Prunes with Walnuts for Tea Time

An upcoming trip to Istanbul (tomorrow!) has put us in a more exotic frame of mind. Also, we are busy packing. But nothing keeps us from a pretty tea-time. These are simple and beautiful and made really with just two things- the prunes and the walnuts, plus tea and sugar which you already have for tea anyway.

We will need:

As many pitted prunes as you like

As many walnut halves as prunes

Brewed tea to cover the prunes- we used Earl Grey

A little sugar

First, a really good trick:

Check the walnuts- are they sweet and fresh, or a little stale? If they could use refreshing, boil some water, put the walnuts in, remove them immediately with a fine-mesh strainer, give them a shake, and dry them in the oven- ten minutes with a fan should do it, and crisp them a little. The water will have turned reddish-brown with tannins, now leached from the nuts, which will be sweet and fresh tasting (though not have the strong rich flavor of a perfect fresh nut). 

All we do now is cover the prunes with tea and simmer until they swell. The tea will become dark and thick with the juice of the prunes. Remove the prunes with a slotted spoon to a platter. Stuff each one with a walnut half, pretty side out.

To the dark prune-infused tea, add a spoonful or two of sugar. It doesn't need any sweetness, but the sugar will add body and gloss as we cook it down. Boil rapidly until it becomes a thin syrup. This should  only take a moment or two.

Pour the syrup over the prunes for serving. If you have it and want a little more exotic fragrance, spritz them with some orange flower water:

And to keep the motif, and also because the colors go so nicely, slice a peeled orange and dust it with cinnamon. Some strained yogurt, clotted cream, or labneh are just the thing if you want something more filling for tea-time.

When we are having these, we usually use our Turkish tea glasses rather than cups and saucers. 

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Torte of Good Fortune for the New Year- Sparkle and Simplicity

The classic New Year's Eve dessert in Greece is called a Vassilopita- named for St. Vassilis (bearer of gifts), celebrated on the first day of the New Year. It's usually a tsoureki (challah)-like sweet raised cake. I love tradition, but a bread, no matter how buttery or delicious, is not a festive dessert in our household. We use the ocassion to make anything grand- usually an experiment- as long as it is round, and has a coin. Last year we did a Swedish Princesstorte with homemade marzipan (green!) blanketing a pillow of whipped cream on top of spongecakes sandwiched together with raspberry jam and brushed with rum syrup. Beautiful. Messy to cut.

This year's Vasilopita is also messy to cut. You won't mind- it is delicious. We made a trial so I could share it with you here. We sometimes have disagreements about tradition- this beautiful cake is showered with pomegranate seeds- bearers of good luck. The fruit is a symbol of good fortune for the New Year, and so this untraditional nod towards tradition makes a delicious and stunningly beautiful compromise. It is also very very simple.

We made a meringue shell. Then from the egg yolks left over- a classic creme patisserie, to be lightened later with whipped cream (this makes something called a creme chibouste- light and rich and a fine in everything and also fine in a goblet all by itself. If quality had a flavor, it would be this.) The top is heaped with the dazzling ruby seeds of good-luck pomegranates. It is several steps, but they are each simple, and can be done whenever it suits you best.

First the meringue- We will need:

4 egg whites

200 g/ 1 C sugar

a dash of vinegar

a pinch of salt

non-stick baking paper

Separate the eggs and set the yolks aside (putting them in a jar, covering them with milk, and storing in the refrigerator).

Beat the whites with an electric mixer until foamy, add the salt and vinegar, and continue beating, adding the sugar spoonful by spoonful, until the meringue s glossy and dense.

Line a baking sheet with the non-stick parchment. Mound the meringue into the middle, and, using your serving tray as a guide, spread it into as large a circle as the tray will accommodate, leaving a well in the middle and deep thick sides to hold in the cream and the fruit. We did not use a pastry bag for formal perfection but rather just a spoon, touching the surface and pulling u sharply to make spikes like a sea anemone- a fanciful Chihuly-inspired form to hold the glassy rubies that will fill the center. This took about 30 seconds, and was quite fun. if it for New Years, slipped a clean and foil-wrapped coin into the thick side and cover any trace it it.

