Recipe below: Shrimp Saganaki with Feta, Dill, and Marjoram
There used to be a small Greek restaurant, or more accurately a kind of a diner-restaurant, on the corner of Seventh Avenue and 14th Street, right around the corner from my Manhattan apartment. Mykonos was a casual place with average Greek food, and you could also get an American-cheese omelet or a hamburger. I liked their spanakopita with a side of Greek salad, which was what I almost always ordered. And they served a super-resinated retsina, which I always ordered. I ate there a lot. One afternoon, having a real need to get out of the small study in my small apartment, I walked in and sat down, feeling pretty good about myself. I didn’t order my usual spanakopita but chose instead something called shrimp saganaki, because I didn’t know what it was, and the mix of shrimp and feta sounded so terrible I just had to try it. This must have been about 25 years ago.
Everything went well enough with my retsina, but I was feeling anxious about a piece I was on an early deadline for for Food & Wine magazine, “How to Grill Summer Fruit”—hard to write in January. My bubbling plate of shrimp and feta and tomatoes arrived. It looked decent and smelled like dill and dried oregano. Not bad at all. But for some reason, seemingly out of nowhere and for no reason, I started to cry. I tried to choke it back, but that just made it worse. Everyone in the place stared. The waiters asked if I was all right. I said yes. They whispered to one another in Greek. I thought if I didn’t pull myself together they might call the police (as if the cops didn’t have anything better to do). I had a job. I wasn’t living alone. I had friends. But at that moment I felt like a creep. Was I turning into one of those West Village wack jobs who drink alcohol in diners at one in the afternoon? I hoped not. Maybe I was at a point in my life where I was just all-around scared. Maybe I actually had no idea how I was going to write that fruit article. Maybe I was hoping my Italian American father would walk in and bring me back home. These were all possibilities.
After what seemed an embarrassingly long time, I stopped crying. I apologized. The waiters assured me everything was okay. I felt like a mess and knew I looked red and blotchy. One of them reheated my dish. A nice touch. He also brought me another retsina, a free one. An even nicer touch. I then ate the whole shrimp thing and loved it (although the shrimp was a tad overcooked—I suppose it would have been better had I eaten it when it was delivered). Shrimp with feta turned out to be a good thing. The waiter then brought me a baklava, also for free. Maybe I should have cried in restaurants more often.
This saganaki shrimp creation was a 1960s-era Greek dish that made its way to this country largely via Greek-owned diners and restaurants. It’s an elaboration on a cooked cheese preparation also called saganaki, which is just the name for the crockery it’s cooked in. I still order it when I see it offered, and it hasn’t made me cry since, which I take as a sign of my maturity. Symposium, an old-time place on the Upper West Side, makes it, and it’s not bad there. Not great though. Mykonos is long gone, so I can’t have it there anymore. I’ve ordered it at other restaurants, other Greek diners, and found it unreliable. It requires a delicate balance. You need lovely shrimp, good fresh or canned tomatoes, fresh herbs, and a tangy but not chemical-tasting feta. It’s not usually great at a diner, but higher-quality Greek places often get it right.
If you cook it at home, as I often do, you can make this potentially lovely dish sing sweetly. I like to prepare it at the end of the summer and in early fall, when I’ve still got local tomatoes and lots of herbs in my garden. Like now. Marjoram and dill might seem a strange combination, but, as I’ve discovered, they really aren’t. Dill mixed with oregano is a common flavoring in Greece, so, by extension, marjoram, oregano’s gentler more floral sister, has to be good—better even, and less harsh. I’ve added a little cinnamon and honey to the tomato sauce because I’ve tasted and liked those flavors in some versions.
I’ve been saddened this year with summer’s end. Not crying saddened, but just kind of dulled out. Making this shrimp saganaki again, with what’s left of my homegrown tomatoes and herbs, really picked me up. Maybe it can help you too.
Shrimp Saganaki with Feta, Dill, and Marjoram
2 pounds shell-on extra-large wild-caught shrimp
Extra-virgin olive oil
Salt
8 dill sprigs, lightly chopped, plus some sprigs for garnish
A big splash of dry vermouth
5 medium-size round end-of-summer tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and chopped
The grated zest from 1 lemon
A pinch of sugar
Aleppo pepper
2 medium shallots, diced
2 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced
A big pinch of ground cinnamon (about ¼ teaspoon)
1 teaspoon runny wildflower honey
About 8 medium marjoram sprigs, chopped, plus a few whole sprigs for garnish
A 6-ounce chunk of Greek or French feta cheese (French is a bit milder)
First you’ll want to make a quick shrimp broth with the shrimp shells, so shell and devein the shrimp, putting all the shells in a medium saucepan. Add a big drizzle of olive oil, a little salt, and a big sprig of dill. Sauté the shells until they all turn pink, about a minute or so. This will intensify their flavor. Add the vermouth, and let it bubble away for a minute or so. Pour in about 1½ cups of water, and let everything simmer at a low bubble for about 15 minutes. By then the broth will have deepened in flavor and reduced. It should smell sweet and shrimpy. You’ll want about ¾ cup of nicely flavored broth, so let it cook a little longer if it still looks watery. Strain the broth into a small bowl, and set it aside.
While your broth is bubbling away, place your chopped tomatoes in a colander, sprinkle them with a little salt, and let them drain into a bowl for about 15 minutes. Summer tomatoes can be very juicy, and you may wind up with too much liquid in your finished dish if you don’t drain them. But keep the tomato water, just in case you find you need a little moisture later.
Put the shrimp in a bowl, drizzle it with a little olive oil, and season it with salt, the lemon zest, a pinch of sugar, and some Aleppo pepper to taste. Give it a good toss.
Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
In a large, wide skillet (cast iron is a good choice), heat a tablespoon or so of olive oil over medium heat. Add the shallot, and sauté until it’s soft and fragrant, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and the cinnamon and a bit more Aleppo, and sauté a minute longer, just to release their flavors. Add the tomatoes, the honey, the chopped marjoram, the remaining dill, and a little salt, and simmer, uncovered, for about 5 minutes. Add the shrimp broth, and continue cooking about 5 minutes longer. You don’t want it to go too long, as the sauce will continue cooking in the oven.
Arrange the shrimp on top of the sauce. Crumble the feta over the top, and give everything a good drizzle of olive oil.
Stick the skillet in the hot oven, and roast, uncovered, until the shrimp is just cooked through and tender, about 7 or 8 minutes. Garnish with the marjoram and dill sprigs, and serve hot. A side of orzo or couscous will be very nice with it.