It is during these rough winters that my island whispers its best kept secrets.

I dream about the intoxicating sense of freedom when a breathtaking night sky or a sea rainbow unfold just for you. Even time seems to be on your side on these howling Cycladic winters. You read a book, bake a pie from scratch, sleep early.

But can these slow, mindful winters set the tone for the whole year? I dream about that too… Each minute of earned sunlight shifts the hourglass towards another hectic summer. Even though I ‘m a summer child myself and love everything about it, when I close my eyes and think about my favorite island places, it is these January images that come into my mind.

Raising our glasses to a year of peace, joy and love, we wish you all Happy New Year!

Many thanks to Myconian Hotels & especially to Vangelis Daktilides for their great hospitality & their help for this post

photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti

Τhere is something about that picture that captivates me. If you live in an island, you know what I am talking about, right? The sweetness of it; its nostalgic vibe, although it is not old. It was taken in Mykonos, but it is such a typical island image –a port, a vintage cargo tricycle, an Agios Nicolaos church and a ferry-, that you can see it in Paros, Aegina and in so many island ports. The blue tricycle carries suitcases and merchandise inside the town’s narrow streets and I wish I could see the driver; clichéd as it sounds, I would like to know if he wears a Greek fisherman’s hat so that I can start playing Hatzidakis music in my head. Τhe Orca ferry, that makes daily trips to the island of Delos, contributes to the picture’s overall vintage mood.

What I love about this picture though, is the absence of people, despite the elements of human presence. A port empty of people, how unusual is that? This impression is underlined by the almost duotone color palette and the contrast between the emptiness of the sky and the busy lower part of the scene.

photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti

March is here and likes to surprise us with days as glorious as this. Days without greyness and rain, without strong and dusty south winds. Days that wink at you, promising everything that we are waiting from spring: joy, openness and maybe a refreshing restart.

To be at the islands at this time of year, on such a bright day, always makes me feel like a kid in a candy shop. The colors are so vivid and so clear they seem to have popped out of a coloring book: the sky, the sea, are blue, just blue, period. The fields are bright green, as the warm Cycladic sun hasn’t turn them to gold just yet; From a bird’s eye view, you can see these curvy, mild levels of land, wisely delimited by xerolithies, unfolding all the way down to the sea.

p.s. – we were talking about the island’s soundscape the other day: here’s a small spring surprise for you, recorded today : )

photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti

Monday morning & alarm clock & rain = disaster. You know what I’m talking about, right? This blue feeling of February Mondays, bluer than usual when accompanied by heavy pouring rain, is not the most promising start for any week. My mind refuses to wake up, then the snooze button drama starts; and finally, the random thoughts that pass through my head manage to form a full sentence of Monday denial that only gets louder and louder, before I actually have to get out of bed.

Athenian rainy Monday mornings are the worst: they are always followed by traffic and the city feels dirtier than during a middle August heat wave… The same day on an island feels different, though; the natural environment totally shifts the experience of a dark, wet, winter day, despite its –not so encouraging– beginning.

First of all, there is no traffic. You can drive to work in minutes and in many cases, wearing the same tracksuits you wore in bed; island dress codes can be really, really casual. Then, it’s the people you meet: they live more connected with the land that they can recognize the type of rain the soil needs each month. You will rarely hear them nagging about the rain; They see big clouds travelling from the neighboring islands and they can calculate when the wind will bring a shower to their own. The best thing about those drizzling days, are the amazing earthy scents the emerge from the ground, before, during and after the rain. It’s when you can actually smell the island.

When the rain stops, leaving the Cycladic sugar-cubed houses sparkling, the atmosphere is clear enough to see the colors and shapes of all the nearby islands. You can go to the countryside and pick wild greens to boil; Witness a double rainbow; At night, you stand in awe to gaze the uncountable stars that shine so bright, as they are not hidden by excessive summer lights.

photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti

I sometimes discover forgotten pieces of paper with recipes written on them; in my old bags, among the pages of a half-finished book, in the back of a drawer… The pleasant surprise of those small discoveries, is always followed by a reverie, trying to remember when and why did I write down this recipe: it can be a recipe that I asked a friend to give me after a nice dinner, something I liked and cut from a magazine or quick notes watching a culinary TV show.

Each one of us has a very personal way to organize recipes. For me, the hand-written papers and the random bookmarks on my browser are the start; the best of them make it to a tin recipe box or to the multiple subfolders of a gigantic bookmarked folder and, to honor the Monica Geller in me, the crème de la crème of those recipes will make it to my fancy recipes notebook, which is actually a thick paper lined notebook where I only write in pencil.

