Food and seasonal eating

How have I been here this many months and not talked about food as often? Given that it is the one thing that is forever on my mind, I am surprised.

Daily ‘bread-gate’ is just a fact of life here. By way of explanation, this is is the bread delivery at the village mini-market, which took me a while to figure out the intricacies of its schedule with a few questions and observations. Bread gets delivered from the bakery in town at around 8am – but if you leave it to after 9am to try get some they may have sold out, leaving you at the mercy of buying long-life sliced bread (acceptable only for cheese toasties in my view). Trick is it to get there at 8.15 in a scrum of elderly villagers to get the choice of loaves; wholewheat, seeded, crusty white, something ciabatta-like, sesame etc etc. Sunday is the day of rest so no bread deliveries at all, meaning people buy double quantities of loaves on Saturdays. Got it? G refuses to even participate in this ritual – he sees it as a weird thing ‘bread is bread’ (he would be happiest eating white sliced bread that tastes like cotton). But I stick to my principles in fetching in the bread, because fresh bread matters to me!

This week I have dedicated a lot of time to food, no I don’t mean hours gorging on it, well not ‘hours!’, but  time spent wandering around markets and shops, and looking for recipes. Last week I made Halva from a really simple 1 2 3 4 recipe (based on 1 part oil, 2 parts semolina, 3 parts sugar and 4 parts water) I kept it simple and omitted the raisins and almonds. But it was a tasty sweet treat and one I’ll make again.

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In a bookshop in Ermoupoli I bought a really facinating cook book from the Women’s Agrotouristic Cooperative of Syros who run the To Kastri Taverna. Enchanting Food Tales from Syros is exactly that, as it narrates short tales from 3 generations of the same family as the shared recipes are passed down. The stories are wonderful slices of life as they centre on seasons or local celebrations throughout the year, and the corresponding recipes are very seasonal: it includes everything from Magiritsa (Easter soup) to Vasilopita (St Basil’s new year pie), as well as favourites like Greek salad and stuffed courgette flowers. Loads of dishes I can’t wait to try out.

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This week we finally had one ripe red tomato that made it into a salad. Yes, it was unarguably the best tomato I have ever tasted. Despite the odds of a challenging garden and the climate,  it might be one of the few we manage so has to be enjoyed! On the plus side, my hand pollination of a courgette has led to one being a substantial size and ready for picking! Vegetable celebrations all round.

I think the seasonality of local fruits and vegetables has been what really interests me in cooking in Greece. When we first arrived we had fresh strawberries cheaply available, then Cos lettuces, followed by courgettes and local cherries in May and Apricots in June. Availability and price follows the seasonal harvest in a logical way. Its not impossible to get things from the bigger supermarkets here and you can get imported goods from all across the world should you need them. I can genuinely say I have learnt to appreciate this at the fruit market – scan around for the seasonal stuff and adjust recipes to match. August is great for nectarines, figs, peaches and melons are abundant , but you won’t find a strawberry for love nor money! By eating seasonally when produce is at its cheapest it does make a big difference. I am finding that the tastiest recipes always benefit from ingredients when freshly harvested, in the right season and are much cheaper than the UK.  I’ve made a lot of aubergine and courgette bakes with Kefalotyri grated and feta cheese on top – just fry the veg first in olive oil, throw in some garlic and chopped tomatoes, bake in the oven for 20 mins until the cheese melts and gets crispy. Perfect with a salad and fresh bread…I am obsessed! (it finds a way into every food photo)

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I am also in a phase of reading about the history of Syros, I ploughed through Sheila Leceours fascinating study of Ermoupoli during the Italian occupation, ‘Mussolini’s Greek Island‘ which reveals the mechanisms of Italian occupation and the tragic famine which resulted in nearly 6,000 deaths. It helps you to see Syros in a different light from the beauty we are shown as visitors, and understand its social and cultural complexities. Visiting the Industrial Museum last weekend also added to my enthusiasm. The museum houses a fascinating collection of tools, machinery and artifacts that show how advanced manufacturing, printing and textile trades were in this once flourishing town.

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Given that a plan to electrify Ermoupoli in 1900 was underway at a time when most towns across Europe were decades away from such modernity. It has really interesting history that is being brilliantly preserved and celebrated. It also has copies of Cicladi the daily paper printed during the Italian Occupation.

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Its not all textbooks and cookbooks, I have also been reading a lot of ex-pat books about Greece. This is a whole genre – one you buy one, Amazon then makes a point of telling you about the 100 more they recommend, having read a few, I can say they are of varying quality and intrigue. The latest one by Rob Johnson  A kilo of String is quite a fun and informative book about how he and his partner, Penny moved to the Peloponnese to buy an olive grove. All very fascinating vignettes about the tribulations of the olive harvest (horrific, back breaking work apparently!) As the title reveals, string is another thing bought by the kilo here in Greece. Like wine and olive oil – measured out in a fashion that closely resembles a litre (almost but not quite).  Anyway what I liked about Rob’s book is that he references a great motto which I think sums up Greece for a lot of people who live or spend time here. “Everything is difficult, but nothing is impossible”  Its a nice reminder of just getting on and focusing to get through the difficult bits of life. It’s also a bit more optimistic than a Greek saying “Τι να κάνουμε” – which translates as “what can be done?” Often overheard when Greeks talk about difficult challenges, and politics, more often than not accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders to display the futility of it all…

As the season winds down and the yellow glow of August light fades, whatever happens after the summer is likely to be difficult. Until then we have each day – the sun will rise, I will fetch bread, we will eat and enjoy the fruits of Greek life at its fullest.

Like growing the courgette and tomato on a barren patch of land, however difficult, was not impossible after all.

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How to solve a problem like tourism?

It’s funny when you meet people here and they ask, “So what brought you to Syros?” (by this I mean English speaking people, Greeks are way more relaxed about the why’s – no need to explain) “A plane! and a boat!”  is my stock sarcastic answer. But no, really, we came here only for a few days last August and though “mmm, this is nice, isn’t it?” thinking about which Island we’d spend 6 months on when we finally but the bullet and made it happen. We figured a few practical things came first, not just beaches and hiking but a bigg-ish town with things like supermarkets, culture and healthcare (sensible) but also somewhere that wasn’t at the mercy of infrequent ship connections or a place that everyone rocked up to on July 1st and left on September 1st. We wanted to experience an all year round island, where Greek people live and go about their lives, not just waiting for the first boat-load of tourists to arrive. And that’s what you get with Syros. Of course, we are in the midst of its busiest few weeks in August, where everyone who has family here or a summer house descends in droves or arrives from Athens to escape the furnace-like temperatures of the mainland. Syros doesn’t feel spoiled in anyway by tourism now, it feels gentle and unassuming, fitting in with the character of the island. But that might not always be the case.