A meringue does not bake so much as simply dry. Put it in the oven at a mere 90 C/ 200 F, or even lower of you have a dry day and plenty of patience. Leave it there until is is entirely dry on the surface and most importantly on the bottom, so it can be safely removed from the paper. This will take more than an hour, and maybe two. use the removable bottom of a tart pan to lift it safely and place it on a tray out of harm's way.

Make a creme patisserie of the yolks, Let chill, then lighten with 200 ml/ C heavy cream, whipped stiff, to make a creme chibouste.

Now we are ready to assemble and need only the pomegranate seeds- probably from two large fruits. They are an intricate fruit- thousands of ruby seeds in in clusters, separated by webs of membranes. 

This easy trick frees them:

Fill a large bowl half full of water. Make a cut in a pomegranate, put it under the water and pull it apart:

Loosen the seeds from the white part with your fingertips; they will sink to the bottom and the membranes and outer shell will float- skim them off, fill the bowl with fresh water, and run your hands gently through the seeds to loosen the rest of the membrane. Skim these from the water's surface also, and drain the seeds in a wire strainer until completely dry.

A few hours before serving, assemble the dessert by piling the creme chibouste into the center, and covering the top thoroughly with a thick layer of the glittering seeds.

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Rich Pear Brownies Mirror a Crisp Fall Day.

These very simple, very rich brownies with their pattern of swirling leaves are quick and spontaneous. They are a thing of the moment- lots of seasonal fruit (it is nearly impossible to buy a modest amount of produce in abundant Greece), bound with some kitchen staples, in the oven and out in no time. Pears and chocolate are delicious together- the sophisticated version of  the  chocolate cherry  or strawberry, and their inspiration is a lot older. For me, the formal combination of Pear and Chocolate dates from the '80's, with my first of many, many Lindt with Pear Williams bars. Histrorically, it dates from Escoffier's classic (more mysterious by far than the Peach Melba- also Escoffier, and also for a Helen- Opera star Nellie Melba). Escoffier introduced Poire Belle Helene  in honor of an Operetta- La Belle Helene- about Helen of Troy. Classic plated dessert, chocolate bar, brownie-  it is hard to come across a combination of pears and chocolate that is not a rich and little intriguing like a crisp bite of fall.

We will need:
8 medium pears- here, Williams pears the size of a child's fist.
250 g/generous 1 C butter
100 g/ 1 C cocoa powder
425 g/ generous 2 C sugar
4 eggs
160 g/ 1 1/3 C flour
1/4 tsp. salt

Wash the pears, make thin slices from the sides of some, and dice the rest. Put them on parchment in a medium oven (170 C/350 F) with the fan on to let them concentrate and dry out a little as you assemble the rest of the ingredients. Line a large (25 x 28 cm. or 10" x 11") with non-stick parchment and set aside. In a pan large enough to combine everything later, melt the butter over low heat. Remove the pan from the heat, and blend in the sugar, cocoa, and salt.

Whisk to blend very well, and, making sure the mixture is now not at all hot, add the eggs, whisking as you do- it will be a smooth, dark, batter with the texture of a pudding. Add the flour- it will seem like very little. Test for sugar- sometimes it seems to need a little more.  Check the pears- the slices should be slightly browned on the edges, and the diced pieces a little sticky, not juicy. 

Add the diced pear to the brownie batter. Scatter the slices over the top like leaves, and dust with a little coarse sea salt for sparkle- beautiful, and it really brings out the fruit.

Bake for about 30 minutes at 170 C/350 F (without the fan), until a toothpick comes out nearly clean.

They will slice better when cool. They're very lovely, and if you want to make more than a casual snack of them, a triangle with some cream ice cream on the side will bring them from lunch box to dinner party. The gritty texture of the pear breaks up the brownie's rich smoothness, wonderful together.

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Pate - Humble Chicken Liver Enlivened with Butter and Booze. (Plus, a Little Tell-Tale Risotto and some Love for Your Dog!)

