Jewelry or Spit (Take Your Pick)

This past week, I seem to have violated every possible superstition known to mankind. Ok, yes that's an exaggeration, but I did spill salt all over the table during lunch, crack my make-up mirror when packing it for spring break, open my new umbrella inside, and see a black cat cross my path while I was visiting home. All I need to do is walk under a ladder on Friday the 13th and I'll be sure to condemn my future with poor fortune. Thankfully, my luck so far has been unaffected by these troubling events (knock on wood), but as a slightly superstitious person, I am currently living every second in fear of what doom lies ahead of me. 

In light of these recent unfortunate events, I decided to do this week's blog on Greek superstitions- or more specifically, the weird things we do to cope with them.

Basically, there are two different approaches to saving yourself from the horror that is bad luck after you've been exposed. Its almost as if stepping on that crack in the sidewalk is a fatal disease that can only be cured with these two things: mati eyes (aka the evil eye) and spit. Yes, you read that correctly; spit is one of the bad luck cures. If I were in Greece right now, my family would either be throwing Greek mati eyes on me or simply spitting on me three times each.

But before we dive into the meaning of these superstitions, what exactly is a mati? Otherwise known as the Greek "evil eye," the mati is a typically bulls-eye-shaped blue and white eyeball worn as jewelry to ward of evil or jealous thoughts. By wearing this Greek eye, any gazes a person receives from people with envious feelings or malicious intentions will be blocked from entering the spirit. If a jealous look were to hit an unprotected individual, Greek superstition is that this person could have bad luck ranging anywhere from health problems to financial struggles to family issues. The mati is also generalized to symbol safety from any bad luck possibly lurking in your future.

You can imagine I've acquired quite a few mati jewelry over the years.

a typical Greek mati bracelet

(courtesy of nicole)

But if jewelry isn't your thing, fear not. There's another less sanitary way to rid yourself of impending bad fortune: spitting. Fortunately, my family has yet to carry this tradition over seas, but don't be surprised if you ever see a Greek person spit on his baby after you compliment how cute it is. 

Spitting is believed to deflect the devil and any misfortune he may bring. This assumption goes hand-in-hand with the evil eye; if you receive the evil eye and have no mati to protect you, spitting will rid the evil intentions from your body. I've never tried this (nor do I intend to), but if desperate times ever call for desperate measures, at least this method can be used as a final resort.

Greeks believe good fortune comes to those who do things in groups of three. Whether that means doing your cross three times at church, knocking on your neighbors door three times, or adding three squeezes of lemon juice to your steak, acting in groups of three symbolizes the worship of the Holy Trinity. So naturally, when a superstitious event causes the need to ward off the devil by spitting, the Greeks do it three times. 

The next time you spill the salt shaker or forget your rabbit's foot, consider these two strange approaches to unsealing your doom. You never know, they might just work.

Ouzo: It's Not For the Weak

I'd like to start out this week's blog by proclaiming my love for Pull-and-Peel Twizzlers. Seriously, if you've never tried them you have go buy some, pronto. Either there's something really fun about pulling the licorice apart like string cheese, or the Pull-and-Peel kind just lacks the god-awful taste I usually associate with licorice. Nevertheless, those Pull-and-Peel Twizzlers are the only thing I'll consume that even remotely tastes of the root. That's right, I won't even drink Ouzo.

I know what you must be thinking: "What kind of Greek doesn't like Ouzo?" Well, you're right. I am quite possibly a disgrace to my family. In fact, just writing the word "Ouzo" makes me think of some big-nosed old Greek guy with a mustache holding up his drink and yelling "Yamas!" (otherwise known as cheers). But I've never liked the drink; aside from the fact that the stuff is about as potent as drinks come, I can never seem to shake the disgusting licorice taste from my mouth after even the tiniest of sips. 

Of course, my distaste for Ouzo would never dissuade the rest of my family. 

Stereotype #3: Drinking Ouzo Like Its Water

Ouzo. Its at weddings; its at dinners; its at my cousins' 5 year-old birthday parties. The drink appears to circulate nearly every family function (as well as many of my uncles' bloodstreams). I'll never understand what makes the beverage so appealing, but I can say with confidence that its the drink of choice when you're looking to have a night you can't remember. 

Ouzo from my basement; made in my family's island, Kos

the Ouzo my grandfather and uncle make (notice its empty)

In talking about Ouzo, I think it'd be beneficial to bring back the movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The same scene that depicts the roasting of the lamb also shows the Millers being bombarded with a variety of Greek foods and drink, one of those drinks being Ouzo. Out of politeness, the Millers take a shot of the strong-smelling drink. After just a few more sips of the stuff, the Millers become extremely dizzy and nauseous. The whole room starts to spin, and the thought of eating makes them sick to their stomachs. This scene does an excellent job of describing what the aftermath of your first Ouzo shot feels like. (I had mine in Greece, don't worry it was legal.)

A similar experience happened to my mom's non-Greek friends when they were in college. During her study abroad trip to Greece, my mom bought little mini-bottles of Ouzo for her friends to try back home. The bottles were only about the size of a portable hand sanitizer tube, but their size was quite deceiving. During a get together, all her friends eagerly chugged their respective Ouzo's. Though the party was fun while it lasted, I think it goes without saying they did not have a fun morning the next day. 

But the bottom line is, all Greeks (with the exception of myself) love nothing more than a good party with Ouzo; the stereotype is extremely true. So if your parents ever want to amp up a family get-together, have them buy some quality Greek Ouzo- just make sure they grab some aspirin on the way home. 

