Greek Spanakopita first came into my life through a wine list. I was in Ioannina, in Epirus, sitting alone at a taverna on the edge of the lake, and the sommelier kept pouring me something I could not pronounce.
His name was Kostas. He wore a grey wool cardigan even though it was warm out, and he had opinions about everything. The wine was Zitsa, a semi-sparkling white made from Debina grapes grown about half an hour north of town. He set the glass down and said, in careful English, that I could not drink it alone. It needed the pie.
The pie was spanakopita. His mother made it three villages over.
The Kitchen in Ioannina
Two days later I was at her kitchen table. Kostas had called ahead. His mother, Eleni, was already elbow-deep in a bowl of greens when I walked in, wearing a faded blue apron with a small burn hole near the pocket. Her kitchen was tiny. One window, one long wooden counter worn smooth in the middle, and a gas oven that she said was older than her youngest son.
She corrected me twice in the first ten minutes. Once for chopping the dill too fine. Once for not squeezing the spinach hard enough. “You are being polite to it,” she said, taking the bundle out of my hands. “Do not be polite.”
She wrung it like laundry. A puddle formed under the towel on the counter, and she kept going until nothing more came out. That was the lesson. That was the whole thing, really.
Where Greek Spanakopita Comes From
Spanakopita comes out of Epirus, where shepherding families made pites like this for centuries as portable, inexpensive meals that kept for days. The layered phyllo form we know now came together during the Byzantine and Ottoman periods, when paper-thin pastry techniques travelled across the eastern Mediterranean. Eleni told me none of this. She just handed me a bowl and expected me to keep up.
What she did tell me was that the number one reason a spanakopita fails is water. Not seasoning, not the phyllo, not the oven. Water. If you leave the spinach even a little damp, the bottom crust turns into a wet sheet and the whole thing sags. She said this while wringing out another towel.
Also, she used olive oil between the layers. Not butter. She was surprised I asked. In her part of Greece, and especially during the Lenten fasts when the whole pie is made without eggs or cheese, olive oil is simply what you use.
Bringing It Back to My Kitchen
Back home, my first attempt was a mess. I rushed the spinach. I brushed the phyllo in a hurry because I was hungry, and half the sheets tore. I pulled it out of the oven at forty minutes because it looked done from the top. It was not done. The middle was pale and the bottom was damp and I ate three squares standing up over the sink anyway.
The second attempt taught me the thing Eleni was really trying to show me. Patience. You cannot rush any part of this pie. The spinach needs its full fifteen minutes of salted rest before you wring it. The onions need a slow six minutes, not a fast three. The phyllo needs to be brushed sheet by sheet, edge to edge, without skipping. And once it comes out of the oven it needs to sit for at least twenty minutes before you cut it, or the filling slides.
Twenty minutes feels like an hour when your kitchen smells like this. I set a timer now. I walk away.
What I Used
- Two and a half pounds of fresh spinach, tough stems pulled off
- A bunch of scallions, about eight, thinly sliced
- One medium yellow onion, finely diced
- A generous three quarters of a cup of fresh dill, chopped loose
- A quarter cup of flat-leaf parsley
- Twelve ounces of real Greek feta in brine, drained and crumbled
- Three large eggs, lightly beaten
- Three quarters of a cup of good extra virgin olive oil, plus more for brushing
- A teaspoon of kosher salt, plus more to taste
- Half a teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper
- A pinch of freshly grated nutmeg, optional but I use it
- A pound of phyllo pastry, thawed slowly overnight in the fridge
- A tablespoon of water for sprinkling the top
Sourcing and Small Decisions
The feta matters. I get mine at a small Greek grocery on Pico that keeps blocks in barrels of brine, and it tastes nothing like the crumbles in a plastic tub. If you can find a piece cut off a real wheel, do that. Ricotta is not a substitute, no matter what you read online. This spinach and feta phyllo pie needs the salt and the sharpness or it goes flat.
Phyllo is worth thawing overnight in the fridge, not on the counter. Rushed phyllo cracks. I keep the stack I am not using under a lightly damp tea towel, and I work with my one good pastry brush, the wooden-handled one I picked up years ago and cannot bring myself to replace even though the bristles are going.
Fresh spinach only. I tried frozen once. Do not.
The Sommelier’s Pairing
Kostas was right about the wine. If you can find a bottle of Zitsa somewhere, chill it hard and pour it with a warm square of this pie and a small bowl of Kalamata olives on the side. The wine is dry and a little fizzy and it cuts through the feta in a way that makes both of them make sense.
If not, an ouzo over ice works. So does a plain glass of cold water on a Sunday afternoon when you just want to eat something that reminds you of somewhere else.
I made this last week with the kitchen window open and the evening finally cooling the block. I thought about Eleni’s small burn hole and her older-than-her-son oven, and I ate two pieces at the counter before I even sat down properly. That trip changed the way I cook greens. I am still not as good at wringing them as she is. But I am getting closer.
Greek Spanakopita
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Wash the spinach in several changes of cold water, then coarsely chop it. Toss the spinach with 1 teaspoon salt in a colander set over the sink and let it sit for 15 minutes to release its water.
- Working in batches, gather the wilted spinach into a clean kitchen towel and wring it hard over the sink until almost no liquid comes out. You should end up with roughly 2 tightly packed cups. Transfer the dry spinach to a large mixing bowl and fluff it apart with your fingers.
- Warm 3 tablespoons of the olive oil in a large deep skillet over medium heat. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring, until soft and translucent, about 6 minutes. Add the sliced scallions and cook 2 minutes more. Scrape the mixture into the bowl with the spinach and let cool for 5 minutes.
- Add the crumbled feta, chopped dill, parsley, beaten eggs, black pepper and nutmeg (if using) to the bowl. Mix thoroughly with your hands or a wooden spoon until the filling is evenly combined. Taste and add more salt only if needed, remembering the feta is already salty.
- Preheat the oven to 375 F. Brush a 9x13 inch baking pan generously with olive oil. Unroll the phyllo on a dry work surface and cover the stack with a lightly damp towel.
- Lay one sheet of phyllo in the pan, letting the excess climb up the sides, and brush all over with olive oil. Repeat with 9 more sheets, brushing each with oil, to build the bottom crust.
- Spread the spinach and feta filling evenly over the phyllo base, pressing it gently into the corners with a spatula.
- Top with another 10 sheets of phyllo, brushing each generously with olive oil as you go. Tuck the overhanging edges down the inside of the pan to seal the pie like a rustic parcel.
- Using a sharp paring knife, score just through the top layers of phyllo into 12 squares or diamonds, cutting only halfway down and not into the filling. Sprinkle the whole surface lightly with 1 tablespoon of water to keep the top from curling.
- Bake on the middle rack for 45 to 55 minutes, until the top is deep golden brown, crisp and puffed, and the sides pull slightly away from the pan.
- Rest the spanakopita in the pan for at least 20 minutes so the filling sets and the crust stays shatter-crisp. Cut all the way through along the scored lines and serve warm or at room temperature.