There has been much talk this week in the media about tourism and its most negative effects on highly visited areas like Barcelona, Venice, Dubrovnik and Santorini. The locals are quite rightly refusing to stand by and see their cities and towns blighted by insensitive tourism development that contributes nothing environmentally, socially and economically. From AirB&B driving up rents, to new 5* star hotels creating super-rich ghettos with non-Greek staff employed in droves. There has always been a tension in places that have high levels of tourist numbers, often incoming cruise ship passengers who bring little to the economy in the 5 hours they are bussed between the sights. Or those areas which have heavily invested in all-inclusive hotels, like the many that now line the shores of Greek Islands. These have without a doubt negatively affected the local bars, cafes and restaurants as visitors rarely leave these enclaves.

Last night we watched the Greek news covering the crack-down in Corfu on drunken British tourists ‘ruining’ once calm villages, one local they interviewed described them as doing nothing more “than drinking, being sick and staring at their phones” Cringe. But the solution presented is that they want Corfu to go upmarket. Which is fine if you also have match that with a decent budget provision for travellers who don’t wish to assimilate into ‘Westminster by the Sea’ and rub shoulders with ex-PMs holidaying in their villas.

The tension between welcomed types of tourism and those perceived as unwelcome is an interesting dichotomy. It is not new to see how one group of tourists moves between the spectrum of firstly being welcomed, actively marketed to and then into being demonised and ‘blamed’ for a social / moral breakdown by the media. This is often weighted heavily with its association of UK based class structures and what type of holiday’s are affordable and desirable. Regardless of the fact that Tristram is just as likely to be vomiting after his A-level results in Kavos, as Trevor is. This is also being played out here in local news narratives about drugs and protection rackets on Mykonos – but I doubt that would make the UK news.

Such problems are not unique to Greece but do require quality solutions if the country wants to continue to attract the diversity of tourists from around the world. There is often lots of talk about how may resorts really changed its fortunes by focussing on high spend tourists paying over 400 euros a night for a hotel room. Yet little consideration of the impact this has had on the town and locals. Not everyone is sat there counting money as each boat rolls in…tax receipts will tell you that.

By driving up prices, aiming for exclusivity, there is a whole market of families, budget senstive, culture seekers, hikers and environmentally conscious travellers that will be priced out of visiting places this beautiful country. Not least the vast swathes of domestic tourism that places like Syros rely on. Imagine a Greece that Greeks can’t afford to visit – that might not be too far off already.

A strategy attracting the tourist euro at all costs is doomed to fail. Not every island economy needs to be polished for ‘Mykono-isation’, because sadly, tourist trends change and it is impossible to keep building to keep apace. I can guarantee that every village by the sea on every Greek island has at least one hotel that was once busy that stands abandoned with a forlorn looking ‘Poleitai’ (for sale) sign stuck on the side. These hotel-tombs stand not only pepper the landscape looking unloved, they symbolise the failure of a complex market reliant on a range of factors from partnerships of multinational travel companies, currency exchange, and even the cost of airline fuel. The internet may have changed how we travel and book holidays, but ignoring the local economy and considering sustainability will always have dire consequences, for the local and visitor alike.

Greece as a country has changed vastly in the past 40 years – not just politically and socially. Its major economies have faced further decline and tourism has always seemed like an obvious answer. At present PM Tsipras, for all his socialist leanings, has cut pensions and welfare, moving to high taxation in an effort to appease the balances of EU debt. But employment in tourism isn’t a year round job. It won’t be a solution for the 25% of the population currently out of work generations out of work and highly qualified graduates. Tourism feels like a quick fix, a band-aid on a broken leg.

I can only tell you how I understand and know Greece, I have no claim on this country like a native. I have my own relationship to it as a visitor and it is part of what I like doing, like a hobby or a thing people list in their linkedin profile “Going on holiday to Greece”.

I could list places in Greece I’ve been to – but what does that tell you? Or I could tell you one tiny thing that happened to me on each Greek holiday – like a mosaic slowly being assembled over time. A piece here and there. Not life changing but a tremor along life’s noisy path. The way memories feel and can be evoked; you can immerse yourself in them, get lost all over again in pine scented, hot sticky days, the meltimi blowing sand in your face and walking under starlit skies. So many people feel the same way – people that come back to Greece time and again to rediscover a country that is always changing and revealing its charms in different ways.

My first visit as a tourist was to Crete in 1993. I am sure my mum agonised for weeks over the booking of a two week package holiday in a branch of Lunn Poly (travel agents on the high street remember them? or teletext holidays?  pixel text offers!). From what I vaguely recall we flew from Manchester into Chania and were bustled onto a transfer coach to a little village by the beach called Aghia Marina. Staying in a traditional whitewashed apartment block that was stuffed with dark wood furniture and Cretan textiles.

My parents had first visited Greece in the late 1970s and ventured to Paxos in the Ionian, which at that time was undeveloped with very few tourists. In fact they have a ton of wonderful anecdotes about drinking homemade wine and making friends with locals.  So I imagine it was quite a different experience to head to Greece’s biggest island on a package tour with two kids in tow and the constant entertaining we needed. Without fail we went on a family holiday in ‘factory fortnight’ aka last week in July / first in August,  I remember the beach being huge miles of white sand and the sea being quite wavy, but the village was compact and we only had to walk down the road to find a few taverna’s and a supermarket. There wasn’t much more to it and the simplicity at which you can escape a grey northern town to enjoy a few weeks of life in the Grecian suns was a revelation to my 11 year old self.