Everything's better with liquor and butter. But don't take last week's apple pie as an example, or a batch of boozy fleur de sel caramels. Adding a shot of rum to a silky chocolate buttercream? Proves nothing. Taking a un-promising bowl of liver, on the other hand, and turning it into a rich, savory hors d'oeuvre- that is worth talking about.

Another thing worth talking about is being squeamish- I am squeamish. But I try to get over it- being a picky selective carnivore - just white meat fillets - is not responsible and not nice. Also, life is less tasty than it could be. Waste nothing- including opportunities for pleasure, for us and for our animal companions.

For a bowl of pate large enough for six as a hearty snack, we will need:

350 g/ 12 oz cleaned chicken livers (buy 1/2 K/ 1 pound)

1 large onion

50 g butter

1 bay leaf

6 or 7 whole allspice

pinch ground cloves

freshly ground black pepper

30 ml/ 1 oz whiskey or cognac, plus more to taste

some red wine for de-glazing the pan

If you've never worked with livers before, you might be put off.  First of all, chicken livers sometimes come with the heart attached. And the liver is in two lobes, attached by a fine but tough cord. If you are interested in saving every usable bit, it will take some work. If, on the other hand, you have a dog (!), you just slice off what you are sure is without heart or tendons, and leave the ample rest attached to the heart (and what to do with that will follow- hold on to the hearts and the... etc.).

Melt the butter in a large skillet. Dice the onion and add it along with the bay leaf and whole allspice (count them- we will need to remove them later) to the butter, and saute until translucent and beginning to turn golden. Raise the heat to high and add the livers with a nice pinch of salt and some grindings of pepper. The idea is to sear the livers all over but to leave them a little pinkish on the insides. Watch carefully so the bottom of the pan doesn't blacken. Cut through the largest ones to check after a while- a little pink is fine, but there should be no red. Add the whiskey and a gentle pinch of cloves, stir well and remove to a dish. There will still be a film of flavor clinging to the pan- deglaze with a little wine and add that to the livers.

When they are cool enough to handle, remove the allspice and the bay leaf. Pulse in the food processor until it is the right consistency. We like a little texture but some like it fluffy and smooth. Check for seasoning and liquor. Pack it into a dish and smooth the top. At this point, you could cover it with clarified butter for an elegant presentation, but we usually just use plastic wrap.

Serve it with pickled cucumbers and mustard and crusty bread or crackers.

Now for those scraps- do you have a dog, or maybe a neighborhood pack? 

Tell-tale risotto:

The hearts

oil

short grained rice

broth or water

whatever drippings you have in the refrigerator

Gently brown the hearts and break them up into large pieces with the spatula. For every 10 hearts, add a half cup of rice and a one and a half cups of water or broth and anything else you have- like the rest of the oil you fried some meat in. Let the rice get very soft. I have heard that dogs do not want or need salt on their food, and that onions and garlic are not very good for them. I left all that out and she she went at it like a hungry little wolf.

I think they know when you cook for them- they really feel the love! And what, after all, is more important than that?

  

(Every Thanksgiving, hours alone in the kitchen making the year's most classic and unchanging of meals, a rich snack sustains me. I saute some minced onion and add the paper-wrapped frozen liver from the turkey, salt and pepper, and blend it with a little whiskey.)

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Squash Gnocchi Glow Like Topaz- Two Ingredients, Fifteen Minutes.

To be honest it is four ingredients, if you count the butter and the sage we will use to sauce them. And five if you count the wine - they're not a tuna sandwich. This is restaurant lunch, in no time at all. You'll want the time for lingering at the table. 

We'll need:

500 g/ 2 C pureed roasted squash (simple directions here)

250 g/ 2 C flour (we may not need all of it)

salt to taste, and pinch of nutmeg

Make a sticky dough that holds nicely together by adding the flour gradually, using just as much as you need. Season it to taste, going light with the nutmeg but using enough to underscore the sweetness of the squash.

Flour a gnocchi board if you have one, otherwise flour a work space. Pinch off small pieces of dough and roll into a tapered length the width of a lady's ring finger. Roll over the gnocchi board, or the tines of a fork, to make decorative ridges to hold the sauce.

