Every grandmother's recipe has an origin story. When I asked my Yiayia about her pastitsio, I got the wistful look I was expecting. "Yulia taught me to make pastitsio", she said after a pause. "The neighbour", Xenia, my auntie, chimed in firmly, breaking the suspense that Yiayia was building.
I knew of my Yiayia's turbulent childhood, but somehow had assumed that she was raised learning to make a repertoire of dishes from recipes passed from generation to generation, as was the way with many Greek mothers and daughters. "Before I was married with Papou, I could only cook simple things", she says, adding that it was Yulia, who lived close by to the newlyweds in Alexandria, Egypt, who taught her everything she knows about Greek cookery. 
She was not close to her own mother, who had sent Yiayia and her two younger sisters to a nearby orphanage when Yiayia's beloved Cypriot father died suddenly. When her mother remarried, the girls were brought home but then returned to the orphanage for a longer stint, given the volatile home environment.
Yiayia, dancing in her kitchen. Source: Danielle Dominguez
When Yiayia later married the also half-Greek, half-Cypriot Christos, she quickly had to learn about domestic life, foreign to her apart from the memories of her early childhood with her parents. But she was a quick study, her years in the orphanage cultivating a necessary resourcefulness in her.
Yiayia's domestic life in Alexandria was coloured with nights out, dinner parties and trips to the sea. She had married a man-about-town, complete with a Triumph motorbike and legion of friends, and through him her world opened entirely.
When life became untenable in Egypt and Yiayia, Papou and their two children (my mother included) were granted asylum in Australia, their vibrant social life continued in the commission flats and later, the suburbs of Melbourne. A Greek-Egyptian community sprang up and consumed days off and after-work evenings with endless visiting, card-playing and trips to Lakes Entrance and Phillip Island with the paréa – the "group". Recreating a version of the life they had known in Egypt, with friends and family who had also managed to secure safe passage to Australia, allowed Yiayia to retain her exuberant spirit and infamous cackle.
Pastitsio is on the table at almost all family gatherings.
Her cooking was another constant for her. As the eldest grandchild, I can safely say that her pastitsio has remained consistent. Pastitsio, the epitome of comfort food, is sometimes referred to by less enlightened folk as "Greek lasagna". As with lasagna, it is a pasta bake made with three key components: pasta, béchamel and a meaty ragu. Perhaps the only other likeness between these two dishes is their power to silence after one mouthful.
Pastitsio is on the table at almost all family gatherings. We have now grown to a family of over 20 at the dining table; a rowdy bunch who can out-argue each other over what a distant auntie's lazy daughter's equally lazy husband's awful mother-in-law said at a funeral 10 years ago, for example. This is set to a background of piercing bouzouki-playing in the talent shows booming from the Greek “Antenna” channel on the nearby television, should anyone feel uncomfortable with just the sound of each other's voices or, heaven forbid, quiet.
This recipe had been firmly in the clutches of Yiayia and then my mother, one of them producing a tray of it at every family occasion and the other making hushed comparisons. However, the recipe has now been officially handed down and my sister and I puzzle over it, sure that Yiayia has missed something, or that our Mum is completely renegade in her approach (the latter a certainty). Yiayia's is traditional, meaty and balanced; Mum's is bold and heavier on the tomatoes, also very good except for that one time she added so much sugar the pastitsio was inedible. My sister uses feta and sometimes, mozzarella, dangerously flirting with that whole "Greek lasagna" thing.
Pastitsio, fresh out of the oven. Source: Danielle Dominguez
This version is a nod to my grandmother's version. However, I did make a last-minute phone call to both my mother and sister for a few finishing tips. Diplomacy is critical in a Mediterranean family.
Love the story? Follow the author here: Facebook , Instagram . Photographs by Danielle Dominguez.
Pastitsio
Serves 6–8 (depending on portion sizes)
Ingredients
Meat sauce
- 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
- 1 large or 2 small onions, finely chopped
- 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
- 750 g best-quality minced beef
- ¼ cup tomato paste
- ½ cup red wine
- 400 g can tomatoes
- 1 ½ tsp nutmeg
- 1 ½ tsp cinnamon
- ¼ tsp ground cloves
- 2 bay leaves
- 1 tsp sugar
- Sea salt and ground black pepper
Béchamel
- 1 cup flour
- 125 g butter
- 3 ½–4 cups milk (warm just before using)
- ½ tsp nutmeg
- 4 egg yolks
- 150 g kefalograviera cheese, grated (plus extra for topping)*
Pasta
- 375 g penne, ziti or bucatini pasta
Method
1. Heat a large, heavy-bottomed pot over a medium heat and add the oil. Add the onions and sauté until soft. Add the garlic and stir until fragrant, taking care not to burn, then stir in the beef. Combine the ingredients until the meat is browned and then add the tomato paste. When well combined, add the wine. Once absorbed, add the tomatoes, sugar, cinnamon, bay leaf and cloves. Season well and then increase the heat to bring to the boil, then lower the heat and simmer for about 30-40 minutes, covered. The meat sauce should be thick (it doesn't ooze down into the pasta, so each slice holds its shape).
2. Preheat your oven to 180°C and prepare the béchamel sauce. In a large pot, melt the butter over a medium heat. Add the flour and stir to form a paste. Slowly and steadily add the warmed milk while whisking the mixture. Continue to whisk until the sauce thickens and there are no lumps. Once you have a thick and creamy consistency, remove the pot from the heat and stir through seasoning, nutmeg and two-thirds of the cheese. Add the egg yolks, one at a time, whisking after each addition.
3. Cook the pasta according to the packet instructions, ensuring it is absolutely al dente and even a little undercooked. It will cook further in the oven. Drain the pasta, reserving just a tiny bit of water so it doesn't stick together.
4. Check the meat sauce for seasoning and adjust as necessary. When you are happy with the taste, remove from the heat and take the bay leaf out.
5. To assemble the pastitsio, grease a large, deep ovenproof dish (approx. 24 x 30 cm) to coat the base. Add a serving spoonful of the meat sauce and a couple of spoonfuls of the béchamel to the penne. Stir to combine so the pasta is a little creamy, adding a small handful of the remaining cheese (reserve some for the top). Pour the pasta into the baking dish and pat down to flatten. Pour the remaining meat sauce over the top and pat this down with the back of the spoon. Pour the remaining béchamel over the top, shaking the dish to even out. Sprinkle with the remaining cheese and a bit of freshly ground pepper. Cook for about 35–45 minutes, or until it has a warm, golden-brown surface.
6. Allow to cool for at least 15 minutes before serving. Eat with crusty bread and your favourite salad. It's even better the next day!
Note
- Kefalograviera is a delicious Greek hard cheese, which is quite crumbly with a unique salty, nutty taste. It can be found at continental delis and some supermarkets. Substitute with kefalotyri, grana padano or parmesan cheese, if necessary.
GREEK AND EGYPTIAN FOOD
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