All the kids from the apartments would congregate in the evenings and play pool in the bar after we came back from dinner. It was amazing we were allowed to stay up late! There were often powercuts in taverna’s, as the island was just about coping with the big influx of visitors in August.I recall one evening we ate in a ‘Garden Taverna’, literally 3 tables in a Yia-yia’s garden, with a hand painted sign and no menus. We ate surrounded by wild-eyed cats and getting eaten alive by mosquitos – my dad got struck by a wave of nausea (wine related?) which involved him sneaking away back to the hotel taking my brother with him. This left me and my mum alone to face the lady-owner, “of course he loved your food, great – thank you’ mustering as much British politeness as we could whilst speedily walking back to our apartment! I remember teasing my brother who developed some crazy obsession could happily spent 14 nights of a holiday eating bright-pink taramasalta and beef stifado every night, then rating his holiday on which eatery had the best versions of these two dishes.  Greek waiters entertained us with jokes, giving us alcohol free version of shots and old ladies pinched our cheeks in shops. It was a country to which felt timeless and open with possibilities. Fields of fig and olive trees, where rural life seemed to co-exist in harmony with these new tourists.

When you are 11 years old and inhabit that strange hinterland between childhood and adolescence, 2 weeks feels like forever. That was the summer before going to ‘big school’ and that time seems to have burned on my memory as a magical place. That summer the small town world I knew was breaking open in the sunshine, with the allure of blue skies and the scent of pine trees.

The following year we went to Rhodes, to the small village of Pefkos (which means pine tree) which was just starting to expand from a beach and small road of taverna’s into the resort it is today. This time we flew from Newcastle, less of a drive to the airport but the downside being it was a night flight. This meant arriving at Rhodes airport in the early hours of the morning so the coach transfer was a total ramshackle bunch of families tired and tetchy children needing sleep, mixed in with drunken 20-somethings going to Faliraki.

Driving in sheer darkness, suddenly the coach pulls up infront of what looks exactly like a building site and lurches to pull up in front of the ‘BILLY Apartments!’ where 3 blokes are standing on the balcony mooning at everyone on the coach! Oh how we laughed afterwards, but at the time I think my parents tried to shield our eyes in horror!’ If you remember the 90s was when it all started to build in party resorts like that and the 18-30s model took over.

You can imagine what pleasant moods my family were in arriving at our hotel in peaceful Pefkos at 4am – I recall refusing to sleep and annoying my mum to the extent she agreed to walk to the beach with me at 7am just get me to shut up. I then proceeded to get burnt to a crisp that morning. Sweet Karmic revenge.After dinner one night, I have a distinct memory of sitting with a coke-float (our newly discovered favourite treat) in a bar watching an English girl who worked there. When the tourist police turned up she sat at our table and she pretended we knew her! It was THE MOST INCREDIBLE THING EVER! How dramatic and exciting, working in a bar in Greece, sunbathing by day and then being a waitress by night…how exotic, how amazing, I thought…the imaginary walls of the small town I grew up in were beginning to crumble like feta cheese.

After more family holidays to Zakynthos and different resorts in Crete and Rhodes, by the time I was 17, me and a friend managed to be trusted to go back out to Rhodes for the summer to find jobs in Lindos, where we had made friends the summer before. We spend our time working in bars at night and sunbathing by day for a few months of a wildly hot summer living in a studio with no air-conditioning! Not learning how to say anything useful (or inoffensive) in Greek and spending all our drachma’s on gyros. A ‘cultural trip’ which I repeated the next year with a different mate and different Island. On Kos, in the bustling bar-street all night drinking culture was one that I did not really enjoy, all around us was carnage and bar crawls. Which evokes a memory of sitting on the balcony our apartment watching a girl vomit down the street below. I was quite thankful to head back to the UK when my A level results came out and escape to the comparative calm of Freshers Week. It was the best of times and the worst of times for Greece to make money from tourism and for tour operators to exploit this ‘yoof’ market. It was also around the same time those fly on the wall shows like ClubReps on Sky TV were made – which was essentially the best PR to get plane loads of teenagers signed up for drunken bar crawl holidays. Alas, most of the profits went back into the pockets of UK operators too.

But Kardemena, like Faliraki, Malia and Kavos, as well as countless other places have to be been forced to change and grow up. Tourism is imminently competitive and there were years in the mid-to-late 2000s where whole swathes of UK package tour operators went bust in the wake of the financial crisis, leaving Greek owners out of pocket and in some cases ghost towns of accommodation built at the peak, now left in ruins.

I think maybe this was one of the reasons I didn’t come back for a few years as it wasn’t the Greece I liked. But when G and I met, our first holiday together was to a small island called Thassos, which reignited the Hellenic flame. It was a last minute week away in late September in a village called Rahoni. The unpredictable weather meant we battled with rain for half the week, which meant that frogs hopped across the road on the way back to our near-deserted hotel in an end-of season feeling village, and scorching sun for the other half! We also encountered a fearless bat on these nightly walks home which flew into G! The Thassos we found was enchanting, green and lush, with really friendly people and completely deserted beaches.

Greece has changed over the 20-odd years I have been visiting. As a child, as a teenager and now a thirty something woman, I want different things from holidays and it still manages to offer that. Sadly, over the years, my handle of the Greek language has only marginally improved!

I have been lucky enough to have an annual (and sometimes more) pilgrimage to Hellas. From weddings on Santorini and Rhodes, to a cheap week in Crete, I have made it my mission to find tasty taverna’s and off the beaten track beaches.  July and August are great for holidays, even islands like Paxos have quieter beaches and peaceful walks through pine forests. Even Lefkada which is a favourite of Greek tourists is a delight in Summer. We spent 10 days in June on Skiathos without a care in the world, with white stone pebbled beaches and aqua blue seas to dive into. We spent wonderful weeks visiting abandoned villages on hiking trails in Tilos and watching the world go by on Halki. Having discovered the joys of off-season travelling we have spent a magical Easter in Patmos walking through fields of wild Spring flowers and being the first ones swimming in April. We also explored Athens at Christmas climbing the Acropolis in the cool December sunshine. Sometimes these have been package tours, but mostly independent flights and accommodation.

When planning I often refer exclusively to my mum’s dog-eared copy of The Which Guide to Greece and the Greek Islands which is easily my go to reading to find the perfect island to holiday on. It’s hugely out of date, printed in 1994 and gives references to a million things that one hopes still exist. My approach is this – if the book describes a village as horrid or un-touristy, its bound to have had a makeover since then, also pay attention to the places it doesn’t mention it at all – like Kea, definitely go visit! ! If memory serves me correctly it describes Ermoupolis as ‘a seedy port and town that has seen better days’. I see it as a litmus test of how islands have changed! There will always people who say things like “well 20 years ago there were no sun-loungers here and it’s packed now” it certainly isn’t the ‘olden days’ of living off a 1000 drachmas a day and free-camping on the beaches. Since they joined the euro in 2002, prices have escalated for locals and tourists – but I am thankful it isn’t expensive as the UK.

