Fridays Fare: Baklava from Agios Nikolaos, Crete

Untying the lines in Valletta, Malta, we cruised to the Greek island of Crete to the small town of Agios Nikolaos, which translated, is Saint Nikolas. We could have stopped anywhere along the north coast of Crete, Chania or Iraklion, but how can you pass up a town called Santa Claus?

Almost daily, I would walk about a ½ mile through town to the well supplied market, past jewelry and souvenir shops (Agios Nikolaos being mainly a tourist town) and more importantly, past a small patisserie whose on-sight baking emitted an aroma you could smell from a few shops away. The very first time we inhaled that wafting wall of goodness, my daughter Lauren, age 17, and I stopped in our tracks and started sniffing the air like bloodhounds, staggering and bumping into people, until a nice older British couple passed us and said, smiling, “Up three stores on your right.”  We thanked them, forgot all about the market, and made a beeline.

Here’s a confession. I might drone on and on about the holy pilgrimage we were on, trying to connect with each other and God, attempting to stretch ourselves and carpe diem, but one of the REAL reasons I was in Europe living on a boat could be summed up in one word:  BAKERIES.  Of course, bakeries in that part of the world are nothing like bakeries here in North America. I have rarely been to a bakery over here that could rival anything they have in any country across the pond. Think Starbucks on steroids. Think completely knock your socks off pastries, the varieties of which you’ve never seen let alone imagined, all displayed in their flaky, gooey, glory over about an acre of glass enclosed doily lined shelves. Most of all, think artistry, influenced by neighboring cultures who, whether through immigration or imperialism, ended up transforming a lump of flour and butter.  I have a feeling some sort of historical account could be derived simply by researching a country’s pastries. Someone should write a book. Hmmmm….

The small bakery in Agios Nikolaos was no exception and here we had something new to try: baklava.  I have to admit, up to that time, I had never been a big baklava fan. I grew up in Denver which didn’t seem to be high on the relocation list for most Greek ex pats. The baklava I had as a kid  was from a box and likely made in Dallas, Texas. It seemed to fall into two camps:  tasting strongly of honey and cloyingly sticky sweet or it was overly dry and crumbly, lacking in flavor. I was excited to try something more authentic.

At the bakery in Agios Nikoloas, Lauren and I picked out several varieties, chunky triangles, stacked squares, and small rolled cylinders. We filled up a box and paid the lady behind the counter who we eventually came to know by name. Before we were even out the door, Laur and I had the box open and we were biting into a small baklava barrel each. Subtly sweet, these were moist, almost dripping, and packed full of nutty cinnamon flavor and interestingly, hardly tasted of honey at all. Their tops were still flaky enough to offer the slightest crunch. We rolled our eyes at each other and smiled. “Shut UP these are good!” Laur said and shoved my shoulder. I shoved her back and she ran into a trash can. We laughed, which just goes to show you that not only is baklava delicious, it’s a good time. From then on, Agios Nikolaos was one of the only places where Mike and the kids would ask me,

“So, do you need to go to the market today? Because I’d be happy to walk up there for you.”

Translation:  “Who cares about the market, I just want an excuse to stop at the bakery to score some baklava.”

In fact, I seem to recall a few incidences when I sent one or two of these posers up to the market with a grocery list and all they came home with was a box from the bakery. “Oh geez, Mom, sorry, we forgot all about the market. Here’s the change from the twenty you gave me for the chicken, bread, eggs and milk. By the way, what’s for supper tonight?”

So here is a recipe for baklava. I made it just the other day. I am telling you right now, even if you aren’t a fan, making a pan of this will push you over the edge. It tasted almost identical to the baklava we picked up from the bakery in Agios Nikolaos. Oh man, is it ever good, especially if you eat it shortly after pulling the pan from the oven.

Some Middle Eastern versions call for orange blossom or rose water. I bought a bottle of orange blossom water in Istanbul, but for the life of me, even after searching all the nooks and crannies in the boat, I couldn’t find it. Instead, I added a little orange juice and vanilla. Although not necessary, if you can find orange blossom water, try it sometime, as it does provide an exotic taste. I also added lemon juice which I believe is more typical in Middle Eastern or Turkish renditions, called baklawa, that we later had Istanbul. I like the tang the lemon juice offers in offsetting the sweetness.

Baklava

Makes a 9 x 13 pan. This keeps well covered at room temp for a several days. Since a 9 x 13 pan is too much for just the three of us here on Chrysalis, I cut the recipe by about a third and used an 11 x 7 pan which worked just fine.

2 ¾ cups coarsely ground nuts of your choice. I used a combination of walnuts and pecans because I’m partial to them but you can use any mixture of nuts that suits you: unsalted almonds, pine nuts, or pistachios work well. Most recipes call for walnuts with variations after that.

3 ½ T. sugar

1 t. of cinnamon

¼ t. cloves

¼ t. nutmeg

¼ t. salt

1 lb filo pastry sheets each about 12 x 18 inches and thawed overnight in the fridge.

½ cup melted butter

Syrup

1 ½ cup sugar

¾ cup water

1 ½ T. lemon juice

1 cinnamon stick (if desired)

¼ cup honey

3 t. orange juice, orange blossom or rose water, if desired

½ t. vanilla if desired

Mix the ground nuts with the 3 ½  T. sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and salt. Set aside.

Unroll your filo and cut stacks with a sharp knife to fit nicely into your pan roughly 8 1/2 x 11 1/2. Cover filo with a damp towel. Brush the bottom of the pan with melted butter and place 1 sheet in pan. Lightly brush sheet with butter and place another sheet on top. Repeat, brushing each sheet lightly with butter, until you have 12 layers. Sprinkle on about one fourth of nut mixture. Top with another 2 lightly buttered filo sheets and another one fourth of the nut mixture, then layer 2 more filo sheets with one fourth of nuts, and finally 2 sheets and the remaining one fourth nuts, topping all with another 12 sheets of lightly buttered filo.

Preheat oven to 350. Using a serrated knife, cut the baklava into 18 rectangles: 3 straight cuts across the short side of the pan and 6 straight cuts across the long side. Then just make diagonal slices through the rectangles to form triangles. Or, leave as rectangles/squares if you want.

Bake about 50-60 minutes or until golden brown.

Toward the end of baking, make the syrup: in a saucepan dissolve the sugar in the water and lemon juice. Add cinnamon stick, if desired. Simmer gently for about 5-6 minutes until mixture thickens, enough to coat the back of a spoon. Remove from heat. Add honey, orange juice or rose/orange blossom water, and about a ½ t. of vanilla if desired. Let cool on the top of stove.

Remove baklava from the oven and immediately (and slowly as it spatters a bit)  pour the syrup over all. Let cool and serve.