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Pastitsio

Food for Working

Pastitsio

Jeez! “Food for Working” sounds like a white-collar pretension of blue-collar roots, doesn’t it? But I don’t mean it that way. We all have jobs. We all sometimes get up earlier than we wish. We have aspects of our jobs we hate (and, hopefully, aspects we love). We all feel we’re worth more than we’re paid. We all get tired and irritable. We all come home from our jobs to eat things that, in a more perfect world, we’d avoid but that are quick, easy, and require no thought. Food that satisfies nothing more than our need for enough nutrition to enable us to get up too early tomorrow and do it all over again.

I’ve eaten my share of such meals, and I would be the last to argue there’s something inherently wrong with a TV dinner or stopping by a KFC (I don’t know what a KFC is, but it tastes a little bit like chicken) on your way home or even ordering a pizza from Pap John’s. I eat all those things, but not often. For me, they’re almost treats (and it’s definitely a treat when I get a pizza delivered) and I like it that way.

If we’re not willing to settle for junk living, we certainly shouldn’t settle for junk food. ~ Sally Edwards

But when I come home from work (or, these days, knock off from work at home) I want something packed with flavor and goodness. Something that can make up for a bad day or celebrate a good day equally well — and in my years of eating and cooking I’ve found that nothing serves so well as peasant food.

What is peasant food? It’s the native food of a culture. It’s what the poor people, the working class, ate. In this country it’s what the immigrants ate before they got hooked on Kraft Mac-n-Cheese and Burger King and frozen dinners and forgot how to cook. And I guess, to that degree, the idea of peasant food is pretentious — even condescending. But, again, that’s not my intent.

Although I don’t come from a blue-collar background, I did grow up on a farm and have hauled more hay, dug more post-holes, and weeded more corn than I like to remember. I’ve also made a living refinishing furniture, making pizza, checking stock, playing music, and a few other things. My life as a well-paid white-collar worker was relatively brief — and even then my preference was for lamb daube from Provencal, masallah from India, Cornish pasties from England, and fried chicken from the South. It’s not food well-suited to our sedentary life-styles, but it’s food that makes you glad you were born with a set of functioning taste buds.

Some of these peasant foods are now regarded as haute cuisine. Fondue? Invented by Swiss herders. Bouillabaisse? Whatever the fishermen in Marseilles couldn’t sell. Cassoulet? Beans used to make a bit of leftover meat go further. Pâte? It’s just meatloaf with the added advantage of making liver more palatable.

Then there are the wonderful things like stew, chile, homemade pizza, and barbeque that remain un-apologetically low-brow. And they are foods that take cheap ingredients and make them deeply satisfying. For instance two 12-inch pizzas from Papa John’s cost about $25, but I can make two superior pizzas for $8.

Whatever their origins, such foods are simple to make, packed with flavor, and a satisfying end to a long day whether you were pruning grape vines, managing a shop, or debating an ordinance at city hall. They just aren’t “fast.” But many such foods are better the second or third day anyway — so make them when you have time and regard the leftovers as a bonus. Something to be looked forward to, not avoided. Something to make a really good dinner completely painless, at least half the time. Something for those nights when you get home tired and hungry. Something to replenish your body and your soul.

And if tonight is such a night, Pastitsio, a Greek meat and pasta pie, is a perfect example. It’s best with lamb, but beef also works. Pastitsio is rich and savory — a genuine “rib-sticker” as we say in the South — and is at least as good as leftovers as it is the day you make it. Don’t let the nutmeg and cinnamon scare you off — you’ll never know they’re there, but the dish is poorer without them. Enjoy it with a hearty Zinfandel or Malbec.

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20 Responses to “Pastitsio”

  • s'kat:

    I’ve stayed away from many of the savoury recipes that contain sweet spices. You may yet tempt me back in… this looks awesome!

  • Kevin:

    S’kat,
    You should try some, the effect grows on you.

  • Alanna Kellogg:

    I’d be tempted to shred some roasted lamb, which since the legs are so big, there always seems to be a lot of left over. Thoughts?

  • Kevin:

    Alanna,
    I think that would work very well.

  • Monkey Wrangler:

    Peasant food=real food. Could we add Cioppino to your list off peasant food turned haute? What about minestrone? If so, then I managed to post a peasant food item a while back (see “what’s your favorite soup”) that you might be interested in: cheap, variable, and better the next day. Hopefully I’ll get to a cioppino post before our local dungeness season ends….

