The Easter food thread inspired me to go a bit @Briar Lee and write a ruminating, winding post to expand on Greek Easter.
For Greeks Easter is the most important religious holiday of the year, followed by the Assumption. Leading up to Easter there's of course Lent, with varying levels of intensity. Really observant Greek Christians avoid any animal product, some even avoid olive oil. My grandma with whom I spent most Easters in her village was quite observant, she'd go to church thrice a week, bring bread for blessing and follow all dietary instructions. I am a pig, plus jewish on my mother's side (so, jewish), but also Steven Dawkins-level atheist.
So me and my cousin's (my aunt's sons) would be in grandma's house for the week of Easter - "The Great Week" as it's called in Greece. She'd have made piles and piles of incredible cookies and biscuits, but all were off-limits on pain of being rapped with a stinging flexible stick she had, maybe a willow twig, doesn't matter what tree it was from, but it STUNG! She used to make "egg cookies" (incredibly brittle, crusted with sugar and egg yolk, with vanilla), orange zest cookies, "drunk cookies" (with ouzo), and finally some where were called something like "sourdough cookies" (but were made with liquorice and liberal amounts of sesame).
Here's what the last two cookies look like:
Now despite grandma being a strictly observant Christian and avoiding all animal products, she cooked like a grandma, which means god-tier food. Greece has a myriad vegetarian or even vegan recipes which are absolutely incredible, and grandma knew how to make them, so despite not eating meat or cheese we still ate incredibly well in her house: weed pies, legumes and weirdly a lot of seafood ("because it doesn't have blood, we can eat it" grandma used to say).
Things during the Great Week get serious in observant Greek villages, or at least they used to, you could tell many people were literally living it, and despite being a consciously nonreligious person, it was felt even for us kids. As the week progresses the trials of Jesus become harder and heavier, and grandma would get darker and more somber as the culmination of the week came closer. Many on this forum are practicing Christians so I won't try to retell a story you know better than me, but I'll say that the big day is always Epitaph day (Good Friday). Every church has a wooden sculpture representing Jesus's tombstone, very elaborately adorned with flowers which people come to pray on during the day:
During the Good Friday night service the chant is very heavy and dark, but also extremely beautiful. My father (grandma's son), another Dawkins-level atheist would chant in the church as he loves the culture and tradition. After the service the Epitaphios would be paraded through the village (every village, town and city neighbourhoods do this), followed by a procession of the people holding brown candles (for mourning), children hold lanterns. Grandma would always make pasta with octopus and tomato sauce that day. Absolutely delicious.
The came Saturday, which was largely a busy day of people preparing for Easter Sunday's epic feast.
The star of the feast is, of course, whole roast lamb on a spit. My uncle Nick would prep the lamb: he'd carefully cut bits of fat, make holes all over the lamb, add as much salt and pepper as he could and then stuff each hole with a clove of garlic wrapped in the lamb's fat then he'd season the lamb all over. That was all but it took him time and could tell it was hard work. Grandmas would deal with the intestines to make kokoretsi, they'd have the intestines in a bucket of brine and repeatedly pass a long stick (likely broom handle - grandmas were practical and frugal) through the intestine to clean it, they also had a wire with a small hook on one end and they'd use it to turn the intestine inside out - thread it through, then hook the end and then carefully pull it through. Then chop livers, kidneys, lungs, sweetbreads and put them on a thin spit, salt and pepper the hell out of them, wrap them in caul fat, and then wrap them with the intestines. Refrigeration? None of these fit in our fridge! That's kokoretsi done:
Grandma would also dig a rectangular hole in the garden, put sand in it (or it was last year's sand?), then put petrol-soaked newspapers, then twigs, some larger pieces of wood, then another layer of newspaper and wood until a big pile was made. She'd then cover this extreme fire hazard pile with a tarp in case it rained overnight.
Saturday night church service started early but most families only make it for the last half hour or so at 11:30PM. A few minutes before midnight all lights go out and the priests come out shouting "COME GET THE LIGHT" holding huge white candles with, supposedly, fire from Jerusalem. I say supposedly because even though the Greek government always sends a civilian or military plane to get fire from Jesus's grave (yes, they really do that!), and then supposedly takes the flame to every church in the country I was always skeptical. Then there's a glorious chant for the resurrection, church bells going full blast, fireworks, people kissing, rejoicing, and all but the ultra observant (those stay until dawn) go home to eat magiritsa. Magiritsa is a stew made from finely chopped lamb offal, egg, and parsley. It's delicious and hearty, but also fresh, and a good break of the fast. Of course people also gorge on cheese, eggs, meats, sweets...but the big eating is yet to come.
