The Dark-Hunters (872 page)

Ochi
    (O-khee) no (the “khee” is guttural). Greeks also look up and click their tongue making a
tsk
sound for an emphatic “No.”

Oneiro
    (OH-nee-ro) dream

Oneiropulos
    (oh-nee-RHO-pu-los) dreamer

Oreo
    (oh-RAY-oh) nice, beautiful

Pagoto
    (pa-go-TO) ice cream

Pamai
    (PA-may) let’s go

Papou
    (pa-POO) grandfather

Parakalo
    (pa-ra-ka-LO) please or you’re welcome

Pethi
    (peh-THEE) child

Pethimou
    (pe-THEE-moo) my child

S’agapo
    (sa-ga-PO) I love you

Scoupethia
    (skoo-PEE-thia) trash; junk

Selini
    (see-LEE-nee) moon

Signomi
    (sig-NO-mee) excuse me, sorry

Thea
    (THEE-ah) aunt

Thelo
    (THEH-low) I would like …

Theo
    (THEE-oh) uncle

Tikanis?
    (ti-KAHN-ees) How are you?

Tipota
    (TEE-po-ta) nothing

Ti thelis?
    (tee-THE-lees) What do you want?

Trogo
    (tro-GO) I eat

Vlaka
    (VLA-ka) big fat jerk

Ya’sou
    (YA-sue) bless you (also used when giving a toast). A catch-all phrase—sneezing or dancing, blessing people is never a bad thing.

Ya’sta heriasou
    (YA-stah HAIR-ee-ah-sue) bless your hands

Yiayia
    (YA-ya) grandmother

Zesti
    (ZE-stee) it is hot

Yiayia’s Recipe Box

We have three kinds of family. Those we are born to, those who are born to us, and those who we let into our hearts. I have let you into my heart, so the Simi is your family and she won’t give you up.

—Simi

I’m probably going to be kicked out of my family for this … but I can’t let you go without having a few Greek recipes for you to take with you. Sharing food around a table means that you are family and will forever be treated as such. Sharing recipes, on the other hand, means that you are a traitor and deserve to be killed.

Maybe I should put my Evil Eye on before I write this next part. Hold on … okay, got it. I feel better now. Not to mention, knowing some of these recipes can come in handy should Simi ever visit. Word to the wise, the demon lives to eat, so make sure you have lots of things for her to snack on that aren’t you and your Squire.

This first one is so incredibly simple you’re going to wonder why you’ve never tried it before. Have it once a week if you like, and be sure to trot it out when company comes. They will think you’ve slaved all day, and they’ll talk about it for years and years to come.

I know from experience.

It’s best when served with a warm loaf of crusty bread. You’re welcome to add a side salad, if you need something green in your diet other than lots and lots of oregano—the heart of every great Greek dish.

Well, oregano and butter.

GREEK CHICKEN

potatoes

chicken

1 stick butter (roughly)

oregano

optional: salt, pepper, olive oil, lemon juice

Go on, say it. You think I’m making this up as I go along. And you’d be right. The thing about Greek recipes is that they’re all kind of nebulous. How much you make depends on how many people you’re having. It also depends on your particular taste—the Greeks expect you to monkey around with the recipe and alter it to your own state of “perfection,” so they give you the basics and let you run with it.

It’s not so much a recipe as it is … more like guidelines, really.

Ready?

Peel a bunch of potatoes and cut them up. (The bigger the pieces you have the longer this dish takes to cook. I cut them in long wedges, like making homemade French fries.) Dump them into a pan (probably a big one, because you’re going to want leftovers). Clean your chicken pieces (I usually use boneless chicken breasts because I like white meat and don’t want to bother with fussing with the bones), and dump them in the pan with the potatoes. Put in a bit of olive oil, if you want, and maybe a bit of lemon juice. Cut up the stick of butter into pieces and drop them all over the chicken and potatoes.

Hopefully, you’ve got a big fat can of oregano. The best kind is grown and dried yourself—the little purple flowers are the best part—but store-bought is absolutely fine. If you have store-bought, go ahead and take that little shaker piece off the top of the can. Shaking is for wimps. Dump a nice handful of oregano into your palm. With help from your other hand, crush the oregano between your palms while sprinkling it over the chicken and potatoes. Be generous. Salt and pepper if you desire. I usually forget.

Place the pan in the oven at 350°F for an hour or so, until the potatoes are done. (Remember, the potatoes take the longest to cook.) And be patient, no matter how good your kitchen smells—underdone potatoes are no good for anyone except maybe Jacob Marley. And it’s a good idea to stir the dish once or twice during the baking, just to make sure everything gets covered in butter and oregano.

It looks like a lot of words, but I promise you this will be the best and easiest dish you have ever made.

AVGOLEMONO (CHICKEN AND RICE SOUP)

1 chicken

6 cups chicken broth

1 cup rice

3 eggs, separated

1 lemon, juiced

salt and pepper, to taste

You’ll be thrilled to have this staple of the Greek kitchen next time you’re feeling miserable and chicken noodle just won’t cut it.

Boil the chicken until fully cooked, then let it cool. Tear into pieces for addition to the soup later.

Boil the broth and add rice, adding salt and pepper to taste. When the rice is cooked, lower the heat to simmer.

Beat the three egg whites until stiff, then add the yolks and lemon juice. Add broth from the rice a little at a time, still beating. When most of the broth has been used, return the mixture to the rice.

Stir well; add as much chicken as you desire.

