An Octopus in My Ouzo

by Jennifer Barclay

  I go back home to Tilos for an extremely careful December. No mulled wine for me, but I make a simple festive decoration for the fireplace from greenery gathered in the valley, and Stelios buys melomacarona, honey cakes, and kourabiedes, shortbread dusted in sugar. I spend the cold evenings as I always wanted, reading books in front of the fire – because we have a real fireplace in this house – and sharing the couch with Lisa.

  On each side of our home in Megalo Horio are empty houses – many of the old homes have been abandoned over the decades and there are broken walls and overgrown gardens. But one day, I unexpectedly see that the house next door is open. It transpires that a potter from Crete bought it as a ruin 'by accident' twenty years ago when a ferry stranded him here for a few days, and he has gradually brought the house back to life, returning for just a couple of weeks a year. Inside, it's beautiful.

  We are invited to dinner. Menelaos the goat farmer, a friend of the man from Crete, brings along his wife and youngest son and grills meat on the open fire for us all, and makes a salad. I pretend to take tiny sips of wine. It would be a very special evening, but I am also a bag of nerves inside as tomorrow I go to Rhodes to see if the treatment has worked. The one person in the room who knows what I am going through and should be sympathetic seems oblivious. I feel very alone. Perhaps I have been pushing Stelios away lately.

  The next day in Rhodes, the hours of waiting for the results of the blood test are agonising – I'm still being ultra-cautious and it's hard to find something to do to distract myself when one simple word will make all the difference to our lives, determine our future. I sit in the doctor's office as she finds the paperwork, hoping, hoping, hoping… But no. I'm not pregnant. The IVF hasn't worked. We did better without it. I'm miserable and numb, but I'm not grief-stricken because there was never a baby. At least I tried; otherwise I'd always have wondered. The doctor in Athens, perhaps preoccupied with spending Christmas with his children, has no answer for why it didn't work when all the signs were so good and just suggests we schedule another round.

  My usual rule of thumb is to listen to what my body tells me I need – for example, when I need meat or sleep. But perhaps that rule doesn't work in this case. Or maybe my head is telling me to keep trying, but my body's telling me to stop. Too much swimming against the current.

  There's a silver lining to every cloud. I will get to spend Christmas on the island for the first time, enjoying the therapeutic effects of walking in the rain, wind and sun, high on hilltops.

  Village kids come around to the house on Christmas Eve to sing carols. I learn that Santa comes on New Year's Eve in Greece, not Christmas Eve (well of course, he can't be everywhere at once, can he?). People in Tilos don't celebrate Christmas in a big way, but we arrange to meet Ian and Sibylle and Edward at Kali Kardia. New people have taken over the taverna this year and expanded the menu, turning it into an even more inviting place to eat and drink.

  We spend New Year's Eve with the same little international group of friends at Ayios Antonis. Because they have cats we must leave Lisa at home, and she looks betrayed as she stands at the top of the steps with dark sad eyes, so I feed her a treat as we go. As the evening progresses, Stelios keeps looking at the clock, as anything after ten seems late now he's fishing again. So there's no danger of missing midnight – though we might have otherwise, with no television, no mobile phone reception, no other people about. We all take our champagne glasses outside, stand on the end of the jetty at the end of the island, surrounded by sea and dark hills, and look up at the thousands of bright stars.

  At the start of the new year, Lisa is looking glum on the couch. After a flash rainstorm that burned out my computer's power cable in the morning, the clouds have cleared, so I pick up the lead, and she leaps up and is at the gate in seconds, stretching and raring to go.

  We head down into Potamia. Every day it seems, more bright flowers are emerging, purple and yellow and white. Living so close to nature, I notice the cycle of the seasons more. It emphasises the sense of continuity, the revolving circle of life that has gone on in similar ways century after century, just as those circular dances go on and on into the night at the summer festivals. Life has a constancy that feels secure. Friends return every year, and we follow paths made by others long ago.

  Waving to Menelaos, who is herding his sheep, we make our way past his farm and then down the path towards Skafi, and have almost reached the beach when the rain abruptly starts again. I look back and see the sky full of heavy clouds; we're going to get wet, one way or another. Lisa stops to shake the rain off her wet fur every few minutes. We make it into the shelter of the cave. The bay grows pale as the rain becomes more intense, noisy as heavy drops hit the sea, the horizon hidden in cloud. Lisa stares out with me.

  The elemental, physical life on this island makes me more whole, grounds me and inspires me. The island is fluid in its boundaries, as the shoreline and beaches change every year, shaped by the sea and the storms that move the rocks and the sand. The view is ever-changing because of the weather – clouds change the colours, wind changes the sea's mood and its direction determines which islands we can see on the horizon. The island's population is fluid, too, evolving as people come and go and bring new life. Births and deaths. The island evolves with its new roads and the old houses being restored or falling down. No man is an island, entire of itself… Any man's death diminishes me.