    Thanks for keeping the foodblogging world anchored in roots and reality. A delicious read.

  • Kevin:

    D-man,
    I’m not sure ciopino qualifies as haute cuisine — but it’s mighty good: http://seriouslygood.kdweeks.com/2006/02/cioppino.html

  • sandi @ the whistlestop cafe:

    Looks wonderful! You have my mouth watering.

  • Monkey Wrangler:

    Yeah, I guess I wasn’t really thinking of the definition of haute. I was thinking more like going to a nice establishment for dinner, seeing they have cioppino on the menu and realizing that it is the most expensive item ($25 and up) and usually contains at least one fishy item that couldn’t be caught on the same day as the crab and clams. More like haute as in: gone beyond the roots and is now a new hybrid that is way more elaborate than need be.

    At this point I think back to my relatives and how they made the dish with what was probably the cheapest items available on that day, and likely off a friend’s one boat. Nowadays, even though it ain’t cheap eats anymore, I can still make 8 quarts of the stuff for under $50, with great wine, herbs from the garden, and crabs that I witness their little hearts beating after I rip off their shell, pour the “butter” into the boiling pot, and get down to dismembering their still twitching legs (elegant does not come to mind while performing these tasks, so no, definately not haute)……ah, just like my gentle, tiny ol’ 90-pounds-wet great grandma used to.

  • Kevin:

    D-man,
    Ciopino has defintely moved upscale — just as bouillibaise did. But ciopino doesn’t have the weight Gallic cuisine behind it. And, it’s arguable that bouillibaise isn’t haute either.

  • Monkey Wrangler:

    (Am kow-towing while you read this) True, true o’ Kev of vast food knowledge. And that is precisely what keeps me coming back, cause I have yet to see you show a weakness in your trove of archival info.

    Thanks once again dude!

  • Kevin:

    D-man,
    If my head explodes from rapid growth I’m holding you responsible — posthumously.

  • Monkey Wrangler:

    Okay, as your comment so wonderfully illustrates: your humor has GOT to be a huge reason I drop by, cause that, that right there, is some funny shit.

  • Kevin:

    D-man,No, really, my check is in the mail. You can tone down now. — And, seriously, get PayPal.

  • Erika W.:

    Kevin, that looks fantastic. I’ve always wanted to make pastitsio, and your recipe looks delicious. I do like the effect that sweet spices have on savory dishes. Cinnamon and beef anyone?

  • Kevin:

    Erika,It’s good stuff.

  • Kate:

    That looks delicious. Pastitsio was always my go-to item if I was ever at a Greek restaurant and didn’t feel adventurous.I am copying this down.

  • Kevin:

    Kate,I’m still experimenting with the spice mixtures — but was really pleased with this one.Have you recently tweaked your blog? Or am I losing my mind?

  • TMink:

    I wonder how much of real food and peasant food is the food we smelled our mother cook for us? We had shrimp creole Sunday night (and I just finished it for lunch) and I had not had the dish in 2 years. It was my mother’s favorite dish, and the last dish my father cooked for me. So I cried a bit when I tasted it, complex tears of joy, love, and loss.That smell of food when you come home, the food that someone else cooked for you because they love you, that is real comfort food. And maybe it has something to do with peasant food as well.Trey

  • Kevin:

    Trey,> I wonder how much of real food and peasant food is the food we smelled our mother cook for us?“Real” is probably largely what we remember (and may even be peasant food) but Creole food, for example, is not peasant food. By definition it was created by the application of French <>haute cuisine<> techniques to native ingredients. Cajun food, on the other hand, is decidely peasant in origin. Over the years those two cuisines have done a lot of swapping back and forth so that today the distinctions are harder to perceive, nevertheless, at one time they were quite different.

  • Hans:

    I’ve made this twice over the last year; once with lamb and once with beef. Hands down, it’s best with lamb and worth a few extra dollars to get it. This really is comfort food and is wonderful with a nice simple red table wine, field greens with feta, olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and some crusty bread and olive oil. There is a bit of work to make it but the leftovers are wonderful and make up for the work time and again throughout the week. Thanks for this great recipe!

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Disclaimer: Most quantities in recipes are approximate. Adjust as needed according to your taste and experience. Unless otherwise specified, eggs are large and butter is unsalted.