affair - 10th Helping for April 2009 is being hosted by Courtney of Coco Cooks.

Recipe for Artichoke Pastitsio with Basil Béchamel (Παστίτσιο με Αγκινάρες και Κρέμα Βασιλικό)

Is it possible to make vegetarian Pastitsio with more zest than its traditional namesake? The answer is an emphatic yes. Artichoke Pastitsio with Basil Béchamel is so alive with flavor it will make your tastebuds stand up and sing the Greek national anthem.

Pastitsio is a traditional Greek dish. As with most foods that’ve been around for a long time, there’s a million and one ways to make Pastitsio. Family and regional variations are the norm rather than the exception. A typical Pastitsio recipe has layers of tube pasta surrounding a meat-based tomato sauce and is topped with creamy béchamel.

When Tony Tahhan and Peter Minakis laid down a challenge to recreate Pastitsio using my own individual style, at first I was stumped. I’d already created a wonderful recipe for Pastitsio with Greens and was doubtful I could come up with anything better.

For nearly a week, I laid in bed at night coming up with Pastitsio ideas, and rejecting them all as uninspired. Then I went to Costco, lost my shopping list, and found my inspiration.

Losing the list forced me to go up and down every Costco aisle, something I rarely do, in hopes that seeing what was there might remind me of what we needed at home. Roaming the aisles helped, but also led to impulse buys (the exact reason I avoid wandering around without a list).

One of my impulse buys was a 65-ounce jar of Kirkland/Cara Mia marinated artichoke hearts. That’s right – a jar of artichokes weighing just over 4 pounds. I didn’t have any particular plans for the artichokes; even so, I had to have them.

That evening when I went to bed for my nightly game of Pastitsio, Pastitsio, What Kind of Pastitsio, a partial answer came almost immediately. I’d make my Pastitsio with marinated artichoke hearts.

In 1982, I bought the ground-breaking Silver Palate Cookbook. The day I bought it, before I had time to crack the book, I went to a friend’s house for dinner. She served tortellini and a spicy tomato sauce full of artichoke hearts. It was love at first taste. I asked for the recipe; she’d made it from the very cookbook I’d just purchased.

Pasta Sauce Raphael, the recipe I’d fallen in love with, was named after a cook at the Silver Palate, the New York City take-out shop that gave its name and recipes to the cookbook. Recently, I read an interview with one of the owner/authors, on the occasion of the Silver Palate Cookbook’s 25th anniversary. She said Pasta Sauce Raphael is one of the all-time most requested Silver Palate recipes. I understand why; it’s delicious.

Since I first encountered it, I’ve never stopped making Pasta Sauce Raphael, a blend of tomatoes, marinated artichoke hearts, herbs, and lots of black pepper. It’s always a hit, no matter to whom I serve it. Best of all, it’s made with pantry staples.

My well-used Silver Palate Cookbook has a notation that I made Raphael Sauce in July 1987 for Alaska Governor Steve Cowper when he visited our home in Bethel, Alaska. I also made it in 1990 when I catered a fundraising dinner in Juneau, Alaska for not-then-but-later Alaska Governor Tony Knowles. Both Governors loved Pasta Sauce Raphael. At least, they said they did and Alaska Governors never lie, right?

After settling on a Raphael Sauce variation for the Pastitsio filling, I needed a topping that would stand up to its robust flavors. I started with béchamel, the standard topping for Pastitsio, and enhanced it with fresh ricotta cheese and lots of fresh basil.

The end result, Artichoke Pastitsio with Basil Béchamel, was everything I wanted: spicy, but not overwhelming; layers of distinct flavors that taste good on their own and even better blended together; vegetarian, with no compromise on flavor; a recipe for slow evenings at home or rollicking dinner parties; creative fare that fits the traditional Pastitsio mold.

Most importantly, Artichoke Pastitsio with Basil Béchamel is distinctly my own style of food: colorful and bold tasting, using Mediterranean flavor principles and simple techniques. This is a recipe I’ll make again and again.

Artichoke Pastitsio with Basil Béchamel (Παστίτσιο με Αγκινάρες και Κρέμα Βασιλικό)
Serves 12 as a main course or 24 as a side dish
Be sure to crush all the peppercorns; most eaters won’t want to bite into large peppercorn chunks. Though 2 tablespoons of crushed peppercorns sounds like a lot, it's balanced by the mild pasta, cheese, and topping. (The original recipe for Raphael Sauce calls for a whopping 3 tablespoons of freshly crushed black peppercorns.) Don't cut up the artichoke pieces, leaving them large protects the flavor of artichokes from being lost in the spicy sauce. Instead of small jars of marinated artichoke hearts, it’s more cost-effective to buy large jars.

