What it's like to celebrate midsummer in Sweden
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
As my Swedish army bike rattles down the last hill, I place a hand on the basket to secure my Midsummer contributions: two king-size sausage rolls and a green bean and orange salad. The wide-open fields of southern Sweden's fertile Söderslätt plain, yellow with rapeseed flowers, stretch out to my right, while to my left, the Baltic Sea has just slipped out of sight, having been there for most of my 20-minute ride from the station.
When I turn into the gravel drive, Malin and Christian's century-old brick villa, Källbacken, meaning 'hill with a spring', is already clattering with preparations. Malin and her seven-year-old daughter Edith have been out picking the flowers and greenery that will decorate the midsommarstång, or maypole, which they've laid out neatly on a table. I place my sausage rolls alongside and am immediately marshalled into scrubbing potatoes.
For Malin and Christian, new potatoes, dug up only days before from the patch at the bottom of their garden, are central to the feast. 'Unlike Easter and Christmas, you don't normally have hot food at Midsummer: it's about potatoes, and herring,' Malin says.
The preparations began months ago. 'We actually start preparing for Midsummer in February," she explains, describing the family's annual trip to buy early-maturing Swift potatoes, which then stand, packed in egg cartons, in the barn for three months before being planted in early May. It feels a fitting ritual ahead of this festival, which originated back when Sweden was an agrarian society. Midsummer celebrations not only marked the longest day of the year but welcomed in a new season of fertility. Many Swedes still head to the countryside to celebrate.
Although this is my tenth Midsummer in Sweden, the celebrations I've been to have been low-key affairs eschewing tradition: a barbecue, games, but no maypole. Malin and Christian, however, go all in. As well as the potatoes, the couple provide home-grown chives, pickled herring, Christian's home-brewed IPA, and a bottle or two of snaps or akvavit, the Swedish spirit used for toasts and to accompany singing.
This celebration is unusual, though, for the lack of heavy drinking – because there are many babies and small children present. Midsummer, more than Christmas or New Year's Eve, is when Swedes really let loose, taking full advantage of daylight that lasts until close to midnight, and singing and dancing until sunrise. Midsummer is when Swedes let loose, taking advantage of daylight that lasts until close to midnight, singing and dancing until sunrise. Photograph by Getty, Fredrik Nyman
In previous years, Malin made her own pickled herring, but this year there are five varieties supplied by Abba (the fish-canning giant, rather than the sequin-clad Seventies four-piece), and she's also made gubbröra, meaning 'old bloke's mix'. It's a salty spread combining chopped, soused and spiced sprats, hard-boiled eggs, mayonnaise and dill.
As I'm scrubbing potatoes, more people start to arrive and, as with every Midsummer I've ever been to, it's a mix of Swedes and internationals, the language bouncing between English and Swedish. By the time I come outside, the table is crammed with dishes. Magnus, a childhood friend of Christian's, has brought a silltårta, a traditional cake made of herring and creme fraiche thickened with gelatine and served on a butter and breadcrumb base. Someone else has brought the obligatory västerbottenpaj, a quiche flavoured with a pungent hard cheese from the far north, and there's another quiche with salmon and spinach. Then there are two enormous sourdough loaves, with dark, decorated crusts and some fröknäcke, a heavily seeded crispbread. The only classic dish missing is gravlax – salmon cured with salt, sugar and dill.
Once the potatoes are fully cleaned, Malin throws a handful of dill into the pan and begins the boiling. Swedes take potatoes seriously. All will own a potato-tester, a metal spike the thickness of a needle, with a blunt end and a plastic handle, which is pushed into potatoes to judge their firmness.
My wife, I tell Malin as we chitchat, is adamant that you must leave part of the spuds poking above the water, cook them at no more than a simmer, and steam them dry in a pan afterwards. But Malin has no time for such fussiness. 'I know people who, after half the boiling time, pour out some of the water and add new water, and things like that,' she says. 'But I just boil them – not for too long, since they're new potatoes – but I don't understand why it should be so difficult.' Once done, the potatoes are placed in a bowl outside to be served with butter and chopped dill and chives, and sliced hard-boiled eggs laid alongside.
A Swedish Midsummer meal is often formal, with places neatly laid on a long table outside, folded napkins and garnished dishes. But this year, thanks to all the young guests, it's a come-and-go affair, with guests sitting down with different neighbours every time they refill their plates. The conversation touches on the shortage of another Midsummer essential: strawberries, which a bad harvest has pushed above 80 kronor (£6) a litre, if you can get hold of any at all.