So, Easter Sunday, grandma would wake me up (I was the only one interested in this stuff, my cousins liked their sleep and the parents couldn't be bothered either) around 5 AM and let me light the fire, the idea being that the big pile from yesterday would take a few hours to become coals fit for roasting the lamb and kokoretsi. Then she and her sister would prep the table in the garden and get to (more) work preparing more foods for the day. They made salads, meatballs, pies, cheese plates, cold cuts...you name it.
My uncle Nick was the boss of the lamb, he'd sit there for hours, chugging beers, tending to the lamb, and listening to rock. Ah, yes, there's a specific music for lamb roasting in Easter, folk music with clarinet and the whole village was blasting with it, but our house blasted rock
Eventually the "starters" would come out, usually pies, salads, cold cuts, sausages, meatballs, cheeses, pickles and piles of fries (oven-baked potatoes came with the lamb) so we'd start eating, then it was the time for the kokoretsi, taken off the spit and cut in roundels. As if this wasn't enough, it's a tradition for people to go from house to house, have a drink, leave some food of their own (everybody's "secret recipe for X" - all delicious), take some food with them and go to another house. So there was a constant procession of neighbours and close or distant family members coming, eating, drinking, and leaving some food behind. Of course the adults also chugged tons of wine, beer, raki/tsipouro. There was also singing and dancing.
Our neighbour is from Crete where they have a gun culture and they are big drinkers, our neighbour hunted as a hobby so he'd periodically bring out his shotgun and fire it in the air (even though it's illegal). The drunker he got the more shots he fired (blanks, he said). My uncle hated that and would jump every time, lean over the fence and shout obscenities at the neighbour who'd typically respond with "Hey Nick, I got a gun", with uncle Nick responding “Stick it up your ass!”, then they'd both laugh, have a shot of raki and get back to cooking, eating and more drinking.
By the time the lamb was done everyone was stuffed to hell, uncle Nick would crack the skull with a hatchet, take our the brain and portion a bit out for everyone in freshly toasted bread. Then eventually, when people couldn't possibly eat or drink any more...deserts came out! Then parents would go for a nap, grandmas would clean up the mess, and us kids would roam the village saying hi to drunk neighbours. Some neighbours would invite us in for more eating, others would want to tell stories, others told us to eff off because it's nap time, one neighbour had twin girls our age, blonde, very beautiful. We were buzzing around his house but he wasn't having it
That's for Greek Easter. Golden years, pity that my kids won't experience anything like that...
For Greeks Easter is the most important religious holiday of the year, followed by the Assumption. Leading up to Easter there's of course Lent, with varying levels of intensity. Really observant Greek Christians avoid any animal product, some even avoid olive oil. My grandma with whom I spent most Easters in her village was quite observant, she'd go to church thrice a week, bring bread for blessing and follow all dietary instructions. I am a pig, plus jewish on my mother's side (so, jewish), but also Steven Dawkins-level atheist.
So me and my cousin's (my aunt's sons) would be in grandma's house for the week of Easter - "The Great Week" as it's called in Greece. She'd have made piles and piles of incredible cookies and biscuits, but all were off-limits on pain of being rapped with a stinging flexible stick she had, maybe a willow twig, doesn't matter what tree it was from, but it STUNG! She used to make "egg cookies" (incredibly brittle, crusted with sugar and egg yolk, with vanilla), orange zest cookies, "drunk cookies" (with ouzo), and finally some where were called something like "sourdough cookies" (but were made with liquorice and liberal amounts of sesame).
Here's what the last two cookies look like:
Now despite grandma being a strictly observant Christian and avoiding all animal products, she cooked like a grandma, which means god-tier food. Greece has a myriad vegetarian or even vegan recipes which are absolutely incredible, and grandma knew how to make them, so despite not eating meat or cheese we still ate incredibly well in her house: weed pies, legumes and weirdly a lot of seafood ("because it doesn't have blood, we can eat it" grandma used to say).
Things during the Great Week get serious in observant Greek villages, or at least they used to, you could tell many people were literally living it, and despite being a consciously nonreligious person, it was felt even for us kids. As the week progresses the trials of Jesus become harder and heavier, and grandma would get darker and more somber as the culmination of the week came closer. Many on this forum are practicing Christians so I won't try to retell a story you know better than me, but I'll say that the big day is always Epitaph day (Good Friday). Every church has a wooden sculpture representing Jesus's tombstone, very elaborately adorned with flowers which people come to pray on during the day:
During the Good Friday night service the chant is very heavy and dark, but also extremely beautiful. My father (grandma's son), another Dawkins-level atheist would chant in the church as he loves the culture and tradition. After the service the Epitaphios would be paraded through the village (every village, town and city neighbourhoods do this), followed by a procession of the people holding brown candles (for mourning), children hold lanterns. Grandma would always make pasta with octopus and tomato sauce that day. Absolutely delicious.