BAKLAVA

1 to 2 sticks melted butter

1 box phyllo sheets

NUT MIXTURE

1 bag (16 oz.) walnuts, crushed

¼ cup sugar

2 tsp. cinnamon

SYRUP

1 cup water

1 cup sugar

1 tbsp. lemon juice

¾ cup honey

Again, quantities are variable in this recipe. A lot of the old recipes call for “a handful” of this or “a saucer” of that, so amounts really are subjective. As long as you’ve got the items on the list, the interpretation is up to you.

Butter, however, is something you never skimp on. My great-grandmother always said that the difference between a good cook and a great cook was half a pound of butter. Be generous; your guests will thank you for it.

In fact, I should tell you, I’ve received marriage proposals after making this dish. Take that however you want. Just be prepared. You can’t say you weren’t warned.

Start with that melted butter and a big glass baking dish—the deeper the dish, the deeper your baklava can be. It’s all up to you. Butter the dish with a basting brush, and lay 3 to 5 sheets of phyllo down at the bottom. (Your unused phyllo should be kept in between the plastic and/or some dish towels so that it doesn’t dry out while you’re working.)

There are two ways to do the layering—you can lay down each sheet and the nut mixture and
then
pour the butter over everything at the end, or you can brush each sheet as you go. I usually tend to brush each sheet—it keeps everything in place a little better. The latter method tends to use more butter—again, you can take that as a good thing or a bad thing.

Between each sheet, sprinkle 2 to 3 tablespoons of the nut mixture. Layer to your heart’s content. Layer until you run out of phyllo or walnuts or you’re sick of looking at it—whichever comes first. The first few layers are a bit tricky, but take your time. You’ll get the hang of it after a while, and then it goes a lot faster.

The top 3 to 5 sheets should be nice and pretty and unbroken, so your baklava looks lovely (stick all the broken sheets in the middle where no one will care).

Cut the baklava before you cook it.
This is very important. Squares or triangles … however you prefer. It is
so
much easier to do when the phyllo is soft and full of butter and not flaky and crumbly. If you haven’t previously covered the baklava in butter, now is the time to do so. It’s not officially baklava until the phyllo sheets—and you, and the counter—are all covered in butter.

Bake the baklava at 350°F for about an hour, or until brown.

While you’re waiting on that, boil the water and sugar until the sugar is fully dissolved … and then a couple of minutes after that, just for good measure. You want a seriously supersaturated mix, and this will ensure it. Take the saucepan off the burner, and then stir in the lemon and honey.

Pour it over the cooked baklava, and then let it sit and think about itself for a while, Sometimes cutting through the pieces again helps everything soak in better. You don’t need to refrigerate it; you can leave it on the counter covered in plastic wrap for up to about a week. I’ve heard from a friend that it survives freezing tolerably well, but baklava in our house has never stuck around for that long.

If you’re giving it as a gift or bringing it to a party, it’s best to use tinfoil baking cups so that the honey doesn’t go all over the place. Just save the paper ones for later, when you want to make muffins.

Nothing goes to waste in a Greek household.

And, if you like to be preemptive, you can include a recipe card with your gift—the recipient will surely be asking you for it.

It … and possibly your hand in marriage.

VASILOPITA (NEW YEAR’S BREAD)

10 eggs, separated

2½ cups sugar

2 tsp. vanilla

½ lb. butter, melted and cooled

5 oz. cognac (or Metaxa if you’ve got it)

juice from 8 to 10 oranges

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. baking powder

2½ lbs. flour

grated rind from 1 orange

egg yolk (optional)

½ cup slivered almonds (optional)

2 tbsp. sesame seeds (optional)

powdered sugar (optional)

coin (vital)

(makes two large or three small breads)

Beat egg yolks; add sugar a little at a time until dissolved. Add vanilla and the melted and cooled butter. Beat until smooth.

In a separate container, mix the cognac, orange juice, baking soda, and baking powder.

Beat the egg whites until stiff, but not dry.

Into the egg yolk mixture, slowly add the flour and the cognac-orange juice mixture. Finally, fold in the egg whites.

Pour batter into a greased (or buttered and floured) baking pan.

The lucky coin needs to go into the batter before you bake it—it’s best to wrap it in a bit of plastic wrap or aluminum foil. (It’s always safer, of course, to find the coin in the bread before you go sinking your teeth into it.) Hide it well—and then forget where you hid it. If you can’t forget, then let everyone else choose their slices before you to be fair.

If you wish, you can decorate the top of your bread using egg yolk (for a nice brown crust), almonds (it’s always fun to spell out the year with them), and sesame seeds. If you use egg yolk do that first—don’t brush the almonds with yolk.

Bake at 350°F until done (the bread will start pulling away from the sides of the pan).

Feel free to decorate further by sprinkling powdered sugar on top before serving.

Eat with caution, and good luck!

GREEK COFFEE

water

sugar

Turkish or Greek coffee

Now, if you can’t get Turkish or Greek coffee locally, don’t fret. You can use any kind of coffee really—the stronger and bolder the blend, the better, of course. If you grind it yourself, you’ll note that at the store (or on your grinder), there is actually a setting for Turkish. It means that the beans will be as finely ground as humanly possible. That’s what you’re going for.

Three is the number of power, remember; this recipe is so simple it’s deceptive. For each cup of coffee you want, add one demitasse cup full of water, one teaspoon sugar, and one heaping teaspoon of coffee to your copper
briki.
(If you don’t have a
briki
you can use a small saucepan, but it’s harder to get the coffee into the demitasse cups—the
briki
actually has a specially designed lip that facilitates pouring from the side.)

Beat or stir the coffee vigorously over heat until it comes to a boil, then remove from heat and wait until the foam goes down. Replace over heat—this procedure must be done three times.