Put water on to boil, salting it like we do for pasta. Put half of the gnocchi in, wait until they all rise to the surface, then boil another two minutes. Test one to make sure they are cooked through to the center, and take them out with a slotted spoon or a small strainer. Repeat with the other half of the gnocchi. Keep the starchy cloudy salty water they cooked in- we will need it.

Five minutes before you are ready to sit down to lunch, make the sauce -

80 g/ 3 oz butter

sage leaves, fresh or dried

Pour off the top half of the cooking water, leaving the thickest, cloudiest part- this will bind with the butter to make a silky, unctuous sauce. Melt the butter in a large skillet large enough to hold all the gnocchi and let it turn a rich golden brown. Add the gnocchi, brown them a little here and there, and ladle in a little cooking water to make sure they are all nicely coated and to give them some gloss.

These need almost nothing- just a light shower of Parmesan if you like, and a glass of wine.

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Squash, The Glamorous Doyenne of Fall.

Squash - neither dainty nor fragile, nor costly nor small - is still a precious thing. Like little Boteros, they add a voluptuous raw sculptural element to the terrace for weeks until we use them. Noble and patient, they wouldn't dream of spoiling. Once cut, they lend their rich creamy texture and their sweetness to savory dishes and desserts with a flexibility unmatched. They have a huge personality- pastas and soups glow deep saffron yellow, tarts and cakes luscious gold - but they mingle graciously with everyone. They can afford to let the sage sparkle, the nutmeg charm; it is the rich fullness of the squash that effortlessly drives the character of the dish. Everything else is icing on her proverbial cake. Not diva, Queen.

A good squash is not just firm but rather rock-hard, and if it is not too hot out, it will stay that way for as long as you'd like. They are much nicer to look at than baskets of potatoes. I have settled for the moment on this stone blue variety. The subtle outside hides bright orange flesh, darker than most, and cooks up denser than any others. It is much harder than a Halloween carving pumpkin. In fact, the most difficult part of cooking anything with it is getting it open in the first place. Your sharpest and heaviest cleaver will sink into it and then just stay there until you pry it out. We need only to somehow separate it into rough halves though. Scoop out the seeds, and set them aside for roasting if you like (not with this particular variety - the seeds are large and tough). Then just place the halves cut side up on a baking sheet and roast them in a medium oven (170 C/ 350 F) until they yield easily to a knife. This takes abut 45 minutes, but check them often - a squash baked too long loses its lively taste. Once cool. we just scoop the flesh out with a spoon, scraping down to the skin. Use a potato masher or a stick blender or a hand mixer to even out the texture if you like, and portion it out into usable quantities, some to use at once, and some in plastic bags for the freezer. 500 g/ 2 C is a good amount for many recipes.

The dark caramelized surface is delicious. Take it off and eat it right away.
The flesh underneath will be uniformly silky.

This will usually leave you with a portion of uneven measure. With ours, I will make gnocchi for two, with this elegant two-ingredient recipe. 

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Butterflied, Crisp-Fried Fresh Anchovies- A Suprisingly Glamorous Tuesday Lunch.

The anchovy is such an elegant fish- svelte, firm, clean-scented. They are very nearly scaleless, tight silver skin glinting beguilingly. In this case, like in so many others, elegance has no relation to cost; these are always the least expensive fish in our part of the Mediterranean. 

A fishless week is happily a rare thing in our house- specifically, an anchovyless week. It's easy to think of anchovies- salt-cured to rich dark suppleness- as a vital and transformative condiment rather than a food- a decisive element of Caesar Salads, Pizza. Fresh ones, lighter on the umami mystique, lighter on the palate, make an ideal fish fry. I never set out to get them, but nearly always do- they are usually 2 euroes a kilo, crisp like apples in the fall- always the freshest of the fish on offer. The light taste of sea never gets tiresome. Cleaning them is surprisingly not at all disgusting; it's satisfying in a primal, visceral sort of way. Short work, too- the guts generally come right out cleanly attached to the head when you cut it off. The blood smells cool and fresh. Owing to their price, freshness and availability, they are a common dish in many homes. So common that, although beloved and delicious, they are not usually thought particularly special. Taking the extra step of butterflying them changes this.