The came Saturday, which was largely a busy day of people preparing for Easter Sunday's epic feast.
The star of the feast is, of course, whole roast lamb on a spit. My uncle Nick would prep the lamb: he'd carefully cut bits of fat, make holes all over the lamb, add as much salt and pepper as he could and then stuff each hole with a clove of garlic wrapped in the lamb's fat then he'd season the lamb all over. That was all but it took him time and could tell it was hard work. Grandmas would deal with the intestines to make kokoretsi, they'd have the intestines in a bucket of brine and repeatedly pass a long stick (likely broom handle - grandmas were practical and frugal) through the intestine to clean it, they also had a wire with a small hook on one end and they'd use it to turn the intestine inside out - thread it through, then hook the end and then carefully pull it through. Then chop livers, kidneys, lungs, sweetbreads and put them on a thin spit, salt and pepper the hell out of them, wrap them in caul fat, and then wrap them with the intestines. Refrigeration? None of these fit in our fridge! That's kokoretsi done:
Grandma would also dig a rectangular hole in the garden, put sand in it (or it was last year's sand?), then put petrol-soaked newspapers, then twigs, some larger pieces of wood, then another layer of newspaper and wood until a big pile was made. She'd then cover this extreme fire hazard pile with a tarp in case it rained overnight.
Saturday night church service started early but most families only make it for the last half hour or so at 11:30PM. A few minutes before midnight all lights go out and the priests come out shouting "COME GET THE LIGHT" holding huge white candles with, supposedly, fire from Jerusalem. I say supposedly because even though the Greek government always sends a civilian or military plane to get fire from Jesus's grave (yes, they really do that!), and then supposedly takes the flame to every church in the country I was always skeptical. Then there's a glorious chant for the resurrection, church bells going full blast, fireworks, people kissing, rejoicing, and all but the ultra observant (those stay until dawn) go home to eat magiritsa. Magiritsa is a stew made from finely chopped lamb offal, egg, and parsley. It's delicious and hearty, but also fresh, and a good break of the fast. Of course people also gorge on cheese, eggs, meats, sweets...but the big eating is yet to come.
So, Easter Sunday, grandma would wake me up (I was the only one interested in this stuff, my cousins liked their sleep and the parents couldn't be bothered either) around 5 AM and let me light the fire, the idea being that the big pile from yesterday would take a few hours to become coals fit for roasting the lamb and kokoretsi. Then she and her sister would prep the table in the garden and get to (more) work preparing more foods for the day. They made salads, meatballs, pies, cheese plates, cold cuts...you name it.
My uncle Nick was the boss of the lamb, he'd sit there for hours, chugging beers, tending to the lamb, and listening to rock. Ah, yes, there's a specific music for lamb roasting in Easter, folk music with clarinet and the whole village was blasting with it, but our house blasted rock
Eventually the "starters" would come out, usually pies, salads, cold cuts, sausages, meatballs, cheeses, pickles and piles of fries (oven-baked potatoes came with the lamb) so we'd start eating, then it was the time for the kokoretsi, taken off the spit and cut in roundels. As if this wasn't enough, it's a tradition for people to go from house to house, have a drink, leave some food of their own (everybody's "secret recipe for X" - all delicious), take some food with them and go to another house. So there was a constant procession of neighbours and close or distant family members coming, eating, drinking, and leaving some food behind. Of course the adults also chugged tons of wine, beer, raki/tsipouro. There was also singing and dancing.
Our neighbour is from Crete where they have a gun culture and they are big drinkers, our neighbour hunted as a hobby so he'd periodically bring out his shotgun and fire it in the air (even though it's illegal). The drunker he got the more shots he fired (blanks, he said). My uncle hated that and would jump every time, lean over the fence and shout obscenities at the neighbour who'd typically respond with "Hey Nick, I got a gun", with uncle Nick responding “Stick it up your ass!”, then they'd both laugh, have a shot of raki and get back to cooking, eating and more drinking.
By the time the lamb was done everyone was stuffed to hell, uncle Nick would crack the skull with a hatchet, take our the brain and portion a bit out for everyone in freshly toasted bread. Then eventually, when people couldn't possibly eat or drink any more...deserts came out! Then parents would go for a nap, grandmas would clean up the mess, and us kids would roam the village saying hi to drunk neighbours. Some neighbours would invite us in for more eating, others would want to tell stories, others told us to eff off because it's nap time, one neighbour had twin girls our age, blonde, very beautiful. We were buzzing around his house but he wasn't having it
That's for Greek Easter. Golden years, pity that my kids won't experience anything like that...
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