I pile three sorts of herring onto some crispbread, its saltiness setting off the sweet-and-sour bite of the pickle, and also indulge in some gubbröra, enjoying the cinnamon, allspice and sandalwood spicing of the sprats. The potatoes are firm, sweet and a little nutty, the perfect partner to the stronger flavours of the other dishes. I also take some västerbottenpaj, which is so rich with Västerbotten cheese — somewhere between a mature cheddar and a parmesan in strength — that I have to stop at a single helping. The silltårta, an old-fashioned addition even to this very traditional celebration, has a jelly-ish consistency that doesn't quite appeal to me, but goes down well with the other guests.
After the meal is over, I join the children and some of the adults walking it off in the surrounding fields and picking flowers for the midsommarkransar, Midsummer crowns made of birch twigs woven together. When we return, we get to work erecting the maypole, about three metres tall, with a crossbar. While it's commonly believed to be a pagan fertility symbol, representing male genitalia, experts insist each year in Swedish newspapers that there's no evidence to back it up – but looking at it, I find it hard to see what else it might be. Soon, adults and children alike are holding hands, circling around the pole, pretending alternately to be a musician playing a violin, someone washing clothes, and, in the most raucous of the dances, jumping like a frog.
The celebrations segue into a house party, and then, later in the evening, a barbecue. Christian pulls a pile of waste wood from the barn and lights a fire, which we sit around as the mothers and daughters go out once again to pick flowers.
'You have to jump seven fences and pick one flower in each field, and you're not allowed to speak to one another. You have to be quiet the whole time,' Malin explains of this last ritual. 'And then you have this small bouquet; you put it underneath your pillow and you're supposed to dream about who you're going to marry.' This is one part of the celebrations I can't partake in, but as I bed down on a mattress upstairs, I feel satisfied that I've truly welcomed the summer. Midsummer feasts to visit
While most Swedes will celebrate Midsummer in friends' country or island homes, there are organised celebrations for visitors. In 2025, Midsummer falls on 21 June.
Tällberg, Dalarna
Dalarna county is renowned for traditional Midsummers, with folk costumes, folk music and dancing. Åkerblads Hotel, in Tällberg on Lake Siljan, serves a traditional Midsummer smörgåsbord, with herring, new potatoes and västerbottenpaj, after which you can go into town and take part in the celebrations. Alternatively, at Våmhus Gammelgård, an old farm maintained by Sweden's main conservation organisation, you'll be served kolbulle, a thick pancake with diced, salted or smoked pork.
Ringsjön, Skåne
Bosjökloster, a country house and former nunnery on the shores of Lake Ringsjön in Skåne, Sweden's southernmost county, puts on a lavish Midsummer spread. Expect all the classics, plus specialities containing ingredients foraged in nearby forests, and plenty of vegan and vegetarian options. Once the buffet's over, join the dancing around a maypole erected on lawns leading down to the lakeshore – one of the most popular celebrations in Skåne.
Småland
Getnö Gård, a resort on Lake Åsnan in Småland, offers a traditional Midsummer buffet – served, untraditionally, after the maypole dances – including a strawberry cake prepared to a recipe handed down by the owner's grandmother. Most visitors stay over in the campsite or cabins.
Fjäderholm
In Stockholm, the archipelago is the place to celebrate, and Fjäderholm is the closest island, 30 minutes by ferry from the centre. Rökeriet Fjärderholmarna, a smokery, serves a traditional Midsummer buffet, with all the essentials and more. There's also live music and dancing around the maypole on the island.