I also spent at least an hour yesterday perusing Google maps on the street views of places I stayed years ago– Aghia Marina has sprawled into its neighbouring reports of Platania and Stalos…similarly Tsilivi and Pefkos now have grown exponentially to have streets of taverna’s, cocktail bars and fast food joints. Change for Greece has not necessarily been a bad thing, but its economic reliance on the tourist economy can be, as the market gets more competition from countries within the EU. Sensitive development and tourism infrastructure need to consider the impact of what happens when tourism stops, learning lessons from the past  – islands can’t be one trick ponies in July and August, then dormant for 10 months of the year. Jobs need to be created in industries that are sustainable.

What makes Greece special is that every corner of Greece has something to offer the visitor and it also has millions of people that come back year after year to experience its warmth, of both its climate and its people. Wherever you roam in Greece it holds beauty, charm and hospitality. Each island and region has its own unique landscape and history, it takes time to discover and with over 227 inhabited islands there’s plenty left to explore. Maybe it is harder to find that perfect spot away from the crowds. But perhaps that’s the trick – visit off season, be brave and bold, go where you haven’t seen a million instagrams of the same view or read about it in Conde Naste Traveller or the Guardian, travel the mainland and the lesser visited islands. Just go.

I think back to the Greece I found first and the one I know as an adult, and fundamentally it has the same character, appealing blue skies, friendly faces, sunshine and a simple way of living. Back then I remember we were given figs by Phillipo who ran the taverna at the top of Pefkos beach. I am glad to see this sense of Filoxenia (the hospitality of welcoming strangers or foreigners) hasn’t changed. I visited our neighbours in the village the other morning for coffee and took them some halva (sweet semolina cake) I made. I left with a bottle of wine, a bunch of homegrown rocket and a branch of bay leaves to dry in the sun. We have also received an almost daily bag of figs from our landlord. Greeks bestow gifts not because they feel compelled to, but honour means you share what you have because you have enough to share– it is as simple as that. Couldn’t we all learn to less greedy and more generous, as tourists and as humans? Take time to understand the place you visit and leave no trace.

Here I am in the middle of the Cyclades, trying to figure out what makes Syros tick and what to do with a 2kg glut of figs – chutney and jam, is the answer.

If only everything else has such a simple solution.

Kea: trip report

I’m not always supremely confident on my own. Like most people in a group situation I can hide with other people. Just me on my own can be hard to get used to. The internal monologue going all over the place with the little voice of fear and doubt! But I like my own company, I enjoy being alone – not lonely, but happy on my own. Making all the decisions alone doesn’t happen as often when you are part of couple. Especially when you are one half of an indecisive couple – ‘shall we eat here? shall we go there?’ – we both respond with the ever-placid “I’m easy – whatever you’d prefer”. So when G got whisked off for a week, I was faced with the prospect of being left to my own devices and decisions! I initially thought eating a lot of cheese would be high on my agenda, but after thinking about it properly I saw this as an opportunity to do some solo travelling, a vacation with myself. Genius and still likely to involve at least making decisions involving Feta!

G was asked to go on a Paths of Greece mission to uncover some old paths in the north of the mainland, and with this time I wanted to go somewhere in the Cyclades that was simple to get to. Narrowing it down was a case of studying the ferry timetables. I chose Kea because it has some really scenic countryside as well as lots of hikes, museums to visit and bays to swim laps in, pretty little streets I can get lost in, and coffee shops I can write in…Oh I’ve just described almost everywhere in Greece! On Friday I waved G off on his internal flight to Thessaloniki, from there he was heading on the bus out to Kozani in the Western Macedonia region, all set for a big week-long hiking adventure to discover old trails and map out a hiking network. Our neighbour Niko lived in Kozani and gave G a pep talk before he headed off, explaining how in the winters it would take 6 hours to clear the roads to get to the factories, with vast coal mines and power stations that supply most the country’s electricity. From our conversations this week, I have heard some crazy things that G has experienced; from wild dogs, to goat farmers and even deer living in monasteries, they all deserve their own tales. It’s a fascinating region of what deserves to be called ‘real Greece’…If you follow him on Instagram you’ll know what I mean!  If you’d asked me 12 months ago would G ever get involved in something like this, hiking 12 hours a day and adventuring round with the Paths of Greece guys in a beat-up jeep, I would have said ‘NO WAY’. He’s proved me totally wrong and is a legend for it.

So he’s doing hard work for a good cause and I get to take myself on vacation. I appreciate the very speed at which time flies and these six months in Greece are no exception, so not wanting to forsake a missed opportunity I book a trip to Kea, one of our neighbouring islands.

It is a different type of island – yes, part of the Cyclades in name but not in style. As it’s very close to Athens, with regular boats from the mainland port of Lavrio, I hear that plenty of wealthy Athenians have country homes there and that it gets busier on weekends and especially in August when most Greeks take their holidays. Luckily I’m going there mid-week in July, eh? I wanted to stay in Ioulida (or Ioulis) as it is one of those classic Chora towns perched up high, but has none of the Cycladic white and blue houses we associate with these islands, an altogether different architectural style, more medieval and neoclassical with red tile roofs. In fact is seems to have more in common with northern Greece visually, and it has a similarity to towns I’ve visited on its neighbouring island, Andros.

It’s super tricky finding a place there normally, nevermind when you decide to book a few days in advance. There isn’t any hotels or apartment complexes in the town, although it looks like more are springing up along the beach areas and in the port, so I resorted to AirB&B. I have been having a bit of a moral dilemma about this recently, especially as this model is having negative effects on rentals for long term tenants. This is being felt especially in Athens, where subletted apartments are changing hands for a cheap amount, then AirB&B landlords are raking it in on a per night basis. Do the math, if you can get a basic apartment on a 12 month lease for 300euros per month and charge 30euros a night – there is serious (tax-free) cash to be made.  Now these kooky apartments in run down areas being tarted up cheaply for AirB&B, may have been the ones young people would have been renting, artists, creatives, you know the lifeblood of a city before gentrification kicks in? Imagine if Airb&b had been around at this scale when Hackney and Shoreditch was on the rise…who would have been able to live there? The sad fact is the sharing-economy is turning areas of cities into ghost-blocks of apartments packed full of short term tenants, while young people, who have been hit hard by the economic crisis are unable to snap up a cheap apartment. Like other cities, this has been cottoned onto by the Greek government who have only last week announced a taxation regime to combat the 3 million visitors estimated to be staying in AirB&B’s in 2017. Sadly, unless these lettings get included in tax filing, the only ones who benefit from the extra income are landlords and Silicon Valley profit margins. Anyway, I can see it both ways  – the Airb&B model works because it provide spaces to stay where there isn’t a hotel or tourist infrastructure – so a local renting a room out, as has been done for decades in Greece, very much meets this demand. For a fairly small island but regular connections to the mainland, it doesn’t get a ton of tourists. It has a steady influx of Athenian homeowners and families who have second homes there – so has enough hotels and apartments to meet the tourists it does attract. But I wasn’t having any luck on the regular websites and agencies and am certainly not in a position to pay over 100 euros for a room that I’d need a car to get to! AirB&B delivered the goods at a budget price, so this time it wins.