Who Says Pie Has to Be a Dessert

In my family, everyone bonds over a shared love for food. No get-together is complete without a full spread of Greek cuisine, and recipes are more valued than money itself. So this week, I decided to feature one of my favorite Greek foods: spanikopita. Made only on special occasions, this spinach pie is practically considered a delicacy. Enjoy this old family recipe I got from observing my family in the kitchen.

Recipe #2: Spani(kopita)- The Greek Spinach Pie
When I was younger (and still could hope that one day I wouldn't suck so much at cooking), I'd repeatedly ask my dad if he could teach me how to make spani. When he was tired of me asking, I was brought to my church's kitchen, where many of my family members were preparing the dish for our upcoming bazaar. Making spani was like a past-time for these people; every Wednesday, they'd get up early and come right to the kitchen to get cooking. I figured there were no better people to learn from than the experts themselves.

Disclaimer: the following recipe is just my take-away from that experience. There is no exact recipe for making really good spani; all of the measurements below are just my family's best estimates.

So according to my aunts, cousins, and grandparents, here's what you're going to need:
-olive oil
-2 lbs of rinsed and chopped spinach
-1 cup of ricotta cheese
-1 cup of feta (we really do like our Greek cheeses)
-8 sheets of phyllo dough
-3 lightly beaten eggs
-baking pan

Let's get started.

First, you have to oil the baking pan (believe me, I only needed to forget this first step once to understand that). When the pan is ready to go, sauté the spinach until it has a slightly limp consistency. Mix the eggs and cheese in a bowl, and then add in the cooked spinach. In the pan, you can now start adding the bottom layer of phyllo dough. Add a sheet of phyllo, oil it, and then add three more sheets (oiling in between layers of course). Your next step is to dump in the spinach mixture, making sure there is an even spread across the whole pan. Finally, add the remaining four layers of phyllo, oil it up, and you're good to go! Just put the spani in the oven for 45 minutes and enjoy however you want; part of its beauty is that it goes well on its own or as a side.

adding the spinach mixture

my aunt with her finished product

Now don't get me wrong, I am not a spinach person. Somehow, this dish tastes good despite the fact that its covered in disgusting leafy greenness- and my friends would agree. Even the pickiest of eaters seem to enjoy this recipe; sometimes I feel it has some type of magic power. But regardless of its ingredients, taking in the smell of spani's browning phyllo has come to be like an aroma therapy to me.

So the next time you can't decide what to have for dinner or how to cater your birthday party, consider trying this dish. Just channel your inner Greek and get cooking.

When the Party Gets Too Lit

If going to Greece two summers ago taught me anything, it's that Greeks take their partying very seriously. Every night, until the wee hours of the morning, people were out socializing and hitting up the clubs like they didn't even have to think about going to work the next morning. Partying is practically an aspect of the culture over there. So I decided to make this week's blog about this second stereotype and give a family example of how it is so true.

Stereotype #2: We Love to Party
My Uncle Mike (my mom's younger brother) has always been a very shy, "keep things to yourself" kind of person. He's one of the funniest people I know- that is, of course, when he does actually speak. So when my grandmother announced she had a funny story for me regarding my uncle, I was not too hesitant to take a seat and listen up. The story goes as follows:

One night, while my grandparents were visiting my then-in-college mother on her study abroad trip (which was- not so coincidentally- in Greece), my uncle decided to have a "little" get-together with his closest friends in the empty house my grandparents so graciously left for him. He talked to some people at school, thinking the word would stop there. After class, my uncle made a quick trip to the mall, where he saw one of his many many cousins and invited him to the mini-party. Little did he know, this would be a HUGE mistake.

By the time my Uncle Mike's get-together began, my whole hometown was not only aware of, but somehow invited to the now so-called "party." People my uncle had never seen before started appearing at his doorstep- and its not like they were going to ask permission to come in and make themselves at home. After breaking out the alcohol my uncle hid inside the house walls, empty cups trashed the entire house, and drunk teenagers were passed out in every corner; I get the feeling the house looked something like a scene from a bad high school romance movie.

Then the fight broke out.

We're not completely sure why it happened, but right there on my grandmother's front lawn was a full out flurry of fists and testosterone. People tried to break it up, only to make the matter worse. Neighbors must have started calling the police to complain about the noise and suspected underage drinking, all while this fight continued to heat up in the yard. Right as the police arrived, fighting kid #1 threw a huge punch at fighting kid #2, knocking out some of his adult teeth.

what I expect my grandparents' house looked like before the cops came

*photo courtesy of simon leloup*

My uncle was left with a busted party and a lawsuit on his hands, but never dreamed of letting his vacationing parents find out. In my hometown, however, gossip spreads faster than the plague.

Upon returning home from Greece, my grandparents went about their daily lives completely unaware of the chaotic party that had been thrown in their own bedroom. For a whole month, they heard gossip about some party in the area that spun wildly out of control and an accompanying possible lawsuit for the parents, who were not home at the time. Eventually my grandparents themselves started spreading the talk, never guessing that they were the house that hosted the party.

And my uncle said nothing to suggest it remotely involved them.

Long story short, my grandmother eventually asked my uncle if it was possible that the gossip was about their house. The slow nodding of his head was enough to convey to my grandmother that even the introverted Greeks love to have fun.

Moral of the story is all Greeks really do love to party- especially the shy ones.