Going Greek

I have Italian hair and Czech blood, but I’m Greek inside.

Trust me, it’s a good story.

When my mother was growing up on Grand Avenue in the Bronx, her family had a first-floor apartment. Above them lived a Greek family: Mr. Comatas, Mrs. Comatas, their three children, three children and Mr. Comatas’ mother. As my mom said, “She was an authentic old-country yiayia, complete with the black widow’s garb, the rolled down stockings and the hairnet over her hair rolls.” And she spoke only Greek. The Comatas’ front parlor had furniture fitted with vinyl covers. They opened it only for special occasions, so their children often joined the Regrut family on the first floor.

My mom still remembers how they hosted lavish parties, sending invitations to their Greek friends for an evening of food, liquor, and dance. Rarely were non-Greeks invited. How the floor would shake as they stamped their feet, fueled by camaraderie and spirits! When the Regruts moved, they lived beneath another Greek family, the Saavas, who were dear family friends. So Greek culture leaked through floorboards to season the Regrut household.

Consequently, some favorite family recipes are Greek dishes like spanikopita and pastichio, the Greek version of lasagna. My grandmother watched her Greek friends cook and used her notes to create the savory pasta dish that I know today. It contains fat tubes of ziti poking their heads from a cream sauce that covers layers of pasta, beef, and tomato sauce. Pastichio is delicious when pulled straight from the oven, but it tastes even better one day later.

One of my goals for a recent trip to Freeville was to learn the recipe from my mom and to tap into my cultural heritage. My mom and I began the business of pastichio by browning organic ground beef (purchased from a CSA down the road), and then we added tomato sauce, parmesan cheese, and cinnamon–the spice which gives the dish its distinctive savory-sweet flavor. We used the recipe as a guideline; my mom has taught me the art of seasoning by taste, rather than teaspoons.

After two rounds of sampling and tweaking, we moved on to the cream sauce, which is thickened by eight eggs and milk. The Regrut version does not call for the béchamel sauce on top, a rich layer of still more milk and butter. While appreciative of this omission from a health standpoint, I worried that we were not being authentic. My mom assured me that some of their Greek friends did not add the béchamel layer either. What a relief!

One hour later, we pulled the steaming pasta dish from the oven. I enjoyed the smell of the noodles and ground beef as they were loaded on to my plate, and I savored the interplay of cinnamon with parmesan cheese in my mouth. After finishing my piece, I helped myself to another smidgen of pastichio–and family history.

Memory is the best seasoning.

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Pastichio*

1 lb. ziti
1 lb. ground beef
1 medium onion
1 can tomato sauce (16 oz.)
8 eggs
2 cups milk
1 tsp. cinnamon
Salt and pepper
8 oz. parmesan cheese

Pre-heat the oven to 350. Cook pasta until done and drain. While cooking, saute meat and onion, but don’t brown. Drain fat. Season meat with cinnamon and mix. Then add tomato sauce, macaroni, and parmesan cheese, reserving some cheese for the topping. Line a casserole dish with the macaroni and meat sauce mixture. Beat the eggs and milk, adding salt and pepper to taste. Pour the cream sauce onto the pasta, making sure that the cream oozes into every nook and cranny. Ensure that the pasta is submerged in the cream sauce. Bake for until the dish is sizzling and the cheese has browned. (Put foil on top if the dish is browning or drying out too quickly.) Enjoy!

* This dish has as many variants as macaroni and cheese, whether it be more tomato sauce, swapping the beef for lamb, or adding the béchamel layer. Experiment to find what version you enjoy!