But still, although I love the idea of continuance that most recipes carry; the fact that a recipe can make us part of a big chain of people cooking the same ingredients with the same way to offer something nice to our loved ones; the truth is, most of the recipes I save, I never manage to cook them. Recipes that just like linen tablecloths, fine china and sparkling jewelry, are waiting for a special occasion to come to life and they stay forgotten in drawers and boxes.

Recipes are nothing but the promise of a feast, full of sentiments that we cook to recreate. I came across with one of my forgotten recipes the other day. It was a recipe I had asked a very dear friend -a cook-  to give me some years ago, in Ikaria. I remembered how delicious this recipe was, the serene face of the cook, the anticipation as we were waiting to be served, the joy I and my friends felt when we tasted its flavor for the first time, accompanied by a cool glass of Dolyxi, the delicate local ouzo.

It is a recipe for fried mussels served on a stick, really easy to make and very tasty. I decided that it had stayed in a waiting room for too long; it was time to make it: Clean Monday was the perfect occasion, but I was determined to cook it even on a regular Monday. I am glad I did, because it was a success; the mussels were soft yet crunchy, aromatic and so light that everyone liked it, I was even asked for the recipe! So, there you go, another recipe’s mission accomplished I hope that you will find the time to try it too and that you will like it. Here you go:

Battered Fried Mussels skewers

By Michalis Plytas | sta perix, Ikaria

500 grams of mussels without the shells

1 can of beer

All-purpose flour, about 2 cups

8 grams of instant dry yeast

A pinch of sugar

A pinch of salt

2 tablespoons turmeric (you can adjust according to your preference)

Olive oil for frying

Prepare the batter by putting the beer in a bowl and gradually adding flour until you have a thick batter. Add the yeast, sugar, salt, turmeric and mix well until the batter becomes smooth. Let it stand for 20 minutes.

Dip each mussel in the batter and thread onto the skewers.

Heat the oil in a deep pan and fry the mussel skewers until they become golden and crispy. Remove them from the fire and place them on kitchen paper to dry. Sprinkle with a little salt and serve hot.

You can accompany the mussels with a rich garlicky skordalia. You can see a delicious skordalia and a batter variation here.

p.s. How do you organize your recipes? Do you also have recipes waiting for special occasions? 

photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti

Although pasteli wouldn’t make it to the top five (or even to the top ten) of typical Valentine’s treats, and without any intention to look down on the day’s decadent heart shaped chocolates, I will ask you to think out the box and read on, because, in case you haven’t noticed, this is a post about pasteli.

Pasteli is a traditional sweet treat made with sesame seeds and honey, very popular in Greece since antiquity. With references that go back to Homer and Herodotus, the first energy bar in history that is healthy, antioxidant, aphrodisiac, was also considered a fertility symbol: pasteli was and still is offered to weddings in many parts of Greece, especially the islands.

The pure, aromatic island honey and great quality sesame seeds are essential for this simple yet fulfilling delicacy; if you like it, you will also love the pasteli variations made with almond or pistachio. Soft or crunchy, with local additions that only add to its flavor, like the discreet aroma of red wine, lemon leaves, cumin seeds or orange zest, pasteli travelled through time as a self-proven culinary legacy.

The recipe you will see here is the one I made myself, as my first attempt to make homemade pasteli. I wanted a very crunchy, sesame-rich pasteli and I only used thyme honey and unhulled sesame seeds. It turned out delicious, so give it a try if you wish. Whether you will make it for its romantic essence, to spice up the day or for -quite the opposite- a treat that will help you through the lent period that is about to start, I am sure you will enjoy it!

Pasteli recipe

250 grams of unhulled sesame seeds

250 grams of honey

Place the sesame seeds in a dry pan and lightly toast them over medium heat until they get a slightly golden shade. Remove them from the heat before they turn brown.

In a heavy bottomed pot, place the honey and bring to a boil for about 10 minutes. Adjust the heat to low and stir in the sesame seeds until they incorporate completely. Remove from the fire.

Line a flat wooden surface with parchment paper. Pour the hot mixture onto the parchment and spread it out evenly to 1 centimeter thickness. Cover with a second layer of parchment paper and use a rolling pin to make it more even.

Uncover the pasteli and after 15 minutes cut it into squares or rhombuses.

When it is completely cool, store in a covered container wrapped with parchment paper.

photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti

Rays of morning light enter through the salty windows; as they get trapped in my mother’s laced curtains, they create sunlight tattoos on the rough island wall. I want to Instagram it, but my cat is sleeping on my lap, so I drink a sip of coffee instead and get back to work.

It is so quite here at this time of the year. Passing by cars are rare, walkers are few. When the wind is calm, – not disturbing the sea and the seagulls nor making the cats nervous- it is blissfully quiet or awfully quiet, depending on your mood.