Väderö Storö
The Väderöarnasor 'weather islands', a 35-minute ferry ride from Fjällbacka on the west coast, are the most far-flung islands off the Bohuslan coast. Väderöarnas Värdshus restaurant on Väderö Storö, the biggest island, lays on a Midsummer buffet, picking guests up from nearby Hamburgsund. Published in Issue 26 (winter 2024) of Food by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
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National Geographic
5 hours ago
- National Geographic
What it's like to celebrate midsummer in Sweden
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). As my Swedish army bike rattles down the last hill, I place a hand on the basket to secure my Midsummer contributions: two king-size sausage rolls and a green bean and orange salad. The wide-open fields of southern Sweden's fertile Söderslätt plain, yellow with rapeseed flowers, stretch out to my right, while to my left, the Baltic Sea has just slipped out of sight, having been there for most of my 20-minute ride from the station. When I turn into the gravel drive, Malin and Christian's century-old brick villa, Källbacken, meaning 'hill with a spring', is already clattering with preparations. Malin and her seven-year-old daughter Edith have been out picking the flowers and greenery that will decorate the midsommarstång, or maypole, which they've laid out neatly on a table. I place my sausage rolls alongside and am immediately marshalled into scrubbing potatoes. For Malin and Christian, new potatoes, dug up only days before from the patch at the bottom of their garden, are central to the feast. 'Unlike Easter and Christmas, you don't normally have hot food at Midsummer: it's about potatoes, and herring,' Malin says. The preparations began months ago. 'We actually start preparing for Midsummer in February," she explains, describing the family's annual trip to buy early-maturing Swift potatoes, which then stand, packed in egg cartons, in the barn for three months before being planted in early May. It feels a fitting ritual ahead of this festival, which originated back when Sweden was an agrarian society. Midsummer celebrations not only marked the longest day of the year but welcomed in a new season of fertility. Many Swedes still head to the countryside to celebrate. Although this is my tenth Midsummer in Sweden, the celebrations I've been to have been low-key affairs eschewing tradition: a barbecue, games, but no maypole. Malin and Christian, however, go all in. As well as the potatoes, the couple provide home-grown chives, pickled herring, Christian's home-brewed IPA, and a bottle or two of snaps or akvavit, the Swedish spirit used for toasts and to accompany singing. This celebration is unusual, though, for the lack of heavy drinking – because there are many babies and small children present. Midsummer, more than Christmas or New Year's Eve, is when Swedes really let loose, taking full advantage of daylight that lasts until close to midnight, and singing and dancing until sunrise. Midsummer is when Swedes let loose, taking advantage of daylight that lasts until close to midnight, singing and dancing until sunrise. Photograph by Getty, Fredrik Nyman In previous years, Malin made her own pickled herring, but this year there are five varieties supplied by Abba (the fish-canning giant, rather than the sequin-clad Seventies four-piece), and she's also made gubbröra, meaning 'old bloke's mix'. It's a salty spread combining chopped, soused and spiced sprats, hard-boiled eggs, mayonnaise and dill. As I'm scrubbing potatoes, more people start to arrive and, as with every Midsummer I've ever been to, it's a mix of Swedes and internationals, the language bouncing between English and Swedish. By the time I come outside, the table is crammed with dishes. Magnus, a childhood friend of Christian's, has brought a silltårta, a traditional cake made of herring and creme fraiche thickened with gelatine and served on a butter and breadcrumb base. Someone else has brought the obligatory västerbottenpaj, a quiche flavoured with a pungent hard cheese from the far north, and there's another quiche with salmon and spinach. Then there are two enormous sourdough loaves, with dark, decorated crusts and some fröknäcke, a heavily seeded crispbread. The only classic dish missing is gravlax – salmon cured with salt, sugar and dill. Once the potatoes are fully cleaned, Malin throws a handful of dill into the pan and begins the boiling. Swedes take potatoes seriously. All will own a potato-tester, a metal spike the thickness of a needle, with a blunt end and a plastic handle, which is pushed into potatoes to judge their firmness. My wife, I tell Malin as we chitchat, is adamant that you must leave part of the spuds poking above the water, cook them at no more than a simmer, and steam them dry in a pan afterwards. But Malin has no time for such fussiness. 'I know people who, after half the boiling time, pour out some of the water and add new water, and things like that,' she says. 