Mediterranean Bubbles Over With Vibrant Dishes

There’s nothing like touring a Roman ruin for generating an appetite.

Believe me. I’m just back from a Mediterranean cruise where we rose at dawn to lectures from the Orator of Oxford University, then departed to scramble in blazing sun over cracked and broken stones (why did the ancients always build at the top of a hill?)

Luckily the locals have an answer to such foolish exertion: restorative little snacks called “mezzes,” “tapas,” “antipasti,” or “amuses bouche,” depending on their nationality. They make be as simple as a saucer of olives or as elaborate as Turkish borek, dumplings that resemble a deep-fried spring roll filled with meat, cheese or vegetables.

Mezze can be enjoyed at any hour as a pick-me-up or they may open lunch or dinner. For me, they more than suffice as a complete, delicious meal.

In Greece, a quartet of dips anchors the mezze spread. Melitzanosalata is a zesty puree of eggplant with olive oil, lemon and parsley. Skordalia is pungent with fresh garlic, while tzatziki is a refreshing blend of grated cucumber and goat’s milk yogurt flavored with garlic and mint or dill.

Last and most famous is the fish pate called taramosalata, made from cod or gray mullet roe. It can range from a temptingly fluffy salmon-colored puree to a nasty cut-price version in sticky day-glo pink. Buyer beware!

Athens, our port of embarkation, is a day’s leisurely sail from Syracuse in Sicily. Here I plunge into the open market, the finest we see in our dozen ports of call. Sardines and sea bass are glittering fresh; baby eels wriggle in the shadow of a giant tuna weighing at least 200 pounds. Because of pollution and overfishing, such size is rare.

We sail on to Malta, where flaky little cheesecakes of puff pastry filled with ricotta catch my attention, then to Tunis where the cheese pastries are made with brick dough, the southern Mediterranean version of filo resembling thin wonton wrappers. The same dough is used for giant turnovers, mine filled with tuna, sliced potato and egg, flavored with capers, with some unpronounceable Arabic name.

On the bay of Naples, crowned by the volcano of Vesuvius, we scarcely sit down before being presented with a fried zucchini flower to whet the appetite. My antipasti verde includes baby artichokes sliced and broiled until crispy. Baby eggplant, tomatoes, red and yellow peppers are roasted in their skins. Tiny sliced zucchini have been deep-fried to marinate with vinegar and mint, a classic dish called scapece. Over all hovers the whiff of garlic, lemon and golden homegrown olive oil. Food for the gods, since ancient Rome is on our minds.

Last of all, in Provence, we encounter the punchy French sauces: aioli garlic mayonnaise, rust-colored rouille flavored with chili or cayenne, and tapenade, a gamey black puree of olives, anchovy, garlic and oil that dates back to Roman times and beyond. They’re all served as condiments for a great platter of mixed cooked vegetables and hard-cooked eggs, an Easter specialty, though it also appears during the summer.

Throughout our journey I am fascinated by the different dishes that emerge from the basic Mediterranean ingredients of olive oil, olives, garlic, onion, capers, eggplant, tomato, multi-colored peppers, zucchini, artichokes and herbs, particularly thyme, rosemary, basil and mint. Each nation has its own. Scapece is typically Italian and tzatziki could only come from Greece.

Even the olives differ. In Greece they are wrinkled and piquant; in Italy they come plump and juicy, both green and black, often marinated in oil and herbs with perhaps a whisper of chili. Olives from Nice on the Riviera are tiny, the size of a little fingernail. We tasted Sicilian olives so mild they could have been a fresh fruit - though, in fact, olives pickled straight from the tree are inedibly bitter. They must always be cured in lye, salt or brine.

I can hardly believe that returning to Burgundy is an anticlimax, but so it is. The local cooking seems sadly colorless, its subtlety overshadowed by memories of olives and garlic, herbs and oil. In my placid northern kitchen, the vibrant flavors of the sun are a mere memory.

Greek Cucumber and Yogurt Dip (Tzatziki)

The richness of goat’s milk yogurt is easy to reproduce by pureeing soft goat cheese with cow’s milk yogurt. The key is to thoroughly drain both the yogurt and cucumber so the tzatziki is thick and rich. Flavor it with plenty of garlic and your choice of fresh mint, dill or fennel. Best accompaniment is flat pita bread, though crackers are good, too.

2 cups plain yogurt

4 ounces soft goat cheese

2 to 3 cloves garlic, peeled

Salt, pepper

1 large cucumber, peeled

Medium bunch of fresh mint leaves, dill or fennel, coarsely chopped

Place yogurt in colander lined with coffee filter set over bowl to catch the whey. Let it drain in refrigerator overnight.

Puree cheese with drained yogurt, garlic, salt and pepper to taste in food processor. Transfer mixture to bowl.

Cut cucumber in half lengthwise and scoop out seeds with teaspoon. Using box grater or food processor, coarsely grate cucumber and transfer to dish towel. Wring excess moisture out of grated cucumber.

Stir cucumber into cheese puree along with herb leaves. Taste; it should be quite pungent, so add more garlic and seasonings if necessary. Tzatziki can be refrigerated up to 3 days; the flavor will mellow. Serve at room temperature.

Yield: 2 cups (4 servings).

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