For a generous plate of fried fish, we will need:

A kilo of fresh anchovies

salt

a few handfuls of flour

good oil for frying- one finger-width deep

lemon

maybe some vinegar

Have a newspaper beside the sink, toss in the fish (they will bounce if they are nice and fresh!), and, holding the fish in one hand and a small paring knife in the other, remove the head, pulling the guts out along with it, leaving them on the newspaper. Put the fish in a bowl. A kilo yields about 75 fish. Of these, 5 or 10 may have some scales. They are easily taken off with a knife, drawing the blade from tail to head.

When all the fish are clean and in the bowl, run them under the tap, filling the bowl with water, massaging the fish gently, and changing the water- which will be cloudy and silver at first- until it is very nearly clear. Shake out handfuls of fish to remove most of the water and put them in a smaller bowl.

There are two things that can be done with them:

I. If they are to be fried up whole- which is really just fine and certainly the easiest thing to do- season them with salt and squeeze a lemon over them, leaving the lemon nestled among the fish. Refrigerate until you are ready to fry them, giving them at least a half an hour. The flavors of salt and lemon continue to build- if you plan to leave them long before frying, season them more gently. The bones can be eaten, or very easily removed at the table.

2. If you are of a mind to spoil everyone, you can butterfly them, loosening the spine from the flesh with your fingertips and removing it. 

This is not difficult, and slightly easier if you leave the fish in vinegar for a short time- as if you were making boquerones but more briefly. The flesh will become whiter and more opaque, like a cevice, and the bone will be easier to remove. The fish will take on some liveliness of the vinegar- much more than a half an hour, and they may take on more flavor than you would like for a simple fish fry. When they have been deboned, put them all in a strainer and salt them, tossing the fish abut so the salt gets everywhere. These are now ready for frying (and ready for making a magnificent en Saor- to be enjoyed for days from the refrigerator as a mezze or substantial cocktail snack).

Either way, when ready to fry, put on a large pan of oil (the depth of a finger) on high heat, toss the fish in a fine mesh strainer, dredge them in flour, and give them a vigorous shake to remove the excess before laying them individually in the hot oil so they do not clump together. Whole or filleted, they will need to be turned. The fillets are ready in a flash- they will be done before you need to turn down the oil. For the whole fish, you may need to adjust the temperature if they begin quickly to blacken. You may also find you need to change the oil after two or three batches- much as you may shake the excess flour off, some will fall into the oil, continuing to brown with each new batch. When golden, take them out with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. This makes a beautiful heaping tangle of fish, worth the very little trouble and even less money.

I have found that serving fish for Tuesday lunch sets a fine tone for the week, so fine that it covers for the eventuality of less elaborate meals later on. 

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Tres Gazpachos

Two of my favorite desserts have "3" in them- Pastel con tres leches, and the Three Cities of Spain Cheesecake (named for a cafe in Santa Fe, NM, where it was served), which, even as a New Yorker, I prefer to both the Lindy's and the Junior's versions. 

A favorite warm weather lunch for us is Gazpacho, a seemingly elemental cold soup of simple ingredients that prompts all kinds of experimentation. I had thought that experimentation had at last come to an end when I took my mother's copy of the César's cookbook. This is from a restaurant that thrives despite being down the street from both the venerable Chez Panisse and divine Cha Am, probably based on these excellent recipes. The roasting does much for a so-so tomato. (But we live in Greece- there is no such thing as a so-so tomato.) I love César's rich and full flavored gazpacho, which I leave rough textured-  Gazpacho 1. 

The suave, subtle suede of the excellent Mama Roux gazpacho.

So then, a friend of mine said "You have to try the Gazpacho at John's. It's even better than yours." I was all ears, not envious but definitely startled (I never heard that sentence before), and curious, and very hungry for it by the time I reached the restaurant. Well, it was good! And the difference, chiefly? One of texture- the Mama Roux* Gazpacho had been through a tamis and was suede on the tongue. Delicious balanced flavor. The rich texture (but not in the least heavy) put one more in mind of a meal than a blended salad. I made a basic gazpacho, and after blending, forced it though a fine mesh strainer. Excellent results. Gazpacho 2.

