Bakaliaros Skordalia

The dish belongs to 25 March, when Greeks mark both the Orthodox feast of the Annunciation and the start of the 1821 War of Independence. The date falls inside Great Lent, when meat, dairy, and even fish are normally forbidden, but the Church grants a dispensation on this feast (and on Palm Sunday) for fish, oil, and wine — so a fish dish is exactly what tradition calls for. Salt cod became the customary choice for a practical reason: a non-Mediterranean fish, it was salted and shipped to keep for months and could reach inland villages with no access to fresh sea fish, making it the affordable, reliable feast-day protein across the whole country. Skordalia, an old garlic-and-starch purée with roots in long-keeping pantry cooking, is its natural partner.

A fritter that shatters at the crust then gives way to white, flaking cod, mild and faintly sweet from the curing and soaking. Beside it, the skordalia: thick, almost fluffy, fiercely garlicky, sharpened with vinegar and smoothed by olive oil — a spoonful clears the palate and resets the next bite. The contrast of hot crisp fish against cool pungent purée is the whole pleasure. A squeeze of lemon ties them together.

Salt cod is preserved by curing, which draws out moisture and concentrates the flesh; it must be soaked in several changes of cold water for 24–48 hours to draw the salt back out and rehydrate, or it stays inedibly salty. The batter is a thin coat — flour, water, sometimes a little beer or a whisked egg white — whose job is to seal the fish and crisp in hot oil (about 170–180°C) without absorbing grease. Skordalia is an emulsion-thickened purée: pounding raw garlic with salt breaks the cells, and the starch from boiled potato (or soaked bread) suspends the olive oil added slowly, so the sauce thickens like a loose aioli; too-fast oil or over-blending turns the potato gluey, so it is traditionally worked by hand in a mortar.