'But I just boil them – not for too long, since they're new potatoes – but I don't understand why it should be so difficult.' Once done, the potatoes are placed in a bowl outside to be served with butter and chopped dill and chives, and sliced hard-boiled eggs laid alongside. A Swedish Midsummer meal is often formal, with places neatly laid on a long table outside, folded napkins and garnished dishes. But this year, thanks to all the young guests, it's a come-and-go affair, with guests sitting down with different neighbours every time they refill their plates. The conversation touches on the shortage of another Midsummer essential: strawberries, which a bad harvest has pushed above 80 kronor (£6) a litre, if you can get hold of any at all. I pile three sorts of herring onto some crispbread, its saltiness setting off the sweet-and-sour bite of the pickle, and also indulge in some gubbröra, enjoying the cinnamon, allspice and sandalwood spicing of the sprats. The potatoes are firm, sweet and a little nutty, the perfect partner to the stronger flavours of the other dishes. I also take some västerbottenpaj, which is so rich with Västerbotten cheese — somewhere between a mature cheddar and a parmesan in strength — that I have to stop at a single helping. The silltårta, an old-fashioned addition even to this very traditional celebration, has a jelly-ish consistency that doesn't quite appeal to me, but goes down well with the other guests. After the meal is over, I join the children and some of the adults walking it off in the surrounding fields and picking flowers for the midsommarkransar, Midsummer crowns made of birch twigs woven together. When we return, we get to work erecting the maypole, about three metres tall, with a crossbar. While it's commonly believed to be a pagan fertility symbol, representing male genitalia, experts insist each year in Swedish newspapers that there's no evidence to back it up – but looking at it, I find it hard to see what else it might be. Soon, adults and children alike are holding hands, circling around the pole, pretending alternately to be a musician playing a violin, someone washing clothes, and, in the most raucous of the dances, jumping like a frog. The celebrations segue into a house party, and then, later in the evening, a barbecue. Christian pulls a pile of waste wood from the barn and lights a fire, which we sit around as the mothers and daughters go out once again to pick flowers. 'You have to jump seven fences and pick one flower in each field, and you're not allowed to speak to one another. You have to be quiet the whole time,' Malin explains of this last ritual. 'And then you have this small bouquet; you put it underneath your pillow and you're supposed to dream about who you're going to marry.' This is one part of the celebrations I can't partake in, but as I bed down on a mattress upstairs, I feel satisfied that I've truly welcomed the summer. Midsummer feasts to visit While most Swedes will celebrate Midsummer in friends' country or island homes, there are organised celebrations for visitors. In 2025, Midsummer falls on 21 June. Tällberg, Dalarna Dalarna county is renowned for traditional Midsummers, with folk costumes, folk music and dancing. Åkerblads Hotel, in Tällberg on Lake Siljan, serves a traditional Midsummer smörgåsbord, with herring, new potatoes and västerbottenpaj, after which you can go into town and take part in the celebrations. Alternatively, at Våmhus Gammelgård, an old farm maintained by Sweden's main conservation organisation, you'll be served kolbulle, a thick pancake with diced, salted or smoked pork. Ringsjön, Skåne Bosjökloster, a country house and former nunnery on the shores of Lake Ringsjön in Skåne, Sweden's southernmost county, puts on a lavish Midsummer spread. Expect all the classics, plus specialities containing ingredients foraged in nearby forests, and plenty of vegan and vegetarian options. Once the buffet's over, join the dancing around a maypole erected on lawns leading down to the lakeshore – one of the most popular celebrations in Skåne. Småland Getnö Gård, a resort on Lake Åsnan in Småland, offers a traditional Midsummer buffet – served, untraditionally, after the maypole dances – including a strawberry cake prepared to a recipe handed down by the owner's grandmother. Most visitors stay over in the campsite or cabins. Fjäderholm In Stockholm, the archipelago is the place to celebrate, and Fjäderholm is the closest island, 30 minutes by ferry from the centre. Rökeriet Fjärderholmarna, a smokery, serves a traditional Midsummer buffet, with all the essentials and more. There's also live music and dancing around the maypole on the island. Väderö Storö The Väderöarnasor 'weather islands', a 35-minute ferry ride from Fjällbacka on the west coast, are the most far-flung islands off the Bohuslan coast. Väderöarnas Värdshus restaurant on Väderö Storö, the biggest island, lays on a Midsummer buffet, picking guests up from nearby Hamburgsund. Published in Issue 26 (winter 2024) of Food by National Geographic Traveller (UK). To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. (Available in select countries only).
National Geographic
19 hours ago
- National Geographic
7 unmissable UK beaches to visit this summer