Sauce:
3 6-ounce jars marinated artichoke hearts (or 24 artichoke pieces and 3/4 cup of marinade from a giant jar of artichokes)
4 cups diced yellow onions, 1/2” dice
2 Tbsp. olive oil
Salt
1 tsp. Aleppo pepper or 1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes
28-ounce can crushed tomatoes
14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes, preferably fire-roasted
1 Tbsp. dried oregano, crushed
2 Tbsp. freshly crushed black peppercorns

Béchamel:
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup flour
4 cups whole milk
Salt
3 ounces parmesan cheese, freshly grated
1 cup ricotta cheese, preferably whole milk
1 packed cup fresh basil leaves

Pasta:
1 pound Pastitsio pasta, small penne, or other hollow pasta
1 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese

Make the Sauce: Separate the artichoke pieces from the marinade. Remove as much oil from the marinade as possible; a fat separator makes this task easy. Discard the oil and reserve the rest of the marinade.

Sauté the onions, lightly seasoned with salt, in olive oil until the onions soften and start to turn golden. Add the Aleppo pepper and cook for 1 minute. Stir in the crushed tomatoes, diced tomatoes, oregano, and crushed black peppercorns, bring to a boil, turn down the heat, and simmer uncovered for 30 minutes.

Add the reserved artichoke marinade and simmer for 30 minutes.

Add the artichoke pieces and simmer until the sauce is very thick, about 30 minutes. (The sauce may be made ahead to this point.)

Make the Béchamel: While the artichoke sauce is cooking, make the béchamel. Warm the milk over low heat or in the microwave; don’t bring the milk to a boil. Melt the butter in a large saucepan, thoroughly mix in the flour and cook for 2 minutes, stirring constantly. Slowly stir in the warm milk and cook, stirring, until the sauce is smooth and the thickness of heavy cream. Season with salt to taste. Stir in the 3 ounces of freshly grated parmesan cheese and take the béchamel off the heat.

Measure out 1 1/2 cups of béchamel and set aside to mix into the pasta. Thoroughly mix the ricotta into the remaining 2 1/2 cups béchamel. In a blender or food processor, purée the basil and one cup of the béchamel-ricotta mix; stir this purée back into the remaining béchamel-ricotta mix.

Cook the Pasta: Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil, and cook the pasta until it’s al dente (the length of cooking time depends on the size of the pasta). Drain the pasta in a colander, and mix it with the reserved 1 1/2 cups béchamel.

Assemble the Pastitsio: Preheat the oven to 375°F. Place half the pasta in the bottom of a well-oiled 9” x 13” baking pan. Sprinkle the pasta with 1/3 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese. Spread the artichoke sauce over the cheese, making sure the artichoke pieces are evenly distributed. Top with the remaining pasta and another 1/3 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese. Spread the Basil Béchamel over the pasta and top with the remaining 1/3 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese.

Bake at 375°F for 20 minutes. Reduce the heat to 350°F and cook for 40-45 minutes, or until the top of the Pastitsio is golden and set. Let cool for at least 15-20 minutes before cutting into squares and serving (if you cut Pastitsio immediately after removing it from the oven it will fall apart).

Andrea Camilleri's Montalbano with Recipe for Spaghetti with Eggplant and Tomato Sauce (Pasta alla Norma) (Μακαρόνια με Μελιτζάνες και Ντομάτες)

Andrea Camilleri, photograph by Pensiero

(From Greece)

English language books are hard to find on the island.

I carefully select those to bring with us, focusing on books we’ll both enjoy and want to reread. After several years, most books recede far enough into memory that rediscovering them is a pleasure. Since airlines have cracked down on weight limits, prudent book selection is more important than ever.

Two years ago my parents sent us the first six volumes of Andrea Camilleri’s wondrously good Inspector Montalbano series, set in Sicily and skillfully translated by poet Stephen Sartarelli. A few pages into the first book, I realized the series was perfect for the island. I quit reading and put the Camilleri books in my “bring to the island” corner.

Then my head exploded and I was off reading for longer than I’d planned. Shortly before we left for Greece this year, to my great joy, I finally was able to read books again. I dug out the Montalbano series and packed them for the trip.

I began getting to know Inspector Montalbano our first day on the island. One week later, thoroughly captivated by the cantankerous, world-weary, enigmatic inspector, I finished the last of the six books. I’m already looking forward to rereading them, but first I’ll track down and devour the rest of the series.