But I missed my version, the earthy roughness of it. What I did not miss was the slightly cooked flavor. The completely raw version was livelier, more vivid. And the Greek tomato needs no help from roasting, amply sweet and flavorful as it is. I do love a rough texture, but small bits of raw tomato skin make have the texture of cling film. In the roasted version, those skins just slipped right off. Blanching in scalding water sounded like no fun, and broiling would cook them too much, and also be no fun. You know what is fun though?- Blow torches**! Although I did not want a cooked flavor, a burnt flavor is a different thing altogether- rich bits of char fit in with the rustic roughness. I trained the blue flame on the skins and they blackened and crackled and hissed. The pulse of the Ur-pyromaniac in me quickened with glee. The smell was marvelous. The flesh between the cracks of blackened charred skin was as raw and vibrant as ever.

"When you're holding a hammer, everything looks like a nail," so goes the saying. When you're holding a blowtorch, everything looks like it might taste better charred. I started looking around for more things to burn. I avoid onion in gazpacho as the flavor of raw onion can sharpen over time. But not the flavor of charred onion- that mellows over time. To the pan I added some thick slices of onion, a garlic clove, and such peppers as I had lying around. The onion takes a surprisingly long time to take color. The garlic softened and took on some sweetness and richness from the flame. The cucumber I left cool and raw.

Was the flavor the equal of vegetables roasted over glowing coals? Perhaps not. But there were no coals to light and wait for, no smoke for the neighbors to complain about (and we already have a dog), no ashes to clean up, and no radiant sweltering heat to sweat over. There was also a level of control and immediate satisfaction that experienced cooking at its most fun provides, but without the need for any experience. And the cool hiss of the torch and the blue flame lend the lively zest of danger (which is real- no loose clothing, hair out of the way).

For Gazpachos 1, 2 or 3, we need the same things:

1 kilo of tomatoes
a garlic clove

a pepper or two

a long cucumber, peeled roughly

a thick slice of stale bread- ciabatta or old-leavened bread

1 tsp. of vinegar

2 T strong wine- sherry would be ideal but I had Cretan Romaico from a friend and it was excellent

120 ml/ 1/2 C olive oil

salt to taste

Maybe an onion

A glass of very cold water to loosen it up enough to be a soup

Gazpacho 1.

For the Cesar's- roast the tomatoes (great if you have a craving in winter!), slip the skins off and remove the cores, mash the garlic into a puree with some salt, and puree everything in the blender until it is the texture you like.

Gazpacho 2.

For my version of Mama Roux's version- Mash the garlic with the salt, core the tomatoes, and puree everything raw. Press through a fine mesh strainer into a bowl, and puree the remaining solids with some cold water and press through again. Only seeds and skin will remain in the strainer this time. Taste for seasoning.

Gazpacho 3. (3 times is a charm)

For the new one, char everything but the cucumbers and the bread. Prepare the vegetables- tomatoes and peppers washed and not wet, onion peeled and in thick slices, garlic whole and unpeeled. Put them in a large and deep metal pan and take it somewhere open and safe with nothing flammable around. The skins of the tomatoes should be entirely blackened (you will need to turn them once- let them cool first), and the peppers nearly so, the garlic golden and the onions browned. It will take 10 or 15  minutes. Mash the garlic into a puree with some salt, remove the cores of the tomatoes, and puree everything- including paper-thin, crisp, fragile and blackened skins in the blender until it is the texture you like. 

Beautiful black flecks are a smoky confetti in our rich red soup.

*Mama Roux is fabulous and is opening a barbeque restaurant soon and also has a talented and creative and passionate chef- here he is, talking about his research and experiments-

Chef Vasilis Sporos in front of Mama Roux

**there are excellent kitchen blow torches available at any culinary supply. But mine is a blowtorch from the hardware store- cheap, basic, given to uneven burst of flame that keep me on my toes, and best of all easy to refill- it takes a gas canister from the supermarket, just like the camping gas we use for Greek coffee. 