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). Don't believe anyone who says the United Kingdom is a poor comparison to the likes of Australia, or South Africa when it comes to beaches. What the country lacks in palm trees or exotic wildlife, it makes up for in the sheer variety of its coastline. Somewhere in its four nations, your perfect beach awaits: places with birdlife or wild beauty and destinations where fish and chips with your feet in the sand is an essential part of the beach-going experience. You may need a windbreak but what could be more British than shrugging off a bit of weather? 1. Porthcurno, Cornwall All of Cornwall's magic is concentrated in these couple of acres. The sand is a deep wedge, which expands at low tide, the sea is of a blue that would make a peacock blush and pillar-like granite cliffs ripple along the coast like fortifications. There's culture, too, at the open-air Minack Theatre, where the backcloth is the horizon of the Atlantic. The price of such beauty is crowds in the summer months — traffic jams on the approach lane are legendary. Arrive early- or mid-afternoon or try the quieter sister-beach, Pedn Vounder. It's accessible on foot around a headland at low tide. Porthcurno beach is located at the very tip of Cornwall, in southern England. Photograph by Getty Images, John Harper 2. Weymouth, Dorset For 12 years, George III holidayed at Weymouth, transforming a fishing village into a resort for flaneurs — then, in the late-1800s, for the public arriving on the London train. Come for a classic English seaside experience — deckchairs on the promenade, donkey rides on the pampered beasts of West Hill Donkeys, pedalos, Punch and Judy shows twice a day and sand perfect for castles. Factor in toddler-friendly shallows and you have a favourite with young families. And for fish and chips? There are over a dozen options in town but there's a reason why family-owned Marlboro has been around since 1974. (Welcome to Weymouth, the British seaside resort with a twist.) 3. Sanna Bay, Ardnamurchan The Highlands are an idea of isolated beauty as much as a real destination. Enter Sanna Bay, the most westerly point in Britain. To get there, you take a pretty drive snaking along the shores of Loch Sunart. Beyond Kilchoan village, you're on a single-track lane — over moors and past white smallholdings, sheep and Highland cattle — to reach a remote carpark at the end of the road. Even so, you won't be prepared for the impact of walking through dunes to these icing-sugar sand arcs before turquoise shallows. Smaller beaches notch beyond headlands and sunsets are otherworldly. Better still, there's usually a breeze, which means none of Scotland's infamous midges. The isolated beauty of the Scottish highlands is what makes the beach at Sanna bay so appealing. Photograph by Getty Images, Simon Hodgkiss 4. Bamburgh, Northumberland There's a debate to be had about the appeal of cosy coves versus epic beaches. If you lean towards the latter, this is your spot. Bamburgh beach is vast: four magnificent miles from Seahouses harbour to a monster castle at Bamburgh, all backed by silver-green dunes and dotted with rockpools to poke at with a shrimp net. Walk the lot and you can stop for king prawn chilli burgers at Creel & Reel food truck at the carpark in Waterford. You will also deserve a pint of Bamburgh Blonde at the Bamburgh Castle Inn back at Seahouses. 5. White Park Bay, Antrim A public campaign raised £15,000 to safeguard this beauty for the National Trust. Now, otters gambol at dusk (a sure sign of eco-health), 17 species of butterflies and countless rabbits flit in the grasslands behind. Not forgetting the most-photographed cows in Northern Ireland, known for grazing on the beach, swaying along sands whenever a local farmer moves his herd. The squeaky 'singing sands' (the sand is known to produce a humming or buzzing sound) hold fossils — bullet-like squid and the shells of extinct mollusks, commonly known as devil's toenails. The absence of people will put you in mind of Australia rather than Antrim. Just be wary of swimming: the current can be vicious. 6. Holkham, Norfolk On summer weekends, when up to 1,000 cars fill the parking area, it can seem like half of Norfolk has arrived. Through a fuzz of pine trees and a small sea of dunes, you will wonder where they all went. Holkham is big — two-miles long and 1,640-foot wide at low tide. Co-ordinate a visit for that time because it's the scale that wows at Holkham. This is a beach for cricket and kite-flying, to throw balls for madly excited dogs or to lie behind a windbreak and watch vast cloudscapes roll past like galleons under full sail. The beach at Holkham is one of the longest stretches of sand in the country. Photograph by Getty Images, Jackie Bale (How to spend a weekend in North Norfolk, UK.) 7. Whitesands Bay, Pembrokeshire Wales has bigger beaches like the Gower's Rhossili and pretty coves like Mwnt or Porth Iago. This stretch of coastline near St Davids wins because it has all you need from a beach. The pale sand gets emptier the further you go from the carpark. There's surfboard rental to ride friendly summer waves, plus seasonal lifeguards. Footpaths track to St Davids Head, the Land's End of Wales, marked by a neolithic tomb or to the rocky ridge of Carn Llidi hill, which rises above the beach. Save an ascent till dusk to see islands scattered in a sheet of golden sea. To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. (Available in select countries only).
National Geographic
a day ago
- National Geographic
9 essential dishes to try on your next trip to Greece
