A Greek Story – Part 3
All the food I’d had in Greece was wonderful, but in Crete mealtimes were splendid!
More quaint
Finally I reached my last destination, Crete, the largest, stark mountainous Greek island in the Aegean Sea, its southern coast is the last point of Europe, and a favourite watering hole for tourists and the rich of Northern Europe who want to get away for the winter. I spent most of my time in one of its towns, Hania.
Modern, wealthy Hania, with about 60,000 people, is built around the old Venetian fortifications and harbor with its glorious old lighthouse. The old city still exists – narrow cobbled streets, narrow leaning houses, crooked stepped paths, ornate wrought iron verandahs, pure enchantment. The Turks also ruled it. So right in the center of the harbor is a gleaming white mosque, now used partly as an exhibition hall and partly as a restaurant.
We visited a taverna called Tamam. It used to be a Turkish bath and has been preserved as such. We sat along the top ledge where fat prosperous Turks possibly sat in their towels discussing business and invasions, and looked down on the lower level seating, tables in what must originally have been the steaming bath. Arches high above were lit almost completely with candles, and hung with tinkling shell mobiles. We ordered the house specialty – camel, in keeping with the mood. It was salty and a little tougher than most meats, but delicious all the same. The rest of the food was delicious too.
All the food I’d had in Greece was wonderful, but in Crete mealtimes were no longer based on blind choices. My hostess was a delightful Greek woman, loquacious, vivacious, and married to an American who came there to excavate and settled down for good. They really took our mealtimes in hand ordering copious amounts of food, sometimes just a series of appetizers, everything always eaten with large amounts of bread and fried potatoes and the ubiquitous Greek salad that came to the table first so that before you even thought about it you had drizzled olive oil all over and started stuffing yourself. And the local white wine – I think I was the only person in Greece who drank water!
We has fried squid, octopus and sea-urchins. And snails! Yes really! Those things that crawl out of the earth when it rains. We went wandering around the local ruins on a rainy day and our hostess armed with plastic bags got all of us into snail collecting. I believe they’re put into a deep covered bowl and fed on pasta, till all the waste they secret turns clean and white! Then they’re immersed in water bringing to a boil slooowly. Too fast and the snails retreat tightly into their shells and can’t be removed.
One day, sitting at a café as we discussed what to order, a decrepit looking old guy came off a fishing boat swinging a huge fish by the tail, walking around the tables, offerin g it to the locals in a ‘lucky dip’ for just a single Euro. There was much discussions, much examingin the fish for freshness, our hostess called in the owner of the habour-side taverna for expert comments. Some more discussion and we won the bidding Naturally we just had to have the fish soup. A long wait later, it arrived in a huge cauldron, and the waiters ceremoniously spooned out large bowls of aromatic broth with small bits of fish visible and a few onions and shrimp. Just when we thought that was it, (I wondered what the big fuss had been about) they proceeded to lay out the rest of the contents of the pot in the center of the table. Steaming large fish slices, shrimp, mussels, potatoes and onions. Then our hostess taught us how to eat it. Spoon as much as we could into our soup bowls, and then slurp. Mmmm, delicious!
Mealtime in Greece, if you’re not a tourist, and in our hostess’ company we now counted among the locals, start after 10 pm and can continue into the morning hours. When, eyelids drooping and poisoned by Greek cigarette smoke, we finally called for the bill another peculiarly Cretan ceremony begins. Dessert is served on the house. We’re stuffed but who can resist, halwa or cheese pies with honey or simply honey dripping over stewed fruit and thick, sour yoghurt. All served with a potent local brew that is homemade and never sold, – Raki or Tsikoudia. Good for digestion, good for colds, good to rub on your knees for arthritis, basically any reason to knock back a second shot glass, and a third and a…
Two more trips by craggy mountainous roads took us to stare at the ultramarine Mediterranean at the southernmost point of Europe, and up to the small villages forgotten by time, north of Crete. Up to Hora Skafion on roads no wider than our bus, looking down into craggy gorges. Black clad locals smile up as they squeeze themselves into the rock behind them so we can pass. One of them refused to charge for a specialty snack (something like a large cheese pancake with honey) we stopped to have at his taverna suspended out over the mountain on wooden pillars. We commented warmly on their friendliness. Our hostess smiled and agreed. Then proceeded to tell us why these small sturdy northern people must not be crossed. Descended from pirate settlers they still practiced the vendetta system until about 10 years ago, whole families wiping out each other over trivial insults. The police has got them calmed down recently, but they still carry knives and guns, firing them into the air in any celebration, including marriages and births. And when they drive at tearing speed down the mountain roads after a night at the tavernas, they still use the signposts as target practice. We gaped at the lacey metal boards, and then we decided it was time to leave.
GREEK VILLAGE SALAD – Xoriatiki Salata