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Tangy Minty Crisp Sticky Cheese and Honey Pie.

The most indulgent plate I have ever set eyes on was at a taverna in Therisos, a gorge five minutes west of Chania that is known for meat nearly as much as for scenery, each rich with drama. The scenery was lost to darkness; we were there for the meat. But that meat- glistening mahogany, succulent, tinged with char- was not the indulgence I remember. Sitting on a rustic wooden chair outside the kitchen, elegant in Cretan traditional dress of tall boots and a black crocheted mandili, was an absolutely ancient man. He held a full-sized plate heavy with long pointed wedges of Graviera- a local aged semi-hard cheese- blanketed thickly with thyme honey. He had no bread, and no fork. He looked peaceful, and severe, and what with all the honey, a little bit naughty. Drunk with grilled goat chops and a little tipsy on wine, I could not but gaze at his feast. He gave me the barest wry smile of satisfaction before raising a dripping wedge to his mouth.

Cheese and honey is fabulous- common enough in Crete (kalitsounia- delicious small fried cheese pies served with honey, or the thin and severe and delicious Sfakianopita, blistered on a dry griddle) and elsewhere. Any sweet/savory pie gets to me- Bisteeya, Tourte de Blette.... This pie is simplest of these brilliant lunch/dessert pies- serving every want at every hour. As to the mint- mint in some savory dishes can seem exotic for Western palates- we know it most in juleps and ices, patties covered with chocolate. Paired with fresh goat cheese, like in the fabulous and elaborate Cretan Boureki, or with feta, like in this pie, mint is wild and sophisticated and mellow all at once. 

Nothing says Greece outside of Greece like phyllo pastry. It seems intricate and complicated and exotic but actually it is only the last- packaged frozen phyllo is breeze to work with- high impact, low risk. When I am visiting the US and making dinner for friends and family, I use it often, for little mezze pies, or for dessert (Galaktoboureko, a milk and semolina phyllo syrup dessert that makes a less dizzyingly sweet alternative to baklava, is a favorite), or most recently in this pie, ideal as mezze, light lunch, or dessert.  

We will need just:

450 g/1 pound frozn phyllo sheets

about  150 g/ 1 1/4 sticks butter

250 g/ 1/2 pound feta

200 g/ 1 C strained yogurt

about 20 fresh mint leaves, torn small (dried mint in a pinch is also quite good- mint dries well)

Lots of honey, for serving

Take the phyllo from its box and thaw it in its plastic inner package. Get out a clean kitchen towel and dampen it slightly, a dish to bake the pie in, and a pastry brush. Crumble the feta and blend with the yogurt and the torn mint leaves. Melt the butter. When the dough has thawed (it will pliable- it is easy to tell), take it from its package, unroll it, and cover it with the barely damp towel. Phyllo is much easier to work with if it stays pliable. Brush the baking dish with a little butter, lay over a sheet of phyllo, draping and crimping it to leave just a bit of overhand on the sides. It will be full of ruffles, and any torn or broken sheets can be used  just as easily. Brush with butter, and repeat with six or seven more sheets. Cover with the filling, drape the ends over it, 

brushing them likewise with butter, and layer more sheets on top, another six or seven, gathering and crimping them and leaving no overhang this time. and making a very pretty crimping with the top sheets. The ruffles will grab the butter, allow the air to circulate and make them evenly crisp. Messy imperfection bakes up into rustic baroque beauty. 

The pie can sit on the counter for a while at this stage, if you plan to make it before the meal perhaps and serve it for dessert. It's nice to present it hot from the oven, puffed like a souffle from the heat. Half an hour or so before you want to eat it, put it into a 170 f/ 350 c oven, on a low rack so the bottom sheets get a good chance to brown. Keep a close eye on it and remove  it when it is a uniform rich deep golden color (and definitely not light brown), perhaps 25-30 minutes.

Pour honey on the individual slices for beauty- a drizzle for mezze, a cascade for dessert. Of course the pie is wonderful on its own, but the stickiness of the honey sharpens the crispness of the shards of phyllo, the rich dairy tang of the cheese tames the sweetness, making you want more of each, and more of everything.

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