  We also must adapt and change. If what life brings is not what you asked Saint Fanourios for, maybe you were asking for the wrong thing. And breaking out of our own boundaries is how we evolve, even if it is frightening sometimes. Like the community of a small island, sometimes we need to break the rules. Sometimes, things are better when the people take matters into their own hands and create their own rules. The People's Republic of Tilos… An octopus in my ouzo.

  The rain seems to be clearing. Within minutes the hillsides are bright with sunshine. Lisa chews a stick thoughtfully, then rolls around on the pebbles in sheer pleasure. The horizon becomes a distinct line again, with a half-rainbow appearing above it, and the sea in front of me becomes clear and blue. I strip off wellies, two pairs of socks, jumpers… and as a great rumble and crack of thunder comes, I dive in.

  Keh tou khronou. Happy New Year.

  Epilogue

  This is a love story of sorts, but it's not a conventional one. Real life is complicated. Neat endings to life usually aren't good. Thankfully, our stories go on, with twists and turns.

  Will it ruin the ending if I tell you that Stelios and I split up soon after? I believe we'd have been a happy family; it often seemed we were at our best as parents of Lisa, and we were a good team on our various projects. But we weren't always such a happy couple, or maybe we just went through too much, too soon. In all the excitement of what we were doing, I think I had forgotten how important language and communication are. The truth is something of a mystery, but I want this to be a celebration of the time we spent together, muddling along happily as we did through those years.

  Looking after Lisa has taught me that being a single mother would probably have been extremely tough in a remote place without friends and family around all the time. Hats off to single parents who manage it.

  Whatever happened to the dead seahorse? Well, Lisa ate it, of course.

  Life on a Greek island has changed me. It can be challenging at times, but for me it's never, ever been boring. Many things big and small have changed since the end of this story and I'm sure they'll continue to. But my appetite for the wild beauty of Tilos continues unabated. Perhaps you share it. Perhaps I'll see you one day on the footpath.

  Na ziseteh! May you live!

  Food for a Greek Island

  As you've probably gathered, I love food… but usually eat quite simply at home. More often than not, I'll put together a big salad from whatever is fresh, along with some olives and feta cheese, oregano and lashings of olive oil. When they're in season, I'll salt some aubergine then rinse and cook in olive
oil a big pan with onion and tomato, green pepper or zucchini. In winter I'll make vegetable soup and bake bread, or put meat and potatoes in the oven to roast for a couple of hours with fresh lemon. And apple or walnut cake is often a good idea.

  I like recipes to be simple; I generally leave the more labour-intensive dishes like dolmades and moussaka to the experts, and eat them when I visit my favourite tavernas. But the following recipes are worth the effort when you have time, and are a taste of Greece beyond the more obvious ones that we all know and love.

  Beetroot (Pantzaria)in Lemon and Garlic

  My favourite part of this is the leaves, but they need to be fresh. The best way to get beetroot with fresh leaves attached is to grow your own! It's also important to have good extra virgin olive oil, Greek if possible.

  Makes a meze plate for 4 to share

  3–4 beetroots (depending on their size)

  2 cloves garlic, grated

  1 fresh lemon

  3 tbsp olive oil

  Cut off the beetroot stalks a couple of centimetres above the top of the roots, but leave on the skins. Wash off excess dirt, put them in a large pan and cover with water. Bring to the boil and then reduce the heat and simmer until they are soft. This will usually take 30 to 40 minutes. Remove from the pan and leave for five to ten minutes until cool enough to handle, then peel off the skins – sometimes easier to do under a cold tap.

  Thoroughly wash the stalks and leaves, and remove the stalks from the leaves. Discard the dirty water from the pan, pour in a centimetre or so of fresh water – just enough to steam the stalks and leaves. Add the stalks first to boiling water, then a few minutes later add the leaves. Cook until they've just darkened and wilted, then drain. When they're cool enough to handle, hold them together and chop into bite-sized lengths.

  Place in a serving dish and sprinkle with garlic, pour the squeezed lemon juice and olive oil over the top and serve.

  To make into more of a meal, you can add walnuts and feta cheese (ideally a creamy feta such as Dodoni).

  Chickpea Fritters (Revithokeftedes)

  Finger food to eat with ouzo. Don't skimp on the flavourings, as chickpeas can be a little bland otherwise. The fritters keep well in the fridge.

  Makes 20–24 (serves 8)

  250 g chickpeas

  1 medium onion

  1 clove garlic

  Handful fresh parsley and dill

  Half a green pepper

  1 egg

  50 g slice creamy feta

  Salt and pepper

  Sunflower or other oil for frying

  50 g flour

  Soak the chickpeas overnight unless using tinned; boil for half an hour until beginning to soften, then drain. Rub to remove some of the skins, and leave to dry on a tea towel. It's possible to soak them in baking soda to help remove the skins, if you like; the skins will start to come off otherwise as you mash them. Mash or smash the chickpeas into a rough paste, leaving some small pieces; you can do this in a food processor if you have one or with a potato masher, or put them in a clean plastic bag and squash them using a jar or bottle.

