Degustibus nil et disputandum
The highlight of Easter Sunday on Corfu is lunch, and specifically spit-roasted lamb, which has been turning over a bed of charcoal since the cool hours of daylight this morning. We have been promised this for days, that every taverna would have it laid on especially for this most auspicious of meals. Why so special? Because the Corfiot tradition, at least in Orthodox communities, is to undertake an extended and severe Lenten fast, foreswearing even such essentials of island life as olive oil and local wine. A meal without either, unthinkable!
This Lenten fast ends on the stroke of midnight on Saturday, an occasion marked by day-long parades of icons, musical processions, operatic recitals and all manner of traditional observances in Corfu town itself, and to a lesser extent in all the smaller towns and villages on the island. Tradition dictates that the first meal eaten almost immediately after midnight is a rich soup called (Tisoullardes?), a rich broth featuring mostly lamb entrails. There certainly will be plenty available to make this historic dish, given the number of wee lambs whose number’s up this weekend…
We marked the occasion from Villa Nova by listening to the fusillade of fireworks crackling and booming across the island. And some pretty big bangs there were to, the sort of basso profundo ‘whoomph’ that you feel as much as hear, and that reverberates around the valleys for many moments. The don’t do bangs that big even during the Festival Fireworks in Edinburgh, and there it is something of a local tradition to see how many shop and car alarms they can set off with a single pryotechnic… ..not that these sorts of things actually happen, of course.
Anyway, they would find some stiff competition here. There is a fierce inter-village rivalry to see which one can create the biggest single bang to mark Easter and their own parade. The net result of which is, for several days, we had been hearing the repeated sound of what we took to be hunting with high powered rifles, and blasting in the local quarries. From hills near and far, at several points through the day, we would hear and feel one of these blasts, and both of us would wander outside to scan the horizon and wonder at what had blown up now. Of the source, there was never a trace, but the blasts kept happening…
The closest we have experienced was New Year in the Italian Dolomites, where the villages compete to see who can let off the most spectacular fireworks display to entertain the tourists. Given that in Italy New Year celebrations begin at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, the constant whoosh and crackle of fireworks is something you get used to, and it goes on for another three days. Easter on Corfu seems to pay homage to the same tradition.
However, on this particular Easter Sunday we were taking it especially easy, touring the local sights, taking the odd photograph, generally chilling and enjoying the holiday mood. So at around three in the afternoon, it seemed only fair to go and join the festivities at Smurfs, and sample this much-vaunted Easter lamb. Down we went, found ourselves a sunny and almost warm table on the terrace in front, jammed between two extended families of several generations each.
When our hard-pressed waiter eventually managed to reach us, the order was simple, dio Mythos and a half kilo of lamb. Half a kilo, he assured us, was the appropriate order for two. Some chips would come on the end, we learned. We got the beers, and after some time, the lamb. Once too often, I fear, we have joked about the recipe for Greek Lamb Chops. “Take one lamb. Chop. Grill”. For that is what appeared, some random bits of lamb carcass, chopped up and plonked on a cold stainless steel salver, with a garnish of fast-cooling chips. Better half was extremely polite and gamely struggled through it, but this was a huge disappointment. Where was the singing and dancing, the endless local wine, the community celebrations marking the start of summer and another year? In a different village, up a hill and far away from the tourist strip of Paleo, I fear. The Greek Easter Feast remains one we have to experience, in other more propitious circumstances. Next time…
This Lenten fast ends on the stroke of midnight on Saturday, an occasion marked by day-long parades of icons, musical processions, operatic recitals and all manner of traditional observances in Corfu town itself, and to a lesser extent in all the smaller towns and villages on the island. Tradition dictates that the first meal eaten almost immediately after midnight is a rich soup called (Tisoullardes?), a rich broth featuring mostly lamb entrails. There certainly will be plenty available to make this historic dish, given the number of wee lambs whose number’s up this weekend…
We marked the occasion from Villa Nova by listening to the fusillade of fireworks crackling and booming across the island. And some pretty big bangs there were to, the sort of basso profundo ‘whoomph’ that you feel as much as hear, and that reverberates around the valleys for many moments. The don’t do bangs that big even during the Festival Fireworks in Edinburgh, and there it is something of a local tradition to see how many shop and car alarms they can set off with a single pryotechnic… ..not that these sorts of things actually happen, of course.
Anyway, they would find some stiff competition here. There is a fierce inter-village rivalry to see which one can create the biggest single bang to mark Easter and their own parade. The net result of which is, for several days, we had been hearing the repeated sound of what we took to be hunting with high powered rifles, and blasting in the local quarries. From hills near and far, at several points through the day, we would hear and feel one of these blasts, and both of us would wander outside to scan the horizon and wonder at what had blown up now. Of the source, there was never a trace, but the blasts kept happening…
The closest we have experienced was New Year in the Italian Dolomites, where the villages compete to see who can let off the most spectacular fireworks display to entertain the tourists. Given that in Italy New Year celebrations begin at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, the constant whoosh and crackle of fireworks is something you get used to, and it goes on for another three days. Easter on Corfu seems to pay homage to the same tradition.
However, on this particular Easter Sunday we were taking it especially easy, touring the local sights, taking the odd photograph, generally chilling and enjoying the holiday mood. So at around three in the afternoon, it seemed only fair to go and join the festivities at Smurfs, and sample this much-vaunted Easter lamb. Down we went, found ourselves a sunny and almost warm table on the terrace in front, jammed between two extended families of several generations each.
When our hard-pressed waiter eventually managed to reach us, the order was simple, dio Mythos and a half kilo of lamb. Half a kilo, he assured us, was the appropriate order for two. Some chips would come on the end, we learned. We got the beers, and after some time, the lamb. Once too often, I fear, we have joked about the recipe for Greek Lamb Chops. “Take one lamb. Chop. Grill”. For that is what appeared, some random bits of lamb carcass, chopped up and plonked on a cold stainless steel salver, with a garnish of fast-cooling chips. Better half was extremely polite and gamely struggled through it, but this was a huge disappointment. Where was the singing and dancing, the endless local wine, the community celebrations marking the start of summer and another year? In a different village, up a hill and far away from the tourist strip of Paleo, I fear. The Greek Easter Feast remains one we have to experience, in other more propitious circumstances. Next time…
posted by EyeOnDubai at 4:49 am
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