Here’s Camilleri/Sartarelli describing the inspector in the opening scene of The Terra-Cotta Dog (book 2):

To judge from the entrance the dawn was making, it promised to be a very iffy day – that is, blasts of angry sunlight one minute, fits of freezing rain the next, all of it seasoned with sudden gusts of wind – one of those days when someone who is sensitive to abrupt shifts in weather and suffers them in his blood and brain is likely to change opinion and direction continuously, like those sheets of tin, cut in the shape of banners and roosters, that spin every which way on rooftops with each new puff of wind. Inspector Salvo Montalbano had always belonged to this unhappy category of humanity.

Camilleri’s prose brings Sicily’s people, and its highways and byways, vividly to life. In the original Italian, Camilleri uses Sicilian dialect to create colorful characterizations and bring humor to stories that might otherwise be overly dark. Sartarelli effectively captures the dialect’s essence in his creative translation.

Inspector Montalbano loves to eat, and insists on doing so silently, the better to appreciate every nuance in the dishes set before him. He thinks poorly of those who cook badly, and when forced to eat bad food (“… shamefully overcooked pasta, a beef stew conceived by an obviously deranged mind, and dishwater coffee of a sort that even airline crews wouldn’t foist on anyone…”), he heads out for a meal good enough to lift him out of the gloom into which bad food plunges him.

In the course of investigating a disappearance in The Snack Thief (Book 3), Inspector Montalbano interviews a “well-dressed seventy-year-old lady … in a wheelchair.” When the interview is over, the woman invites the inspector to lunch:

“Well, signora, thank you so much …,” the inspector began, standing up.
“Why don’t you stay and eat with me?”
Montalbano felt his stomach blanch. Signora Clementina was sweet and nice, but she probably lived on semolina and boiled potatoes.
“Actually, I have so much to –“

“Pina, the housekeeper, is an excellent cook, believe me. For today she’s made pasta alla Norma, you know, with fried eggplant and ricotta Salata.”
“Jesus!” said Montalbano, sitting back down.
“And braised beef for the second course.”
“Jesus!” repeated Montalbano.
“Why are you so surprised?”
“Aren’t those dishes a little heavy for you?”
“Why? I’ve got a stronger stomach than any of these twenty-year-old girls who can happily go a whole day on half an apple and some carrot juice. Or perhaps you’re of the same opinion as my son Giulio?”
“I don’t have the pleasure of knowing what that is.”
“He says it’s undignified to eat such things at my age. He considers me a bit shameless. He thinks I should live on porridges. So what will it be? Are you staying?”

“I’m staying,” the inspector replied decisively.

Although food plays only a supporting role in the Montalbano books, Camilleri’s descriptions of traditional Sicilian dishes are inspirational. I read the above passage just before lunch and, coincidentally, had the ingredients on hand to make Pasta alla Norma. So I did.

Montalbano was right to stay for lunch with Signora Clementina. Eggplant and Tomato Sauce with Spaghetti is absolutely delicious.

Spaghetti with Eggplant and Tomato Sauce (Pasta alla Norma) (Μακαρόνια με Μελιτζάνες και Ντομάτες)
Serves 4 - 6
Pasta all Norma comes from Catania, a city in eastern Sicily, and is named after Catania native Vincenzo Bellini's famous opera, Norma. Traditionally, eggplant for Pasta all Norma is fried, as described by Signora Clementina. Because fried eggplant absorbs a lot of oil, I oven-roast it instead. If you want to fry the eggplant, sprinkle the eggplant slices with a lot of salt and let drain for an hour or so (salt collapses eggplant’s cell structure and helps reduce its oil absorption). Rinse off the salt, pat the eggplant dry, fry in olive oil until the slices are golden brown, and drain on paper towels.

Tomato Sauce:
2 pounds ripe tomatoes or 2 15-ounce cans whole tomatoes, roughly chopped
1 cup roughly chopped onion
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil or mint
Salt
1/4 olive oil
1 tsp. sugar
1 tsp. Aleppo pepper or 1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes (optional)

Eggplant:
2 globe eggplants
Olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Pasta:
1 pound spaghetti
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 - 2 garlic cloves, grated or finely minced (optional)
Freshly ground black pepper
1/2 – 1 cup grated or crumbled ricotta salata or myzithra

Make the Tomato Sauce: Put the tomatoes, onions, basil and salt in a large pot and cook over medium heat for 15 minutes, stirring regularly. Put the tomato mixture through a food mill to remove the skins and seeds. Return the tomato mixture to the pot with the olive oil and sugar. Bring to a boil, turn down the heat, and simmer for 30 minutes, stirring regularly. Taste and add salt, as needed.