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). Greek food sings of the summer — it's best enjoyed outside, from mainland mountaintops to island beaches. Mezze spreads celebrate punchy purple olives, garlicky dips and herb-sprinkled cheese, while salads of sun-ripened tomatoes, tangy feta and fragrant oregano are perfect with just-landed grilled fish or slow-stewed legumes cooked in outdoor ovens following recipes that date back to antiquity. Here are the nine essential dishes to try when in Greece. Lily Bellos sits at her Corfu home in Benitses as she showcases her pastitsada, or 'la pastizzada', as the island's Venetian colonisers called it. It's a dish that's been representative of Corfu for hundreds of years. Photograph by Marco Argüello Pastitsada is slow-cooked meat — beef, rabbit, rooster or, on occasion, octopus — stewed in a deep-red tomato sauce for hours and flavoured with the island's signature spetseriko spice mix. Photograph by Marco Argüello Pastitsada, Corfu Pastitsada or 'la pastizzada' as Corfu's Venetian colonisers called it, is a dish that's represented this Ionian island for hundreds of years. Slow-cooked meat — beef, rabbit, rooster or, on occasion, octopus — is served atop a pile of pasta after being stewed for hours in a deep-red tomato sauce flavoured with the island's spetseriko spice mix. This fragrant blend invariably contains cinnamon and cloves along with nutmeg, allspice, cumin and several more besides. Found across the island, pastitsada has a distinct flavour profile that scents the air, notably during Sunday lunch, its traditional foray. Like many of the island's 'native' dishes, pastitsada can be largely credited to the Venetians who put Corfu on the spice trail more than 500 years ago when they colonised it, forging commercial ties with Dubrovnik — another Venetian outpost. With them they brought powdered red pepper — both sweet and hot — and should you travel to Croatia's Dalmatian coastline, you'll find the same dish, known locally as pašticada, served with gnocchi instead of pasta. Corfu's olives are a prized Greek crop and can be found in many mezze spreads. Photograph by Alamy, Marco Kesseler Where to try it: The Venetian Well in Corfu Town, Klimataria on the coast, and Ambelonas, set on a hill around four miles from Corfu Town, each put their own spin on the dish. Where to stay: The Olivar Suites in Messonghi has double rooms from €230 (£193), B&B, and a restaurant, Flya, with a menu of local produce and traditional dishes. Sfouggato, Lesvos Eleni Chioti remembers her grandmother putting a pan on the brazier, embers glowing below, and preparing sfouggato to swiftly sate hungry stomachs at home. Today, as the founder of the Women's Cooperative of Petra on Greece's northeastern Aegean island of Lesvos, she oversees a team of cooks who dish out multiple servings of the nourishing, flourless dish of vegetables and cheese to holidaymakers. While sfouggato needs plenty of eggs, the traditional Lesvian dish is neither an omelette nor a souffle, but more a velvety pie. At the cooperative's restaurant, set in the northern coastal town of Petra, the recipe is straightforward yet strict. Shredded courgette and spring or red onion are sauteed in olive oil. Local feta, graviera cheese, eggs and a dash of pepper are added. Elena throws in a few tablespoons of tarhana — cracked wheat with sheep's milk — for the sfouggato to retain volume and absorb juices. Chopped dill and spearmint are sprinkled in for aroma then the mixture is poured into a pan lined with a little crushed rusk and baked in the oven. Once it's ready to serve, she likes to garnish the dish with fresh courgette flowers. Eleni remembers with great fondness the close friendships formed with guests over the years through the cooperative, established in 1983. 'The aim was to take women out of the home. You can't have equality if you don't have money,' she says. Where to try it: At the Women's Cooperative of Petra sfouggato is served piping hot with a little grated graviera, the sfouggato at this warmly-welcoming dining spot is considered among the best in town. Walk-ins are fine for lunch while dinner reservations are highly recommended. Open from early April till about mid-October. Sfouggato costs €5 (£4.30) and lunch for two, including drinks, is around €30 (£26). Where to stay: Archontiko Petras 1821, in Petra, is a romantic five-room boutique hotel housed in a stone-built mansion dating to 1821, where guests can enjoy a home-style breakfast often featuring sfouggato. Doubles from €106 (£88) per night, B&B. Craving skordalia? You can find it in Thessaloniki, home of the 15th century-built White Tower. Photograph by Getty Images, Panos Karapanagiotis Skordalia, Macedonia This potent garlic dip dating to antiquity is served throughout Greece, but its most eclectic version is found in the northern Greek region of Macedonia. Here, skordalia is traditionally made with walnuts – which have become a rarity due to rising costs. If you do find the dish done this way, it's most likely to be in the regional capital, Thessaloniki, at the fish tavernas of Kalamaria or the tapas bar-like mezedopolia of Ladadika. In Athens, chef Konstandina Stavropoulou says she considers walnut skordalia — on the menu at her fish taverna Thalassinos — to be exceptional. 'When crushed, walnuts release essential oils that balance out the flavours of the garlic and olive oil,' she says. 