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Reconnecting with my Greek roots one filo sheet at a time.
For most of my life, people have played a strange guessing game about where my family is from. Very few guess that I am half Greek, and this has always been a source of pride for me.
Many people are familiar with Mediterranean staples — hummus, pita, and salads with feta— but fewer are familiar with traditional Greek dishes. My childhood Sundays were filled with delicious meals after church. The congregation’s grandmothers, or Yiayas, would share recipes and cook an array of foods and, after sitting through two hours of Greek homilies, my six-year-old self would devour all of the spanakopita, pasticcio, and Koulourakia I could muster.
However, despite growing up Greek Orthodox, my connection to the culture wasn’t very strong. Church visits became less frequent once I started to play sports and I never learned how to speak the language. With my Irish mom, my brother and I often felt distant from our Greek cousins. It wasn’t until early in high school that I realized I wanted to reconnect with my Greek roots, and decided to do so through food.
I asked my Yiayia, Alexandra, to teach me her recipes. We soon found ourselves cooking a new meal together every weekend. Each recipe was written in two versions: one stained yellow with time, written in her mother’s Greek script, and the other in her elegant English cursive. We had always been close, but cooking together was a bonding experience that exceeded all of my expectations.
Spanakopita, an appetizer made of thin filo dough filled with spinach and feta, was one of the last recipes Yiayia shared with me before she passed. It is a very common plant-based dish in Greek cooking, and, despite the flaky buttery layers, is surprisingly healthy thanks to its spinach base.
When I decided to make spanakopita in my campus apartment, I was surprised by how difficult it was to find filo dough in Boston compared to the Philadelphia suburbs where I learned to make it. Luckily, a quick call to Whole Foods led me to the right spot, and I promptly set off to buy my ingredients: green onions, spinach, feta, dill, cream cheese, olive oil, and eggs.
As I prepped the filling back at my apartment, I remembered one of Yiayia’s key tips: always use frozen spinach. Frozen spinach makes for a better texture in baked dishes (and certainly saves money), as fresh spinach will shrink when cooked, meaning you have to buy more.
I had the foresight to let the spinach defrost while I was at class, so when I got home, I could squeeze out the excess water. I stood over the sink, pressing the cold spinach between my fingers and recalling how my grandmother and I did this together. Her veiny hands, fragile but strong, would wrap around mine and help me drain the greens.
With the spinach properly drained, I place it into a bowl, and mix in chopped onions,dill, and other ingredients, stirring until the filling is smooth and consistent. The easy part was done, and I preheated the oven, bracing myself for the most difficult task: working with the filo dough.
Filo dough, essential in Greek pastries such as baklava, galaktoboureko, and tiropita, can be tricky to work with. The thin sheets are prone to tearing and require more patience than I typically display. I remember Yiaya’s words of wisdom once more and cover my dough with a damp paper towel to prevent cracks and tears.
As I place down each layer of filo dough, I lather each sheet in melted butter before adding my filling and pleating the top. Assembling the spanakopita turned out to be easier than I remembered at age 16 and I am quickly able to pop my pan into my tiny oven, layered high with each flaky layer.
As the spanakopita baked, the aroma of dill and onion wafted through my apartment, taking me back to Yiaya’s kitchen. Finally, after nearly an hour of baking, I open the oven to peek at my beautiful appetizer.
Pride immediately bubbles up, mingled with longing for my late grandmother. Though I wish she could see it, I settle for sending pictures to my brother. He texts back almost immediately: “It looks just like the one from St. George’s church,” and I know she would be just as proud.
