Gone are the days when the Mediterranean was a far-off land, full of alien inhabitants and even more alien food. Nowadays it’s not unusual for a British pantry to be stocked with extra virgin olive oil, oak-aged balsamic vinegar and sun-dried tomato paste. We have all grown up and our palates have acquired a certain sophistication. Thanks to a surge in package tourism and the sudden growth of the restaurant culture, our eyes and appetites have widened to the sights, smells and tastes of Europe.
So, now we know our feta from our fusilli, the next stage is to appreciate the full range of cooking styles and the ease with which they can be recreated at home. Once you’ve tried a few of the recipes in this book, you’ll discover that good food is not as hard to prepare as it looks. In no time your friends will be congratulating you on the tremendous efforts you’ve clearly made at a dinner party. You’ll thank them, saying it was nothing, and only you’ll know what was involved.
In this book I have put together a few of my favourite dishes from Greece, Spain, Italy, France and Portugal. Some will seem familiar, others less so, but all will surprise you in some small way. The biggest shock of all will be how simple it is to achieve excellence. So loosen your belt, broaden your mind and tuck in!
Greek islands have long served as magnets for summer funseekers in pursuit of glorious sunshine, crumbling old columns and ancient Greek tragedies – and I don’t mean the food. The damage done to Greece’s culinary reputation by the greasy kebabs sold from vans and takeaways across Britain almost exceeds the bloodshed at the fall of Troy. Greek food, in truth, is excellent – loads of fresh fruit and vegetables, a fantastic variety of fish and shellfish, lamb, pork, goat and chicken. The horror stories of overcooked Greek food, left to go cold and swimming in oil, are simply unfair. One belief that we do have to suspend, however, is that good food should be piping hot. Greek cooks choose to serve dishes tepid, firmly believing that hot food is bad for the soul – or at least the digestion. And there is no doubt that flavours are indistinguishable at a searing 30°C. If you want to savour aubergines, lamb and cheese cooked in the traditional manner, then lukewarm moussaka – trust me – is a must.
The thing I love about Greek tavernas is their eagerness to welcome anyone into the kitchen to have a look at what’s going on. I always have a good old nose around the pots to see what’s cooking before deciding what to eat. This is definitely the best way of acquainting yourself with local dishes. The menu in most tavernas bears absolutely no relation to the dishes they cook. This is because they collect standard menu cards palmed off on them by big wine merchants who have something to promote. If you really want to taste the speciality of the house, toss the menu away and ask the proprietor, ‘What’s good today?’ I don’t know about you but I’m the first to hit the phrasebook, and I’ve learned this line off by heart.
Food is approached with much gusto in Spain. Meals tend to be family affairs, big shared production numbers, prepared lovingly and enjoyed slowly. Cooks go for freshness rather than complexity, and stick to local ingredients, which is why regional cooking still thrives. From the deserted uplands of Almería to the leafy Asturias, the country spans such a huge variety of landscapes that it’s no wonder the cuisine is so wide-ranging. Anyone who thinks Spain stops at the suntraps of the costas should try a wet weekend in Galicia, where they would find themselves swapping chilled gazpacho and olive oil for warming wild boar and pork fat.
To taste Spain’s unique combination of wholesome rusticity and Old World exotica, your best bet would be to gatecrash a family paella. Originally a peasant dish, paella, named after the wide shallow vessel in which it is cooked, has remained a favourite for centuries. Ingredients are all there on the doorstep – fresh fish and seafood, chicken, succulent peppers, saffron and, of course, rice. Rice is the most widely planted cereal in the world but it is not exactly native to Spain. It first turned up in the Iberian Peninsula courtesy of the Moors in the 8th century and has been growing prolifically in the provinces of Valencia and Andalucía ever since. Valencian mothers first cooked paella for their families on Sundays and since then it has elbowed its way into the repertoires of professional chefs nationwide. It’s still a dish to be shared and is sure to create a relaxed atmosphere at even the most formal dinner party.
Italians love food. It’s a profound devotion that has been nurtured through the centuries to become an all-consuming passion. Their predecessors, the ancient Romans, were traditionally given to excesses of gluttony at their orgiastic feasts. Their modern counterparts haven’t inherited the taste for fried dormice, swan’s intestines or pickled pheasant brains. In fact, modern Italian food, once considered stodgy and high in cholesterol, is now generally thought to be the healthiest diet in Europe. Plenty of pulses, fresh ingredients, and olive oil rather than butter does Italians the world of good. In the South they keep especially trim, with lots of scrumptious fruit and vegetables and loads of fresh fish. Often, three generations of one family live together in one house, and recipes are handed down in every household – usually from mamma. It’s a bit of a cliché but any Italian is sure to tell you that their country’s cooking is the best in the world and – without pausing for breath – that their mother’s is the finest example of all.
When one thinks of France, one thinks of designer clothes, designer homes and – let’s face it – they’re to blame for designer food. France is Europe’s culinary catwalk, and is notoriously smug about its cuisine.
However, in the fashion-conscious Seventies, disaster struck. France did itself a bit of a disservice when it created nouvelle cuisine. The trend, which was widely misinterpreted, appeared to call for minuscule portions in bizarre combinations arranged artistically on a plate – a slither of steak with half a strawberry was considered the business, but it left everyone half-famished. Now we’ve survived the famine, nouvelle cuisine is out and hearty country cooking back in.
If France has a problem it is that its culinary reputation is hard to live up to. Foodies flock to Provence in search of the famed bouillabaisse, to Burgundy to hunt down the authentic coq au vin, and to the Languedoc to sample the celebrated cassoulet. Clutching on to romanticized notions of French fare, visitors to the country can be disappointed when they find that the cookbook clichés aren’t immediately forthcoming. But let yourself be inspired by a few good ideas – from a cookbook not unlike this one, perhaps – and you may never feel let down again.
For summer tourists, Portugal is a mecca of golden beaches, whitewashed villas, manicured golf courses and, everywhere you look, those ornately decorated tiles. Stuck out on the far side of Europe, this long slender country, stretching 580 km (360 miles) from north to south and hugging the western edge of Spain, is home to 10 million, and is one of the smallest countries in Europe. Skinny and small though it may be, the land is mountainous and spans enough latitude to produce differences in climate, and hence a variety of foods. But it’s not the lie of the land that is solely responsible for the food. Throughout its history of foreign invasions, Portugal has adopted cultural influences from all over the world. Invaded by the Phoenicians (who brought saffron and planted vines), the Greeks, Visigoths and Romans (who are to thank for their forests of olive trees and wonderfully fruity olive oils), the Portuguese have nonetheless kept a firm grip on their own culture, and have survived the recent tourist invasion with remarkable calm.
The coastal region of Portugal was dominated by the Moors for over 500 years and it shows. Garlands of bougainvillaea adorn whole villages of typical Moorish domed buildings, with their whitewashed arches and traditional latticed chimneys. Portuguese desserts are also undeniably Moorish. Pastelerias are everywhere to entice you with delicious sweets based on egg yolks, sugar and almonds. Convent nuns first created them and their bizarre names have stuck – such as the almond cake ‘heavenly bacon’, or the ‘nun’s belly’ and ‘angel’s breast’ marzipan sweets.
There’s a quaint fable surrounding the almond trees that blanket southern Portugal with their stunning pinky-white blossom every winter. Legend tells of an ancient Moorish king who planted the vast expanses of almond forests as a substitute for snow. His Scandinavian bride longed so desperately for a glimpse of snow that he wanted to prevent her dying of a broken heart. A beautiful sentiment, a beautiful sight, but my guess is that she just liked to nibble on nuts!