'It has quite a robust taste.' Today, however, across Greece the recipe usually combines garlic, olive oil, salt, and lemon or vinegar, with either boiled potatoes or stale white crustless bread. And skordalia is inextricably linked with Greek Independence Day, celebrated on 25 March, when it's served with bakaliaro – crisp-fried salt-cured Atlantic cod. Where to try it: Sample loukoumades-style cod with two types of skordalia — walnut and beetroot — at Thessaloniki restaurant, Maiami. Where to stay: Matriarch Mrs Loulou pairs walnut skordalia with fried cod, mussels or courgettes at Akroyiali, the seaside taverna dating to 1924 that forms part of family-run Hotel Liotopi, in northeastern Halkidiki. The dish is also a staple of the monks on Halkidiki's Mount Athos. Doubles from €131 (£109) half board. Many know mastiha as a digestif but, in Chios, its bitter-sweet, herbal flavour has long enhanced local desserts and pastries. Photograph by Getty Images; Iremtastan Masourakia, Chios On Greece's northeastern Aegean island of Chios, mastiha is king. Said since the fifth century BCE to aid digestion, this aromatic resin is gently coaxed by hand from mastic trees that grow in the south of the island. It has myriad uses, from chewing gum to face cream, while studies have found evidence of anti-inflammatory and antioxidative properties. Many know it as a digestif but, in Chios, its bitter-sweet, herbal flavour has long enhanced local desserts and pastries. And masourakia, buttered filo almond pastries, are by far the local favourite. Anna Moniodi, born in the mastiha-producing village of Tholopotami, says home cooks created masourakia around 1965. And, soon enough, the filo-wrapped tubes of almond and mastiha found their way to patisseries like Moniodis, owned by her family. 'Masourakia are unique to Chios. You can't find them anywhere else,' Anna says. Due to their shape, they're believed to have taken their name from the Greek word for spool. 'Traditionally, masourakia were served to guests at weddings and baptisms with a glass of soumada, a local drink made from bitter almond. But it's really an everyday sweet,' she adds. Chios has long been known for its excellent almonds, so it makes sense that many local sweets feature this ingredient. Masourakia are no exception. Anna offers three types of masourakia at Moniodis, all made with almond. Mastiha flavours the original version, while another has the addition of Chian thyme honey syrup, coated in a thick layer of finely chopped almond. Local mandarin adds zing to a third, equally popular version. Where to try it: Take your pick from Moniodis' masourakia, which come individually wrapped, or sample all three flavours. Track them down at one of two locations in Chios town (at 26 Voupalou St and 4 Psychari St). Where to stay: Pearl Island Chios Hotel & Spa, often offers sweet masourakia as a welcome at check-in. Doubles from €153 (£128) per night, B&B. This bakaliaros plaki recipe comes from Kalamata native Yiayia Niki, who has been making it this way for decades. Photograph by Marco Argüello Yiayia Niki's dish of bakaliaros plaki. Once known as the 'mountain fish' recipe, this dish can be tailored to vegans with an extra potato and red pepper in place of seafood. Photograph by Marco Argüello Bakaliaros plaki, Peloponnese This simple baked fish sings of the flavours of Greece's Peloponnese peninsular. The native dish was once known as the 'mountain fish' recipe, due to the salt cod used, which used to be cheap and wouldn't spoil easily — perfect for those living far from the coast in the remote hills of this vast southern region. The cod is baked along with some tomatoes, onions, garlic, potatoes and red peppers, flavoured with fragrant bay leaves, oregano, cinnamon, allspice seeds and sweet Kalamata currants (dried grapes). A perfect balance for salty cod, the currents are a prized commodity in this particular region of Greece, which is better known worldwide for its purple-black Kalamata olives. For those who aren't a fan of this preserved fish, the dish can also be made with fresh cod fillets seasoned with salt. Peppery green Peloponnese olive oil, which is another essential ingredient and a staple in the region, is added during cooking and also in a dressing flourish to serve. And for vegans, the dish can be transformed into a plentiful plant-based meal by omitting the fish and adding some extra potato and red pepper. Either way, it's usually garnished with some chopped parsley and served with a slice of bread to soak up the juices. Where to try it: On the west coast of the Peloponnese, in the village of Limeni, dine at either of the long-established neighbouring waterfront tavernas, Takis and Kourmas, while watching turtles splash about in the bay. These seafood restaurants have frequently changing menus, but often include various local baked and grilled fish dishes, from around €25 (£22). Where to stay: Over on the far east of the Peloponnese peninsula, Kinsterna Hotel uses homegrown and local produce on the menus of its two restaurants — including in regional baked fish dishes. It also uses these in its lovely bathroom products, fragrant with olive oil and malvasia grapes, plus wines and tsipouro spirit are made in the estate's surrounding vineyards. Doubles from €180 (£154) B&B. Soufiko, Ikaria Eleni Karimali fell into the business of cooking classes after her family abandoned Athens for the northeastern Aegean island of Ikaria. Here, at their winery and farmhouse, she teaches guests how to make local dishes including the satisfying vegan stew soufiko. Ikaria is one of five places in the world where pioneering author Dan Buettner has studied why people live longer, healthier lives, many well into their 90s. His studies led to the concept of 'Blue Zone' cuisine, which revolves around fruits, vegetables, legumes and whole grains. Ikaria's organic plant produce is the cornerstone of its home cooking and is crucial to soufiko, a hearty, ratatouille-like stew of summer veggies. 