Green Monday

Traditional sweet that you can't even buy in the shops. A pasta like dough rolled into tiny rings and cooked in the must of grapes. They are called Terzteluthkia, named after the metal ring behind the door pull of the old houses.

Papousosika meaning little shoes but we know them as prickly pears.

Our friends olive trees where the geese and turkeys run.

Eating, laughing, tale-telling and talking. One old lady when asked what she wanted to drink replied 'The water of God'.

Outdoor cooking area with traditional stove which gets sealed with mud and the meat and vegetables cook long and slow in the heat. An above ground Hangi for those Kiwi readers.

The octopus looking for space on the bench. In the foreground the white vegetable with spring onions is kolokassi, taro to us or Jerusalem Artichoke.

Pithari, still used for storage as well as decoration.

Breads with sesame and linseed, all made with oil and no dairy.

Kalamari, aubergines, salads, taramosalata.

Kolokassi, fassolada - bean soup

As promised more pictures.

Heroes

Hero is such an overvalued (or is it undervalued) word these days. But on Monday we were invited to eat with this family on the first day of Lent, officially known as Green or Clean Monday. No meat, fish or dairy permitted however octopus, squid, shrimps etc are. The old lady Kyria Alexandra was a patient of Costas and she adores him to bits. The house, outside of Nicosia belonged to one of her daughters who is married to a physician and they are friends of ours. Now the old lady and her husband are true heroes. They come from a tiny poor village high in the Troodos mountains. No money, no education. They had 7 or 8 children. These two worked and worked and worked to give each of those children university educations both at home and abroad. The old man worked his whole life in the mines. Kyria Alexandra did every job available to her, often several at once and including road digging. Every child is a professional, loving and well balanced and adore their parents. These are true Cypriots. The day was filled with laughter and love. No pretension, no airs, just simple good traditional food, everyone mucking in. The highlight for me was when we began toasting with a remarkably good village wine out of a plastic container. Eleftheria (meaning Freedom - the daughter in the picture with her mother) started to toast in the old style and it was carried on by others and the old man. The toaster charges his/her glass and makes up a poetic, often humerous ditty on the spot. And so it moved around the table.

I will post the rest of the pictures in the next post.