Soul Food

The lamb, some mushrooms, Eliza and Paniotis (cousins)

For years now I have listed my “favorite meal of the year” on my New Year’s Paper, so it’s not usual for me to think about meals I have had.  The writing assignment from The Daily Writer for February 13 was “Begin writing a series of soul-food dining moments”.  It has been pretty easy for me to find some good highlights as food, the cooking of it, and the eating of it, and the smell of it, and the look of it, have always been a significant part of my life.

The first meal I thought of was the Easter meal in Greece that we were honored to attend in the Spring of 2008.  This was a big Greek, loud family deal.  All the brothers, sisters, cousins, Aunts and Uncles were there in the tiny yard of my husband’s Aunt Eleni.  I knew there would be a lamb on a spit--I had seen old pictures from Michael’s albums of the spit being hand-cranked, uncles taking turns, the lamb roasting for hours in the open air, the smell of the lamb floating up into the house.  However the lamb wasn’t being hand-cranked this year as my husband had expected--someone had rigged an electric motor to turn the spit and so the uncles got to relax.  With the exception of Eleni’s husband, Lefteris, they are all in their 80s after all.  Cooking was taking place in the house, too, women peeling potatoes, squeezing lemons, chopping garlic, going out to take a look at the lamb.  A big roasting pan was being filled with the potatoes, lemon squeezed on top, olive oil drizzled over it  and then a flat piece of lamb with garlic in the fat pockets, then more garlic around the potatoes, then shortening dotted op top and more olive oil on the lamb and freshly ground pepper, and this would bake in a very slow oven for a couple of hours while more lamb roasted outside on the spit.

It was a long wait for the dinner and when it was finally done the living and dining rooms were full with relatives--we younger ones (youth being relative) all ate at a couple of card tables, the octogenarians at the dining table, drinking wine, laughing, speaking Greek, telling stories, remembering other Easters.  There were the traditional red Easter eggs, which each of us would wish on and then crack together, the one with the shell that didn’t break would get his wish.

The Oldsters (Uncle Lefteris is pouring Retsina, which was made by a guy across the street.)

The Youngsters (Me, Lambrose, Cousin Mihali and Cousin Mary)

I’ve been trying to duplicate those potatoes ever since and can’t seem to get it just right.  I have to go back to Greece again, probably next year if they stop striking over their anger about the economic cutbacks, and ask Eleni to show me exactly how she makes them.  And then again, it might just be the potatoes, lemons and garlic that are different in Greece or maybe, really probably, it was just the company.

The yummy lemon potatoes with a hunk of lamb on top