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On the whole solo travelling is expensive, there’s no one to split things with (and share plates – yep, food portion problems!)  Hopping on a ferry at Syros was simple and I managed to tie in the times to the Hellenic Seaway’s Artemis boat on its regular inter-Cyclades loop – it’s slow boat and seems a bit more of a stinker than usual ferries. The engines pump out their fumes just above the outside deck where the seating area is and I always like to be out on deck if possible. Having travelled from Andros to Syros on the Artemis last year, I knew what to expect. It was a quiet and serene journey, the sun bobbing down into an orange glow just as we sailed past Kythnos. I shall rename it a sunset cruise, complete with Spanakopita for dinner. With the sun setting and the meltimi wind whipping my hair into my face, I thought life doesn’t get more glamorous than this!

As anticipated the Artemis travels to its own timetable, not uncommon for it to steadily build up a delay of hours over the course of its 12 hour inter-island loop. By the time I’d read for a while, spied on all the other passengers, stared out to sea and texted a few friends we had reached Kea by 11.30pm, close to 2 hours late. But my kind host, Irini texted to say she’d be waiting and not to worry. Phew, my next focus was the taxi I needed to get from the port Korissia up to the Chora where I was staying (Chora and Ioulis or Ioulida are interchangable names for the same town). As the ferry disembarked I focussed on where the taxi’s were waiting, after our experience at Andros last year, when we faltered at the taxi rank, then were forced to wait ages and then share one. I now make no apologies for being Greek about this – just get in the first taxi you see, any hesitation and looking for a queue is far too British. ‘Snooze you lose’. I was only carrying a small rucksack so sloughed straight into the first taxi, beaming “kalispera, sti Chora, parakelo!” as I landed on the back seat. ‘Ah, yes, no problem, please wait while I see” (this is something I’m used to now, I try to speak Greek, you hear my Greek-lish accent and reply in English- endaxi) He wandered up and down the disembarking passengers for a minute to see if anyone else was heading the same way and then headed back, resigned he wasn’t getting any other fares on this one. Sharing a taxi to the same destination is common practice in Greece, the difference being that all parties still pay the same fare, rather than splitting the cost…might not make sense to us but is very accepted practice here. As he hurtled up the dark hillside road, windows rolled down and dance music blared (that Rhianna track, Wild Thoughts, it’s everywhere, right?) I immediately noticed the smell of pine trees heady in the air which was so fresh and different to the smell in Syros.  Arriving at a new town at night alone can be a bit daunting but I saw Irini waiting as I got out the taxi, she was really sweet.  As it was a bit of mission to get to the house, through stepped streets and cobbled pathways winding upwards, we were both chatting away and getting out of breath! As we passed a few tavernas and cafés people greeted Irini, so it felt nice to be here with a local. She explained she works in the bakery and yes, she left delicious biscuits and cakes in the kitchen for me! The little 1 bed place was perfect, all whitewashed walls, and up-cycled antique furniture, and most importantly a view over the town. As it was late I just sat enjoying the view of lights twinkling below and people wandering around in the cooler evening air, before getting a good night’s sleep.

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I awoke early and was astounded by how beautiful the view was in daylight, the red terracotta roofs and all the houses a jumble of pinks, whites and stone hues. Each little building entirely different from the next in size and stature. The view spread out from the town all the way down the valley with its stepped terraces to the coast. The sun rises behind the village and because of the shape of the town built like an amphitheatre you hear the bells from all the churches, people waking up, opening shutters and chatting in the traffic-free streets. After enjoying a coffee (and biscuit) on the balcony, I felt like I needed a real introduction to the Kea and ventured out to explore before it got too hot.

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Although I was convinced I might have to leave a trail of cake crumbs to find my way back, I was too busy chatting when I arrived to notice where we were heading! But I soon got my bearings, down to the plateia and the impressive town hall building, finding a supermarket and buying some essentials to get me through a work day. That’s the beauty of being laptop and phone based, I can quite literally work anywhere with the internet and phone signal.

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After a day’s work on a super comfy chair and desk set up, I headed off to find the elusive Lion of Ioulis as the sun was low in the sky. Legends tell a few different tales about why this Lion has been carved from stone – some say it was carved as a reminder of the wild lions which once roamed in the countryside, others say it is a temple to remember the mimic tale about Kea’s origin as the island of water, known as Ydrussa and had a beautiful population of water nymphs, because of its beauty the Gods were jealous and sent a lion to destroy everything and the island dried up. Then to make it sound even more bizarre, as are most myths are with a twist, the islanders then begged Apollo’s son, Aristaeus for help, and built a temple to Zeus – the leader of all gods. This pleased them all and Zeus brought rain back to the island – therefore the Lion statue is a timely reminder of destruction and fate from the Gods. Perhaps that is why he seems so wise and weird!.

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I didn’t know all of this before I set off on the easy and well signposted 20 min walk from the centre of the village, but read up about it when I arrived. The lion is meant to date back as far as 600BC, yet signs have 1963 engraved on them protecting the surrounding space, with a gate and some whitewashed steps. So there must been a decision at some point to turn the lion into a tourist attraction. You do feel an eerie sense of stepping back in time on this walk, as you exit the village and past a few abandoned houses, it turns into just a cobbled pathway, past an impressive church and graveyard full of white marble statues to honour the dead. The lion sits surrounded by stepped terraces, a few donkeys and goats in the fields. It was a real place of solitude on an evening, apart from the animals, I didn’t see another soul.