  Finely chop the onion, garlic, parsley and dill and green pepper, and crumble the cheese. Combine with the chickpea mix and egg, and add plenty of salt and pepper to form a firm dough. Use a little flour if needed to bind. Form the dough into small flattish rounds like falafel, and leave on a plate in the fridge for an hour.

  Bring back to room temperature, then while you heat a couple of centimetres of oil in a deep frying pan, dredge the fritters with flour. Fry them a few at a time to cook through (5–10 minutes each) until golden on the outside, and place on kitchen towel to absorb excess oil before serving.

  Baked Butter Beans (Gigantes)

  Cooking butter beans – known as gigantes or 'giant beans' – takes a while but is worth it. Perfect for a cold day when the house needs warming up. They make a hearty dinner, taste great the next day, and provide good energy for walking.

  Makes about 6–8 servings

  500 g dried butter beans

  3 tbsp olive oil

  1 large or 2 medium onions, chopped

  3 cloves garlic, chopped

  3 medium-sized carrots, chopped

  2–3 large tomatoes, chopped

  2 tbsp tomato puree

  1 tbsp chopped parsley

  1 tbsp wild celery leaf (selino) or 1 chopped stick fresh celery

  Salt and pepper to taste

  Soak 500 g of dried beans overnight, then the next day drain them, add fresh water, and boil them for an hour or more until al dente, not soft. Don't add salt now as it toughens the beans. Rinse the beans and leave to sit in enough fresh water just to cover them.

  In another large pan, fry the onion first. Chop and gradually add the garlic, tomatoes and carrots, then the tomato puree, and simmer for 10 minutes. Then add the beans and water. Cook together for 10 minutes to start the flavours infusing, stir in fresh chopped parsley and celery, and simmer for another 5 minutes. Then tip it all into an oven dish, adding a splash of water if needed to ensure there's juice covering most of the beans, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Bake in a medium hot oven for 2 hours or more, stirring every 30 minutes or so and adding water if needed, until the beans are soft and splitting open, with crispy bits at the edges of the dish.

  Serve with wine and bread.

  Prawns and Fennel in Ouzo (a variation on Garides Saganaki)

  The tiny, sweet shrimp found around Tilos are eaten whole, shell and all, fried in oil, a simple meze to eat on their own with retsina or ouzo. But this dish is made with larger prawns and can be created anywhere, and can be eaten as a main course. If you can't get ouzo, white wine will do as the fennel gives an aniseed flavour. Some recipes cook the whole thing in one pan, adding the shrimp and ouzo to the sauce.

  Makes 4 servings

  2–3 tbsp olive oil

  1 onion, sliced

  1 clove garlic, finely chopped

  3 large tomatoes, chopped

  ½ tsp dried oregano

  1 fennel bulb, thinly sliced

  500 g medium prawns without shells (defrosted if frozen)

  2 tbsp ouzo

  Pinch salt

  100 g feta cheese (optional)

  Black pepper

  Heat half the olive oil in a frying pan or saucepan and fry the onion until turning translucent. Add the garlic and fry for a few minutes, then add the chopped tomatoes and oregano, and continue to cook for a few minutes more until the tomatoes are turning soft and juicy. Then add the thinly sliced fennel, and cook for around 10 minutes until soft.

  In a separate large frying pan with a lid, heat the rest of the olive oil and then add the prawns. Once they begin to turn pink and cook through, add the ouzo; you can also add a splash of water if needed; when the prawns are opaque and cooked through, add salt and pour the tomato sauce into the pan, and stir to mix, then crumble the feta on the top if using, cover the pan with the lid and simmer for a few minutes.

  Grind black pepper over the top and serve with bread.

  Beef Stifado

  It's the aroma of the sauce that makes this dish. You can use rabbit, but one of the best tavernas on the island does a beef or veal stifado that melts in the mouth. Thanks to my friend Yiannis' grandmother for her help.

  Makes 4 servings

  100 ml extra virgin olive oil

  1 kg stewing beef, cut into large pieces

  1 kg shallots

  Large glass red wine (or small glass red wine and a large splash each of vinegar and brandy)

  2 large tomatoes, chopped

  1 tbsp tomato paste

  2 bay leaves

  Sprig rosemary or tsp oregano

  3 allspice berries or 1 tsp cumin

  3 cloves

  Cinnamon stick

  Pinch nutmeg

  Salt and pepper

  Peel the shallots; placing them in hot water will make it easier. Heat the oil in a large pan or casserole dish (it will need a lid), and sauté the meat slo
wly until partially cooked. Add the shallots to sauté them until just beginning to soften. The secret is to cook the meat slowly and not to overcook the shallots, so they retain their shape.

  Add the wine (and the vinegar and brandy if using) and simmer for a few minutes.

  Add the tomato, tomato paste and all the herbs and spices, stirring to blend while it returns to a boil. Then reduce the heat, cover with the lid and simmer for an hour and a half or so. Check from time to time and add water if necessary to stop it from sticking – you're aiming for a thick stew with a little sauce, not a soup – then replace the lid.