'Our ancestors prepared high-quality, pure food, often without eggs or cheese because we didn't always have access to them,' explains Eleni. Legend has it that soufiko originated when an Ikarian woman threw some summer vegetables into a pot as an impromptu meal for her husband. She sauteed onions, garlic, potatoes, aubergine, courgette and tomato in olive oil, adding oregano, summer savoury herb and parsley. The story goes, says Eleni, that when the stew was ready, the woman was so taken with the result, she said to herself: 'Andra mou, na sou afiko, i na mi sou afiko?' (Dear husband, should I leave you some or not?). Today, soufiko is among the dishes Eleni demonstrates to guests, using organic produce from the family's farm. 'I cut the vegetables lengthwise so they retain their shape,' she says, adding: 'Soufiko shouldn't be mushy.' Where to try it: Mary Mary in Armenistis, an old school-meets-new restaurant, where chef Nikos Politis pays tribute to Ikarian tradition with tummy-warming soufiko paired with kathoura, a local goat's cheese. Where to stay: Family-run Karimalis Winery comes complete with a guesthouse and restaurant serving exemplary Ikarian cuisine. Doubles from €70 (£58), B&B. Six-day all-inclusive stays from €1,478 (£1,235) per person. Revithada is a baked chickpea stew traditionally served on Sundays and made in a skepastaria, the small clay bowl dedicated to its cooking. Thanks to its rich clay deposits, Sifnos has become known as an island for ceramicists. Photograph by Marco Argüello 'When I was growing up, many of the men on the island were potters,' says Maro, owner of To Maro boutique apartments. 'That left the women to farm the land and the children at home to prepare dinner. That's how I learned to cook revithada myself, from the age of seven". Photograph by Marco Argüello Revithada, Chios Thanks to its rich clay deposits, Sifnos is known as an island of ceramicists. Clay pots have been used to cook with for centuries resulting in dishes native to this wind-battered Cycladic isle, unique to the vessel in which they're slow-baked. None is more Sifnian than revithada — a baked chickpea stew traditionally served on Sundays and made in a skepastaria, the small clay bowl dedicated to its cooking. Left in a wood-burning oven overnight, the ultra-soft chickpeas are infused with lemon and bay leaves, and these few ingredients achieve a perfectly comforting dish that sings with the zing of local citrus. Island cook Maro, owner of To Maro boutique apartments, stresses the importance of baking on a low heat for a number of hours. She makes hers, sometimes for guests in the garden outside the holiday rental in Kastro, over an open flame in her specially built outdoor oven. 'When I was growing up, many of the men on the island were potters,' says Maro. 'That left the women to farm the land and the children at home to prepare dinner. That's how I learned to cook revithada myself, from the age of seven. 'Even on a Sunday, our parents would leave the house by donkey to go out and work while the revithada baked slowly, until they returned home.' This wholesome, hearty meal is often served with slice of myzithra or feta cheese, a couple of olives and hunk of bread. Where to try it: To Steki, in the bay of Platis Gialos, serves revithada alongside other Sifnian claypot-baked dishes such as beef stewed in a rich red wine sauce. Set almost on the water, this favoured local spot has its own vegetable garden, which provides most of its organic produce. Where to stay: To Maro has apartments from €45 (£38), room only. Verina Hotel Sifnos offers the opportunity to try your hand at the potter's wheel. The hotel organises classes in one of Sifnos's oldest clay pottery studios, alongside revithada cooking workshops. Doubles from €253 (£212) per night, B&B. Bougatsa, Thessaloniki Philippos Bantis is one of Thessaloniki's few remaining bougatsa-makers. Take a short stroll from the northern Greek city's crumbling Byzantine fortifications, and you'll find him working at hole-in-the-wall Bougatsa Bantis, which has been supplying the breakfast staple for the best part of a century. The crisp phyllo pie filled with vanilla-spiked semolina custard, says Philippos, arrived with Cappadocian migrants in the population exchanges of the 1920s. 'My grandfather said they were always made in a wood-fired oven,' he says. 'The pie of the poor people, in Byzantine times, women made it at home for their husbands to take to work — something you don't see any more.' There are probably only a handful of young bougatsa-makers these days, according to Philippos. 'To make a decent bougatsa you need to put in the time. It takes hours to make but doesn't have a shelf life of more than a day, so I suppose it's not the most cost-effective food item. The skill needed to make the phyllo exceptionally thin takes years or practice.' A good bougatsa has layers thin as tracing paper. 'Traditional 'sketi' bougatsa ('plain') have no semolina in the dough and the phyllo is so thin, crisp and full of butter,' says Philippos. 'By far the most delicious in my opinion. You have to eat it hot out of the oven and always with a sprinkling of cinnamon and icing sugar.' Where to try it: Bougatsa Bantis, at Panagias Faneromenis 33, Thessaloniki. Where to stay: Stately boutique hotel On Residence has double rooms from €157 (£131) per night, including breakfasts featuring hand-made sweet and savoury pastries, northern Greek cheeses and locally sourced seasonal produce. Published in Issue 28 (summer 2025) of Food by National Geographic Traveller (UK). To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. (Available in select countries only).