My laptop connects me with the rest of the world for a few hours; and then I descend to this sound free zone. It’s an introvert’s paradise; one, could easily get lost in the silence.

Island life, although seems brutally divided between winter quietness and a roaring summer babel, makes sense in an annual perspective as it feels challenging, yet balanced. If an island’s winter life versus summer life was a movie, I know I’d pay to see it just for the soundtrack: I would rather expect a sort of yin-yang crazy jazzy thing than a Cycladic interpretation of The Four Seasons.

Right now, we are at the white noise months. February soundscape on a calm day is frugal. In the morning silence, I hear the squeaking doors and I can almost hear my cat’s dreams. Outside the house, there is a distant noise of children playing which is coming from the village school, a light breeze blowing on the leaves and some small birds chirping here and there.

I know that in a month or two, hammering, smoothing plane and paint brushing sounds will take over the island, as boats, shops and houses, will be getting their spring renewal treatment, just like us.

photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti

Islanders are travelers. They have been travelling for so long, it’s a part of their DNA. Captains, mechanics, traders, explorers and fishermen, travel under the protection Saint Nicholas or Poseidon in the past, with the dream of returning safe to their loved ones, loaded with stories and goods.

There are few island families that throughout their history, have not been tested with long periods of absences. From the epic Odysseus, to every single one of a -really- long line of islanders that decided to leave home in search of something; sea men and their families had to be patient and strong, learning to live in the time gaps between a goodbye and a welcome. Travelling brought islanders to the world; it brought them life, but not without the pain of the longing to return home.

My grandfather was an electrician in the navy and my dad worked as a mercantile marine mechanic for many years in his life; so, like many seamen ‘s kids, I grew up with ugly far east vases and cool marine stories, enriched with nautical terms and a language that makes Nikos Kavadias’ poems feel comforting familiar. In many of those stories, nostalgia was a starting point for every journey back home.

It’s exactly that feeling, homesickness, that drove me to write this post after all this time. Christos and I started aeganpan as an escape, but I just realized, that this blog makes me feel at home too. I really missed posting here where I feel so at ease that I can take my time off it, in discovery of new things; having the confidence that somehow, I will find my way back to the blog. All the stories shared here, are a fusion of home and travel, that just like island life, are naturally merged: from Gely’s saganaki and my uncle’s chickpeas recipes, to sailing, or going on fishing trips, or sneaking in island homes, yards and kitchens, aegeanpan can be many things; among these, a happy return.

photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti

Open air cinema is probably the coolest thing on my cool summer things top 5: it exceeds ice cream, star gazing, swimming and beer, since a brilliant open air cinema can include all the above; and if it doesn’t, that’s perfectly fine.

As the sky color is changing from purple to vivid blue, all you really need is to mute your phone and let the big screen create a deserted island universe just for you; even in the center of Athens. There is something soothing in these old Athenian yards and terraces; their ivy covered walls offer a safe distance to observe detached the city and your life; and then unwind with a good movie. Island open air cinemas are classic too; their vintage nonchalance offers amazing night sky views that counterbalance the legendary Acropolis view cinemas of the center.

I do like the Greek word –therinos- which is not used as often as it should nowadays and it wonderfully frames the word cinematographos: summer cinema in Greek. Open air cinemas are a blend of carefree innocence and old fashioned romance; a tribute to easy-living. The unique bubble they create is just a stepping stone: The movie ends, you get out of the bubble and there is another hectic Mediterranean night waiting for you.

ps: the -wanna live there- photo, is from Liostasi Hotel & Suites in Ios island

photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti

Μay is the Friday of the months. It has work pilled up and it has leisure; no, actually it has something better than that: it has the promise of leisure; A promise solid as a rock, the kind of promise that we cling to and don’t let go, until August finds us hidden under a parasol in a small beach somewhere between heaven and earth.

Days are getting longer and every gained minute of light is a small temptation for wandering, while the islands still smell of paint and wild flowers: an army of white chairs dried in the sun but the hills are not golden yet. The open markets start to look alive again; after a dull winter of sweet potatoes and oranges, the strawberries, apricots and cherries are joyfully welcome because their vivid colors match our lighter clothes and moods.

Talking about these late spring moods, I think they are the menace and the cure in every working person’s narrative, since May makes us feel kind of like Bella in Breaking Dawn part 2: awake, hungry, restless, flirty, alert and high-spirited. There is always something you want to do instead of working, but in May you can do it after work. The swimming, the beers with your friends, the long walks, the outdoor hanging out until the first morning hours are now available on the weekdays menu.

And even though this -warm weather and work- thing is not always balanced gracefully -like this post idea that came out of the blue and climbed on the top of a long list of things to do for work-, I love the month’s prospect and the feeling of anticipation for summer greatness.

photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti