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Beyond the Side Bowl: Greek Meze Salads That Hold the Whole Table Together

The Greek Meze
Beyond the Side Bowl: Greek Meze Salads That Hold the Whole Table Together

Photo: Greek potato caper salad bowl with olive oil and dill, via i.etsystatic.com

There is a moment, about twenty minutes into a proper meze spread, when the fried things have gone quiet and the bread is down to crusts. That is when the salads earn their keep. Not a limp garnish on the edge of the plate, but a bowl of cold potato and capers, or shredded cabbage with a hit of lemon, that cuts through the oil and resets everybody's appetite for round two.

In Greece these dishes are not ordered as a side. They arrive with everything else, part of the same cheerful traffic jam of plates. Here is how to give them the same billing at home — no fancy kit, no hunting down obscure imports.

First, Let Us Deal With the Cliché

The bowl of tomato, cucumber, olives and a slab of feta is a perfectly good thing. It is also the only Greek salad most of us grew up with, which is a bit like judging Italian food entirely on one lasagne. In Greece it is called horiatiki — village salad — and it belongs to late summer, when the tomatoes are worth the fuss. In November, a British tomato is not worth the fuss.

So season it properly. When tomatoes are good, make horiatiki with the best you can find, generous oregano, and good oil. When they are not, put the bowl away and reach for the winter salads instead: roots, cabbage, greens, potatoes, pulses. Greek cooking has always done this, because Greek cooking has always been seasonal before it was fashionable.

The Potato One You Will Make Forever

If you make one thing from this article, make patatosalata. It is the quiet powerhouse of the meze table: soft potato, sharp capers, raw onion, lemon, and far more olive oil than feels sensible.

Peel the potatoes while still warm — a tea towel in each hand does the job — and cut into rough chunks. Dress them straight away with the lemon juice and oil, while they are still drinking it in. Fold through the onion, capers and herbs. Taste. It will want more lemon than you think. Leave it half an hour before serving; it is better at room temperature than fridge-cold.

Variations worth knowing: a spoon of Greek yogurt for creaminess, a few chopped cornichons if you have no capers, or a pinch of chilli for a version some island kitchens serve.

Cabbage, Crunch, and a Bit of Attitude

Lahanosalata is the salad that surprises people. Shredded white cabbage, carrot, plenty of lemon and oil, and a long rest so the cabbage softens without losing its snap. It is cheap, it keeps for days, and it is the perfect foil for anything fried or cheesy.

Thinly shred a quarter of a white cabbage (a mandoline or a sharp knife and patience), grate a carrot, add a small handful of chopped dill or parsley, then dress with lemon juice, olive oil, salt and a little dried oregano. Squeeze it all together with your hands for a minute — genuinely, use your hands — and leave it for at least an hour. Some versions add a little mashed potato to bind it, which turns it almost creamy.

Leaves, Herbs, and the Maroulosalata Principle

The best Greek leaf salad is barely a recipe. Maroulosalata is romaine, sliced fine, with spring onion, dill and a lemony dressing. What makes it Greek is the herb-to-leaf ratio, which is far more generous than British salad habits allow. Use a whole small bunch of dill for one head of lettuce. Nobody has ever regretted this.

It also takes well to a British autumn: swap in little gem, add chopped celery and a few toasted walnuts, and it becomes something you would happily eat in November with a bowl of soup.

A Beetroot Bowl for the Dark Months

Cooked beetroot with a garlicky, potato-thickened skordalia is a staple of winter tavernas and one of the great colour moments on a meze table. Buy vac-packed cooked beetroot if you like — no shame in it — cut into wedges, dress with red wine vinegar and olive oil, and spoon over skordalia made by blitzing cooked potato with garlic, olive oil, vinegar and salt. Scatter dill. Done.

Horta: The Bowl That Tastes of the Hillside

Boiled greens, dressed with lemon and oil, is the humblest plate on any Greek table and often the one that disappears first in Greece. Use spinach, chard, or a bag of mixed greens; blanch, squeeze out the water thoroughly, and dress while warm. A few chopped spring onions and a squeeze of lemon is all it needs. It tastes virtuous, which is not usually a selling point, but here it genuinely does.

A Word on Dressing

Greek salads are dressed with oil, lemon or vinegar, salt, and dried oregano — in that spirit. No mustard, no honey, no emulsifying. The oil should be good enough to taste on its own, because it is half the dish. Oregano goes in with the dressing, not just on top.

Building the Salad Half of Your Table

For four people sharing, two salads is right, three is generous. Pair by texture rather than by ingredient: something creamy (potato, beetroot with skordalia), something crunchy (cabbage, leaf salad), and if you are feeding a crowd, something green and bitter for contrast. Serve them in shallow bowls, at room temperature, with a spoon in each. Salad from a deep bowl gets forgotten; salad from a shallow one gets demolished.

And put them in the middle. Not at the edge. That is the whole point.

UK Shopping Notes

Make the potato salad first. Everything else can follow next time.

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