Make the Eggplant: Preheat the oven to 450°F. Slice the eggplant into 1/2” cross-wise slices. Brush the slices on both sides with olive oil and season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Bake the eggplant for 15 minutes or until the eggplant slices are golden brown, remove from the oven, and let cool. Cut into 1” wide slices. Add the eggplant to the tomato sauce and stir gently, being careful not to break up the eggplant slices.

Make Pasta alla Norma: Cook the pasta in boiling, salted water until it is al dente. Drain the pasta, reserving 1/2 cup of the pasta water. Return the pasta to the pot and stir in the reserved pasta water, olive oil, garlic, and freshly ground black pepper. Add all but 1 cup of the Tomato and Eggplant Sauce and toss with the pasta. Pour the sauced pasta into a large bowl and top with the remaining sauce and crumbled cheese. Serve immediately.
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This is my entry for Novel Food #5, hosted and created by Simona of Briciole and Lisa of Champaign Taste, both of whom love Inspector Montalbano. You can find the Novel Food #5 round-ups here and here.

Greek Cookbooks: Summer Tomatoes in Greece with Historical Information and Recipe for Strapatsada (Greek Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes) (Στραπατσάδα)

(From Greece)

Summer tomatoes are a glory of Greece. Red and juicy, warmed by the sun and simply seasoned with salt, Greek tomatoes explode with flavor, bathing taste buds in their sweet-yet-tart goodness.

We arrived in Greece this (and every) year during tomato season. Our relatives, friends, and neighbors greet us with food, which always includes lots of luscious fresh tomatoes. Right now, there are at least ten pounds of gorgeous tomatoes sitting on the counter, and the refrigerator is packed with grapes, okra, peppers, and other seasonal vegetables. It’s the best possible welcome home gift. We happily use the bounty.


One of the best ways to eat summer tomatoes is in Horiatiki Salata (Village Salad), a mix of tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, green pepper, and feta cheese, dressed only with olive oil and salt. This most beloved of Greek salads appears on taverna menus throughout the country. During tomato season in Greece, we eat a variation of Horiatiki Salata every day.

Many Greeks like salad tomatoes when they’re still slightly green. I prefer them at their peak of ripeness. When I’m eating salad with Greek relatives, this balances out perfectly. I snag the reddest tomato bits. They go for the greener parts.

It’s hot on the island during tomato days. I’m not a hot weather aficionado, but appreciate that heat helps give Greek tomatoes their superior flavor.

At this time of year, light, flavorful, quick-cooked foods are welcome. They help avoid spending too much time in hot kitchens. One favorite such Greek dish is Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes. In some places it’s called Strapatsada, in others Kayianas, Menemeni or Sfoungato Politiko, and in many it’s simply Eggs and Tomatoes (Avga me Domates/Αυγά με Ντομάτες).

The Greek name “Strapatsada” derives from the Italian for “scrambled eggs” (“uova strapazzate”). Some say the dish was originally brought to Greece by Sephardic Jews. If true, given the Italian name, a plausible route is via the Venetian Jews to the Jews in Corfu and the significant Jewish population that used to exist in Thessaloniki. (Most Greek Jews died in German concentration camps during World War II; today the entire Jewish population of Greece is about 5000.) Certainly, Strapatsada is consistent with Jewish dietary restrictions.

Although some debate the Jewish connection, it’s commonly accepted that Strapatsada as a Greek name for Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes originated in the Ionian Islands (including Corfu) during their years of Venetian rule (1401 – 1797). See also Voice of Corfu: “… tomatoes … were brought to Corfu by the Venetians.” It’s documented that after the Venetian conquest, Corfiot Jews developed close relations with the Venetian Jewish community and its many international merchants and traders. Cookbook of the Jews of Greece, Nicholas Stavroulakis (Lycabettus Press 1986).

According to food historian Claudia Roden, the 16th and 17th century Jewish merchants of Venice “traded with their relatives and co-religionists around the Mediterranean … [and others] in South America.” Roden says the Jewish merchants “introduced New World food products such as tomatoes…” throughout the entire Mediterranean Jewish community.

Roden points out “a tomato sauce in Venice is called ‘alia giudia’” (Jewish Style). In her history of Italian Jewish cooking, The Classic Cuisine of the Italian Jews: Traditional Recipes and Menus and a Memoir of a Vanished Way of Life (Giro Press 1993), Edda Servi Machlin says: “In the 18th century, the first people who used tomatoes in their cooking were Jews.”

See also, “[S]ome of the [Sephardim] … traveled as merchants to the New World, bringing back a whole new range of vegetables which were quickly adopted into the Sephardic kitchen. These were adopted, in turn, by the others among whom they lived, especially as the Sephardim were dispersed through the Mediterranean basin, into the Balkans, and parts of Western Europe.”

