By Diana Farr Louis

Photography: Nikos Bagdinoudis, Christos Dimitriou

Twenty years ago, if you had asked me what I knew about Macedonian food, I would have had a short answer: great mussels.

My first taste of fried mussels at a classic Thessaloniki restaurant (now alas defunct) was an epiphany, one of those moments that stay in mouth and mind forever, like one’s introduction to caviar or fresh foie gras.

If you think fried mussels don’t belong in that exalted category, then you haven’t eaten them in Macedonia. Dipped in a batter so light as to be ephemeral, the plump molluscs possessed an initial exquisite crispness followed by a succulence so mellow it was impossible to speak until the platter was empty. And they were accompanied by skordalia, garlic sauce, a perfect marriage.

Today, many journeys north later, I’ve discovered dozens more palate-tickling Macedonian dishes, but I still have to treat myself to a fried mussel orgy before I can enjoy them. Fortunately, this whim can be indulged at tavernas almost anywhere between Thessaloniki and Kavala, Macedonia’s second largest port. In fact, the fattest mussels come from Olympiada, a little-visited fishing harbor virtually equidistant from the two, on the eastern fringes of Halkidiki. Devoid of big hotels, it does not feature in any travel brochures, but it does boast an ancient site that should be a Mecca for philosophers. The walled town of Stageira, where Aristotle was born, crowns the hillside above Olympiada and from there the view cannot have changed since he gazed at it in the 4th century BC.

By the time I’ve reached Kavala, I’m ready to try some of the other fishy delicacies for which the region is famous. That’s easy because tavernas crowd the old port and their menus are extensive. But do I choose a simple grilled bream or a generous squid stuffed to bursting with herbs, fresh cheese, and its own chopped tentacles, ethereal atherina, smelts, half the width of my little finger or perhaps a plate of likourinos, pickled fillet of grey mullet, to awaken the appetite?

Choosing is no simple matter, in part because the menus list some foods rarely heard of in Athens and the temptation is strong to sample flavors from Anatolia.

In Kavala the Ottoman presence is palpable. A three-tiered aqueduct erected under Suleiman the Magnificent arches over the traffic, a crenellated Turkish citadel looms above it, and echoes of Mehmet Ali, the city’s most illustrious son, abound in the old quarter.

The Eastern influence in Macedonian gastronomy, however, is not so much a legacy of the past but rather something that arrived with the hundreds of thousands of refugees from Asia Minor who settled there after 1922. Unable to carry their treasured heirlooms, they relied on two intangible but indestructible possessions—their music and their recipes—to dispel their homesickness and keep their memories alive.

Some of their dishes have infiltrated Greek cuisine so thoroughly you’d swear they were native. The whole family of vegetables hollowed out and stuffed with rice, raisins and pine nuts; dolmades or yaprakia as they’re sometimes called in the north (vine or cabbage leaves wrapped around a similar filling); eggplants pureed, smothered in onions or as a base for moussaka; sesame bracelets of varying thicknesses; cumin-scented meatballs; doner kebab—all are by now so familiar at home and abroad we forget they were not always part of the mainland repertoire.

The same is true of the sweets introduced by the refugees. Quintessentially Eastern pastries combining phyllo, chopped nuts, and honey syrup—like baklava, kataifi, galaktoboureko and many less familiar treats—can be found in places without a single resident from Asia Minor.

DIVERSITY ON THE TABLE

But Anatolia and the Aegean are just two of the flavors of Macedonian cooking. The largest region in Greece, Macedonia also had the most diverse mix of population and geography. Here the country’s highest mountains – Olympus and its neighbors, for example – cordon off broad plains, while its largest lakes and rivers intersect them. And because its wheat fields, orchards, vineyards and pastures are among the most fertile in the Balkans, they rarely were permitted to be farmed or grazed peacefully. From earliest times, armies from the west, east and north tramped through, hoping to claim them for their own. Roman, Slav, Bulgar and Ottoman conquerors left their monuments and traditions, as did nomadic Vlach and Sarakatsan herdsmen. Macedonia continues to reflect that past. And its doors are still open to new influences. In the ‘80s and ‘90s, ethnic Greeks who for countless generations had been living in the Caucasus and around the Black Sea (Pontus) sought a better life in Macedonia and Thrace.

 

LESS OLIVE OIL, MORE SPICE

To track down these various tastes I made several trips into the Macedonian hinterland, which are so much more rural than the cosmopolitan ports. I discovered that two major themes run through the cooking of northern Greece, setting it off from that of the south. For one, olive oil is used more sparingly. Except for Halkidiki and the coast, the climate in much of Macedonia is too harsh for the olive tree so lard and butter often take the place of oil. At the same time, Macedonian food is more assertive. Here the predilection for hot pepper flakes, boukovo, reigns. Sprinkled liberally on just about everything, their piquancy comes as a surprise if you’re used to the herb-rich dishes of the Peloponnese.