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After such peace, I headed back into town to be amongst other people. I’d decided to take myself on a date for a drink after sunset, and then dinner in the highly recommended ‘Piatsa’ ran by a man called Yainnis. It’s the first place you come to through the ‘entrance’ to the Chora, only 8 or so tables outside and known for being good value local dishes. I happily sat in the midst of things. They were showing the football on the TV, so in between the taking orders, all the blokes from the taverna and the neighbouring cafe kept popping in to see the score.  A lively place as people met and took up tables, I enjoyed watching people pass while I sipped local red wine (not bad), sweet tomato-ey veal stew and an all important horiatiki salata , with Feta, of course.

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That’s the problem with eating alone, normally I’d have shared a side or starter, mixing and matching dishes to try things – I stuck with two dishes and it probably was a little bit too much. It was a great evening, I more or less was left alone to enjoy my own company, after all a female wearing a wedding ring wouldn’t exactly be the first person people would speak to. The waiter /owner was kind and even humoured my ordering in Greek. I’d highly the hearty food. I was alone but certainly didn’t feel lonely at all.

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The next day I wanted to try out one of the hiking trails and Route 1 seemed the easiest as it started in the Chora and ended at the beach in Otzia – which would be a perfect spot for a swim and lunch, before getting the bus back. I wanted to have a look at the Archaeological Museum first before setting off and I’m really glad I did, as it was my only opportunity because it is only open 8-3pm. At a bargain 2Euro entrance fee it is well worth a trip, on two floors it holds a fine collection of artefacts from various excavations on  the island. Of particular interest was the statues found at Ayia Irini near the port village of Korissia. These 60 + fragments of Neolithic Goddesses or ‘Sisters of Kea’ as they have been called, were found a temple and have been the subject of much mystery. They are ranging from 6ft in height to smaller versions, large bosomed, mostly headless and wearing skirts and necklaces. They are quite a striking collection and I perhaps gave them extra gravitas as I’m reading The Power by Naomi Alderman, a rather dark and violent alt-reality about the shift to a female-centric society. If you’ve read the book you’ll know what I mean, if not – READ IT! These Goddesses certainly got me thinking that there could have been whole tribes of people in early civilisation that not only worshiped goddesses but were led and governed by female warriors.

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Inspired by all that I grabbed a delicious tyripita (cheese pie) from the bakery, loaded up on water bottles and set off on the trail. I really enjoy walking on my own as it gives me plenty of time to escape the chattering mind and get out into nature – although I do walk with a ‘spider/snake-stick’ which means that if you see me from a far I appear to be either brandishing a magic wand or blessing the path in front of me like an ordained priest. Really, I’m just waving the stick about to prevent me walking into cobwebs…ugh, I think (and hope) snakes are too lazy in high summer to attack! The paths were well marked and took me down from the Chora, past the Lion again and onto the spring at Veniamin which is a huge area with a marbled plaque and rows of drinking troughs. The Spring is still active and there is a huge oak tree for shade, from here the path is cobbled and flanked by dry stone walls and trails gently downward into the valleys.

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Originally this path would have connected the town to goods and traders ships which came in at the small inlet of Otzias. After nearly 2 hours walking (and no spider interactions – just a cricket flew into me and I yelped) I reached the beach – I hadn’t passed anyone apart from a woman on a donkey, presumably heading into town on her trusty steed.

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Some aspects of Kea really surprised me with its traditional ways, like donkey’s still being used for transport and the quietness of village life still going on in the same way as it has done for decades, despite being so close to the mainland. There is also a stark contrast such as the number of new build houses dotting the landscape once you head out of the valley, which made me feel a little sad when so many gorgeous building lay in need of repair in the Chora. But like everything, you can’t stand in the way of progress, especially when the country is still recovering from the economic crisis, although this week saw the reintroducing of Greek Bonds, a first since 2014 and some say a sign of a return to growth. I really liked the beach at Otzia, gravelly near white sand and shelving calm sea, sun loungers at one end and free benches at the other. The beach has a few apartments and hotels scattered around it, all fairly busy with a mix of mostly Greeks, French and Dutch. After a swim and sunbathe  I treated myself to a salad for lunch at Taverna Anna and sipped Fix beer in the shade while I waited for the bus back up to town.

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In addition to spending some time in Kea writing, I also wanted to keep practising my photography skills – amateur at the best of times, but G lent me his decent camera so I spent a couple of hours wandering the streets snapping away at decadent ironwork, abandoned houses and doorways…a growing obsession with the decaying grandeur of neo-classical buildings. Luckily Syros is prime hunting ground for such palaces, so I expect this interest to grow.

I spent my last night on Kea watching the world go by from the comfort of the outdoor seats at En Lefko on the main street. The town isn’t over-crowded as such, but does fill up after 9.30pm when people start taking up tables in the tavernas. I bagged a spot in the Kalofagadon restaurant overlooking the picturesque town hall. Enjoying another excellent dinner, this time tasty lamb chops and horta, followed by watermelon. This also scuppered my plans of having an ice-cream on the wander back to the house! I mean, what kind of holiday doesn’t have ice-cream factored in as a daily activity! Tsk – I had let myself down!

The next day I had blind faith in the taxi I had ‘booked’ by chatting to one of the drivers in the square, as the time crept on, 5 minutes ticked into 10 and I considered my options; 1) miss the ferry back to Syros – costly, 2) wander over to the table of men in the café and beg for a lift to the port, and before I had time to think of a third, my trusty steed arrived, no not the taxi driver I actually made this arrangement with, but the one who I met when I arrived. Phew! And before I knew it there I was back on the Aqua Spirit with a breakfast of Spanakopita, from Korissia’s traditional wood-fired bakery and a freddo espresso to enjoy on the journey back to Ermoupoli.

For those of you who pay attention, yes, I did have 3 pastry based meals in 4 days – don’t judge – I also could have had WAY more cheese.

Sadly, that might be my last Aqua Spirit journey as the boat is due to retire at the end of the month – I asked the ships purser when it was changing to the new boat (the ex-, he was vague “next month, sometime”. But having travelled on it quite a bit this summer, I was pleased to get the nod of recognition from the crew. They walk around the ship when it gets into each port to make sure the lost tourists get off at the right stop. At Kythnos he did his usual walk through, looked at me and said “Syro, neh?. I smiled ‘Neh, Syro’, and kept that smile long enough for the boat to reach Ermoupolis and see its twin hills swing into view. There she is, the Queen of the Cyclades and thought to myself, ‘home’…

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School’s out for summer!