The Jews were also among the first to bring tomatoes to England and America. In his 1753 supplement to A History of Plantes (Thomas Osborne 1751), John Hill documented the use of tomatoes “eaten stewed or raw” by Jewish families in England. The tomato-eating 18th century English Jews “were of Portuguese or Spanish descent and … maintained contact with Jewish communities in the New World who consumed tomatoes.” The Tomato in America, Andrew F. Smith (University of South Carolina Press 1994). Smith says “at least one English-born Jewish physician introduced tomatoes into Virginia during the mid-18th century.”

If the conventional wisdom is correct that Strapatsada came to Corfu during the Venetian years, and we accept the historical record that Jews adopted tomatoes into their diets by at least the mid-18th century (and probably earlier), it isn’t too far-fetched to believe that Strapatsada was originally a Jewish creation. Indeed, Cookbook of the Jews of Greece and Γεύση από Σεφαραδιτική Θεσσαλονίκη: Συνταγές των Εβραίων της Θεσσαλονίκης (Tastes of Sephardic Thessaloniki: Recipes of the Jews of Thessaloniki), Νίνα Μπενρουμπή (Φυτράκη 2002), which document the traditional foods of Greek Jews, both have recipes for Strapatsada.

It could be that tomatoes weren’t used anywhere in Greece until the 19th century. And, as with all simple food combinations, it’s entirely possible that each version of Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes was created independently and spontaneously by creative cooks making use of seasonally fresh foods.

No matter its origin or name, Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes is easy to make and very flavorful. It’s especially good when made with sun-ripened summer tomatoes.

Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes (Strapatsada – Στραπατσάδα)
Serves 2
When I make Strapatsada with fresh sweet summer tomatoes, I use mint to season it. Mint’s flavor enhances the tomatoes’ sweetness and goes well with eggs. Made with canned tomatoes, dried oregano makes a better seasoning for Strapatsada. In our house, three eggs are plenty for two people, but eaters with hearty appetites may prefer four eggs. I like the finished egg curds to be smooth-textured so skin the tomatoes. Skinning is not necessary; the Strapatsada will taste great if you leave on the skins. To make the simplest version of Strapatsada, cook tomatoes in olive oil until their water evaporates, then scramble in the eggs, seasoning only with salt and pepper.

2 cups diced tomatoes (1 pound tomatoes) or 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes
1/2 cup diced yellow onion, 1/8” dice (optional)
1/4 cup olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 cloves garlic, grated or minced (optional)
1 tsp. sugar (use only if needed)
3 - 4 eggs
1/2 cup crumbled feta (optional)
1 Tbsp. minced fresh mint (or oregano, dill, basil, or parsley) (optional)

If starting with fresh tomatoes and you want to skin them, cut a shallow “X” on the bottom of the tomato. Drop the tomatoes in boiling water for 20 seconds. Remove the tomatoes and drop them in cold water. Drain and slip off the peels. Cut the tomatoes in 1/2” dice.

Sauté the onions, lightly seasoned with salt and freshly ground black pepper, in olive oil until they soften and start to turn golden. Stir in the diced tomatoes, bring to a boil, turn down the heat to medium, and cook for 15 minutes or until most of the water in the tomatoes has evaporated, stirring regularly to prevent scorching and to break up the tomatoes. Stir in the garlic and cook for 5 minutes. Taste; if the tomatoes are too acidic, add 1 teaspoon sugar.

Whisk together the eggs. Stir eggs, cheese, and mint into the cooked tomatoes, and continue to cook over medium-low heat, stirring regularly, until the eggs are cooked and form small curds; the eggs should be served when they’re still a little juicy. Eggs cook faster at a higher temperature, but taste better if cooked over lower heat for a longer time.

Variations:
- Use grated kefalotyri, kasseri, or parmesan instead of feta.
- Add chopped sausage, smoked pork, or ham.
- Add diced green peppers.
- Substitute puréed roasted red peppers for half the tomatoes.
- Substitute green onions for the yellow onion.
- Add Aleppo or crushed red pepper flakes.
- Add cinnamon stick to the sauce and omit the herbs.
- Add cumin or allspice to the sauce and omit the herbs.
- After mixing in the eggs and tomatoes, quit stirring and let the eggs set, then flip and cook on the second side (as for a frittata).
- When the tomatoes are cooked and saucy, turn the heat to low, make indentations in the sauce, crack an egg into each indentation, cover, and cook just until the egg whites set and the yolks are still juicy.
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This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, hosted this week by Gretchen from Canela & Comino.