Northerners are also especially fond of peppers in general. Florina, a mountain town with pastel facades, is the pepper capital of Greece. It has given its name to a meaty, triangular red pepper so delicious that it is a popular meze on its own.

Grilled, skinned and brushed with a little oil, it is eaten fresh or preserved in jars for the winter, and added to stews, soups, and pies all year long. My favorite pepper dish, though, is an irresistible dip made with Florina and chilli peppers, onions, garlic, and tomatoes. I first tasted it at a taverna on Megali Prespa in Greece’s lake district.

It was the prelude to a fish feast— deep fried tsironia (like smelts), butterflied grilled trout, sprinkled with boukovo, of course, and roast carp. These lakes are home to 14 species of carp alone. What I hadn’t realized is that their shores produce tons of Greece’s finest beans.

The Prespes lakes form a national park and bird sanctuary. You’d think this remote area would be rough and wild. Instead, staked out in orderly rows that vanish into the horizon, bean plantations cover every inch of arable land. And the stalls for tourists don’t peddle souvenirs emblazoned with the endangered Dalmatian pelicans they’ve come to spy on but rather sacks of beans of every size and color, from elephant beans (larger even than gigantes) to black, brown, white, and red beans, and even jars of bean spoon sweet. As one moves east towards the Macedonian heartland— the area around Pella and Vergina, where Philip II and his ancestors had their palaces and tombs—grape vines and orchards take over the landscape. Naoussa is one of the country’s best known red wine producers, nearby Edessa grows many of its cherries, peaches, apricots, and apples. But while all Greeks love fresh fruit, Macedonians possess an uncommon Greek habit of adding fruit, fresh or dried, to their meat, fish or vegetable stews. Dishes like pork with prunes, beef with quinces, and chicken with apricots sounded so foreign to my Athenian husband, he thought they must be American. On the contrary, combining sweet with savory may hint at traditions that have persisted since Roman and Byzantine times, or they may point to holdovers from Slavic and Bulgarian cuisine where similar dishes are common.

Other favorite ingredients shared among Macedonia and its neighbors to the north are pickled cabbage, walnuts, and thick sheep’s yogurt. In Drama, for example, another wine-producing district, a typical meal will consist of colourful ribbons of tangy red and green pickled cabbage alongside the city’s spicy soutzoukakia – grilled finger-length meat “balls.” On the other hand, a casserole of walnuts and carp suggests a link with Kastoria, the lakeside city of fur artisans and 70-odd Byzantine churches. While, if you sit down to a pilaf of cabbage, bulgur wheat, and crushed walnuts, chances are the cook is from the Pontos, especially if there’s a bowl of yogurt on the side.

Meat in Macedonia comes in various guises. Post-war prosperity (and increasingly lazy taverna owners) have created an appetite for simply grilled steaks and chops.

But as in so many societies of large families and limited incomes, the traditional ways of making lamb, beef, and pork go further can still be found, minced and stuffed into plentiful vegetables or stretched in a stew or casserole with numerous, less pricey ingredients.

One delicacy that has been revived recently, though, is water buffalo. Look for it up around Lake Kerkini between Serres and Kilkis, south of the Rhodopi mountains and Bulgaria. Once in danger of dying out, Greece’s last herd of these gentle creatures is actually growing. I watched them wading on the lake’s boggy shores, an unexpected perk added to the thousands of exotic birds that we had come to see. And I managed to suppress my guilt when presented with luscious chunks of their lean meat cooked slowly in the gastra, a sealed clay pot, on top of the embers in an outdoor oven.

My favorite meat, pork, is ubiquitous of course and as versatile as ever in Macedonia. Especially in winter, curtains of sausages dangle in butcher shops. Naturally, they are spiked with boukovo, and often contain cumin, black pepper and leeks as well – a warming meze on a frosty evening. A rarer specialty, kavourma, looks like a cylindrical pillow and tastes like France’s rillettes de porc, but with an Eastern pinch of cumin. To others, the king of cured meat is pastourma. Now made of beef rather than camel, it is dried and thickly coated with fenugreek, hot and sweet paprika, and a mixture of other spices that are almost as intoxicating as the ouzo or raki you drink with it. Just one whiff hurls you back to Anatolia.

It is wonderful to be able to track down all these foods and feast one’s way through Macedonia. The good news is that if this is impossible, almost all these specialties and many more can be found in Thessaloniki. For me, the Modiano market in the heart of town exerts an attraction more compelling than any of its museums. In its way, it too is a museum—a living, ever-changing, interactive exhibition of the culinary heritage of this fascinating region. Still owned by the Sephardic Jewish family who built the market in 1922, the bustling emporium mirrors Macedonia’s diversity, past and present. Thankfully, the region that gave its name to fruit salad has remained an extremely appetizing mix of people and the pleasures they bring to the table.

Diana Farr Louis’s latest book, Travels in Northern Greece, will be published this spring by the Athens News, to which she is a frequent contributor.