I hear from friends and family that it’s the end of term in the UK and finally schools are out for summer. Whenever I think of the end of term I hear the Alice Cooper song screeching “Skools out for EVER!‘” Schools here in Greece finish in mid-June, so for them it really is a long stretch of holiday before going back in in September. The local children are always playing around the village, zooming through the streets on BMX bikes, playing games and swimming on the beaches. It seems idyllic compared to when I think back to my childhood when those six magical weeks felt like an eternity of days spread out on the horizon. Mine were mostly at the mercy of UK summer weather and day trips to the coast, August bank holidays in Blackpool – and the longevity of the family joke “Beans or tomato’s, duck? Always delivered in a thick Black Country accent to impersonate the eccentric B&B landlady we stayed with near the North Pier aka ‘the posh end’ of Blackpool. Every few years these six weeks were punctuated by a holiday to Greece with my family. It was 1993 when we visited Crete and I came back with blond sun bleached streaks in my hair and freckles that joined up on my nose. There I was at age 11, the summer before starting secondary school when I developed a growing penchant for Greece. It was like the first kiss of a lifelong holiday romance with a country I just can’t break up with.

Also, look how cool I was with those 90s shorts on and I still dress the same…summer fashion has gone full circle!

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As holiday countdown starts for most families and the newspapers report on the gloom of fluctuating currencies (yes, pretty dire at the moment – every cent counts), it also the time of year wherever you turn there is a helpful list of things to pack ‘for the capsule holiday wardrobe’ and things that are the ‘must-have‘ fashion items for this summer. We met a couple last week who are travelling around the world over 12 months, starting with Europe and are here in Syros for a month. They only have hand luggage – yes, for a year! It’s really made me think about necessities. Since realising I have clothes and beauty items that I have discovered are entirely surplus to requirements. I have a pang of regret like I was tricked by that tiny voice of consumerism when packing for six months in Greece. A lot of what I brought was totally needed: jogging bottoms, yoga pants, jumpers, wool socks and a Northface fleece – absolutely needed for the cold Spring nights (and days, like the sullen afternoon in April I went out for a walk to the Aquarium in Kini just to stay warm). Then a lot really wasn’t necessary; dressy stuff just feels pointless –there are 3 dresses I may not even wear, just too ‘showy’, earrings and jewellery doesn’t get much of an airing, also that orange pair of H&M sandals – not even comfortable. Honestly though, most things clothes-wise seem to get a good use – but there is a full on staple of bikini/vest/denim shorts and flip-flops in regular rotation. But for anyone packing for a week or two in Mediterranean climes I would heartily recommend the less is more approach –think basics, mix and match dresses for day and evening, comfy trousers, shorts, vests and t-shirts – no heels, nothing bulky – cardie/jacket for the evening chill. A lovely friend of mine whatsapped me photos of her holiday purchases while in a sweaty high street changing room on Oxford Street – I tried to be constructive but shuddered at the horror of pre-holiday shopping!

Summer beauty routine
In the past 4 months away I have not only relinquished the overstuffed beauty bag with its various lotions and potions, stripping back to basics. First to go was my love of garish nail varnish, which just cannot withstand the reality of handwashing loads and daily applications of mosquito repellent, as well as gardening. I don’t miss it at all and my nails have never been in better shape – I have also ‘almost’ quit biting the skin around my fingers as a nervous habit…almost. Given that I thought I’d have to go to a hairdresser at some point, I have instead decided to let my hair go and do what the bloomin’ heck it likes. Apart from a treat of frizz ease every once in a while and some ‘silver-purple-shampoo’, my hair seems to relish the humidity and stays soft, in salty tousled curls. I have reached what beauty editors could describe as ‘untamed beach hair’ without the help of any products. Okay, I admit there may have been some lemon juice involved but that’s all-natural! The hair-straighteners still mock me from afar, having only been used once to ‘iron’ a shirt. All you really need is basic shampoo’s, a better grade conditioner and decent shower gel. Most branded beauty items are expensive here – nivea – johnsons – elvive,  all around twice the cost of at home. So I frugally scour the supermarkets and Lidl for special offers, having recently discovered the joys of the French-brand Le Petit Marseillais which is reasonably priced and paraben free, so I am embracing their shower gel and moisturiser. My other essential item is bio-oil- few drops on the face for a treat or dose on any dry patches of legs, elbows etc. Less is definitely more. Sometimes I think that my lax attitude to personal appearance is weather dependent – it’s hot, so why bother. But I think I have also been slightly freed from the tyranny of my appearance. I generally spend less time near a mirror, maybe I ‘look’ but I don’t ‘see’ my face under the same level of scrutiny I once gave it. Every day back in London you are accidentally confronted with your own reflection from a range of unflattering angles, from glimpses in the train door, the chrome toaster in the work kitchen, shop windows, hopping on the bus and the under the neon lights of the tube, then reflected down through ceilings as you stand on escalators, the revolving door of the office, and especially in the work toilet mirror checking your eyeliner in between meetings…it’s impossible not to be horrified with your sallow skin and tired eyes every hour of the day. But here, I have a mirror in the bathroom and one in the bedroom – and they don’t get much attention. Not that I have somehow lost interest, I think it just doesn’t matter. I might wear mascara once a fortnight and go ‘BOOM’ that makes your eyeslashes POP! But I like my lines, my ruddy red cheeks, the freckles that have joined up and the wild-hair (I saw a photo G took and said, “wow I have actually turned into Charlie Dimmock” and was quite pleased). The downy blond hair on my arms and legs is so bleached, I couldn’t bear to mess with it and I went through a phase of not shaving because I had a theory that the mossie’s bit hairy legs less often…I was wrong!  I seem to be reminded of the First Aid Kit song lyrics to ‘Heaven knows’ which captures this kind of daily obsession women face about their faces, especially as we age; “you spent a year staring into a mirror, another one trying to figure out what you saw, paid so much attention to what you’re not, you have no idea who you are”. I am about to start reading Selfie by Will Storr – so expect further thoughts on this soon. Anyway I digress – this piece was meant to be about summer beaches and bloody well not worrying what you look like in a bikini and it’s gone all over the place.

On body-confidence
I think I hate that word, ‘body-confidence’ it jars with me – wear what you want and enjoy the beach. Having spent a fair amount of time on the beach this summer, I can make the following observations from the shores of Greece.

All bodies are ‘beach-bodies’ and the Greeks are a nation poised for summer at all times. They enjoy the hot weather in all its glory, the sea, the beach, ready to pose, to swim, to tan (apply your factor please!) and even play slightly annoying bat and ball (the Greeks love this – it’s like a competitive sport!) Also, this year there is particular trend that must be gathering pace across every Mediterranean beach, yes, following on from last-year’s horror that was the inflatable pink flamingo, this year we have an even wider range of inflatable novelties direct from China. So far I have witnessed; ink iced donuts, ice cream lollies, white swans, and even 5ft unicorns (I shall not name the guilty purchasers you know who you are and you loved it!). Please avoid with care or harpoon these nasties at will!

The beach is a microcosm of the world at play. From the perma-tanned aging ‘Adonis’ in his tiny speedos to the teenage boys showing off at beach volleyball, sucking in their six-packs for photos. The pasty-newly arrived-holiday makers with sunburnt shoulders, snoozing after a bottle of retsina at lunch, hands clasping heavyweight novels in the shade.  I have watched elderly couples in their 80s holding hands and helping one another wade into the waves, paddling about without a care in the world. Their creaky joints relieved by the weightlessness in the sea. Ladies swimming in little groups wearing floppy sunhats and gossiping as they tread water – these old-timers care not what they look like, but are proud to be enjoying the sea.  I have seen babies and toddlers scream with both delight and fear as they paddle for the first time and learn to swim on this beach. Teenage girls, veering from shy to flirtatious in their skimpy 2 piece newly purchased swimwear ready to parade and tan. There is a growing trend for very skimpy bikini’s this year, high cut thongs and it takes a kind of sassy bravado to wear this style which I respect. But is surprising how popular they are in such a conservative country such as Greece. Those bums certainly attract attention! I have also seen a fair share of everything else on some of the ‘clothing optional’ beaches. Embracing the full spectrum of shapes, sizes and sheer grandeur of the human form is what being beach ready is all about. The best way to get over the body fascism that is peddled by the fashion industry and clothing lines to sell swimwear, is by celebrating what real bodies look like and what real bodies do. They save lives, make lives, give pleasure and pain, they grow, they heal and most of all, they change.

I am 35, I have cellulite, I am no perfect 10, but quite frankly I have never felt better on the beach. I feel the first step to being comfortable is defining your own body by what it can do rather than how it looks in a bikini – I can swim a kilometre, run a 10k and sometimes, hike up to the top of a mountain without passing out.

No matter what I dress it in, my body would always rather be in the sea than sat on the sidelines.

And wherever you go this summer don’t forget the suncream!

 

 

A lazy sunday dinner

I know you probably think weekends and weekdays don’t have much difference here in Greece, you’d be wrong. Not only are weekday’s marked by working and tapping away at a laptop, they are also days to GSD (Get Sh*t Done), whether that’s gardening, food shopping or just tackling things to do. So then the weekend is freed up to relax and explore. Weekends do feel different here in the village anyway, Friday afternoons are slightly busier on the beach as people head down after work and then everywhere fills up with weekenders from Athens and people exploring the island. It’s funny as we have had such crazy heat for the past week that the beach has been absolutely packed as people jostle for shade and space to cool down. This was even worse on Sunday when temperatures soared to 40c – it was like an oven when you stepped outside into what the weather man called ‘African wind’. This is why I am thankful of our little house, its windows don’t get the blazing sun and it stays relatively cool all day – although now we are now using the air-con at night we are reusing all the water the A/C pumps out to water the garden. We stay cool and the veggies get watered!

On Sunday I wanted to make a big one-pot dish to last us a few days – deciding that a traditional Greek Stifado perfectly suits the hot weather. Yes, stew in summer too! I started cooking on Sunday morning which was lucky as by the time the stew had just cooked we had another power outage. So happily went to the beach to swim. But then there was another cut when we returned from the beach. When walking down the street home our neighbour helpfully suggested we just went straight back to the beach as it was too hot at home! “To paralia, pame” (the beach, just go!). It turned out the the islands electricity plant was unable to cope with the heatwave’s extra demands on services like A/C usage and was implementing rotating powercuts across the island to help ease thr pressure. I understand that Kini fared quite badly in the timetabling of these, as the 3 powercuts we had all coincided with major times the taverna’s and cafes’ should have been serving hot food and cold drinks to all the beach customers. By 7pm I was getting antsy – “what if it doesn’t come back on, the stifado could do with cooking for another hour” I whinged at G while lying prone on the concrete terrace with the cat in an effort to stay cool. I started to mentally count the number of tealights we had and wonder if we could eat the contents of the freezer before it all spoiled.

Boom! 8pm and the power was back. I was so happy and celebrated by switching the air-con down low and boiling vegetables to accompany the decliciously slow-cooked stew. I might have sweated in that kitchen – but the effort was worth it.

Here is the recipe for my version of beef stifado (there is probably many takes on this and I wont claim any originality here, but this is tried and tested)

750grams of beef (any cut that’s good for stewing)
4 onions chopped
6 shallots peeled and whole
4 gloves of garlic (or as much or little as you fancy)
1 jar of passata
2 generous spoons of tomato paste
4 bay leaves
1 tspn of cinnamon
2 tspns of dried oreganp
Salt and pepper to taste
300mls of red wine (I used the 1euro bottle from the supermarket)
50mls of red wine vinegar

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My method is simple and takes no prisoners of perfection: seal beef in a pan with a big generous glug of high quality olive oil, add onions to fry along. After 10mins or so medium heat, add tomato passata and paste, red wine and vinegar.

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Perhaps a cup or two of water to loosen the sauce. Add herbs and spices, adjust accordingly to taste but should be sweet and tomatoey, with a hint of cinnamon and bay. Simmer on a low hob heat for 2 hours, or transfer to an oven pot with a lid and cook on low for 2 hours. The beef should be meltingly soft and the shallots squishy. Keep the sauce moist by adding water/wine as it cooks.

I served this with basil mash, homegrown carrots (from the landlord) and green beans.

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Once you have enjoyed one dinner from this dish and have leftovers, its easy to add orzo pasta (the Greek pasta that looks like rice), mix half-cooked pasta in with the leftover stew and then cook in the oven with cheese on top for a whole new dish. This is what we did last night with fresh crusty bead to dip in and green beans on the side. Frugal and fabulous cooking at its best!

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