GREEK IDENTITY is heavily marked by the country’s position at the crossroads of Europe, the Balkans, and the Middle East. Head west from the Peloponnese, and you end up at the sole (or southern soul?) of Italy’s boot. Motor north and hit Albania, Macedonia, or Bulgaria. Turkey and the Middle East are within spitting distance—not that you want to spit at them; please don’t misunderstand me. All this results in a combustion of attitudes and ingredients that are hard to duplicate elsewhere.

If you’ve been following global financial news in the past month or so, you know that Europe has not looked too kindly on Greece as of late. Greece has been cast (fairly or unfairly, depending on your point of view) in the role of the poor, fiscally irresponsible, henna-haired stepchild, the unwelcome neighbor dragging the Union down. I imagine this doesn’t bode well for Turkey’s E.U. bid for full membership, either. Mindful of this, yet setting politics aside in favor of flavor, I decided (with a gentle push from the community at Food52) to combine some iconic ingredients of the region and see what this yielded in my kitchen. I don’t expect the results to mean squat for Greece’s debt crisis, for fiscal policy, or for possible bailouts. But hopefully it will get some folks thinking and cooking with a bit more open-heartedness.

Below, you’ll find my Blood Orange and Olive Salsa with Feta and Mint, plus a variation designed for focaccia.

First, though, a word about blood oranges.

They’re aptly named. Cut into one, and you’ve got instant drama as the vermilion juice stains everything on contact, beginning with the orange’s white pith. (Out, damned spot!) They can be a bit of a shock, really—especially if you grab one thinking it’s a regular orange, as my son did. He was both horrified and fascinated when I sliced into it.

Blood oranges are generally sourced to Sicily, and in our world of stereotypes, this makes sense. We all know how passionate and hot-blooded the Sicilians are, right? But there are different varieties of blood orange, and a number are cultivated in the United States, where they are in season from December to March, or even into May for those grown in California. Among the most common types of blood orange are the Tarocco, Moro, and Sanguinello varieties. What all blood oranges share—that which gives them their characteristic, intense color—is the presence of anthocyanin pigments. The word anthocyanin derives from the Greek roots ἀνθός (anthos) for “flower” and κυανός (kyanos) for “blue” or “cyan.” Pigments appear red, purple, or blue, based on pH levels. Anthocyanins belong to the flavinoid group, and they are also a good source of antioxidants. If you’d like to learn more about blood oranges, there’s an interesting story on NPR called The Juicy History of Blood Oranges.

Although I love every citrus fruit under the sun, I had never used blood oranges in my own kitchen before now. I don’t know what took me so long. I am sold now on their sweet-orange-with-a-hint-of-berry flavor.

My first culinary impulse with them was a bit of a flop, though. No, let it be said: a wholesale culinary disaster. I don’t know what happened exactly, but my attempt at a blood orange–sweet chili sauce, using an assortment of ingredients I no longer remember (but that I know included both Thai sweet chili sauce and white balsamic vinegar; blech) ended up, once cooled, a truly horrible concoction for which the only appropriate adjective was “gummy.” I usually force myself to eat my mistakes in the kitchen, but this was impossible; it went immediately into the trash, and I became heartsick over the wasted flesh and juice of a half dozen blood oranges. I changed course immediately, sticking closer to the geographic origins of the fruit and arriving at the combination of ingredients highlighted in this post.

I won’t go into detail on each, but will just call your attention once more to East-West influences and their intersection in the heart of Greek cuisine. Olives seemed to me a natural pairing for the blood oranges, as both Italy and Greece are famous for them. I chose green olives over black, due to the more pleasing color contrast with the oranges. Feta goes without saying, and the mint—especially in its dried form—represents the East to me. Some interesting notes about mint, and its name’s derivation from a Greek legend involving the nymph Minthe and Hades, god of the underworld, can be found in epicentre.com’s Encyclopedia of Spices.

And now, as promised, my recipe for blood orange and olive salsa, with feta and mint. I’ve used it two ways, to dress up a simple broiled salmon and as a topping for focaccia. Both variations and methods are described below. I hope you’ll find many other uses for the basic preparation.

Blood Orange and Olive Salsa, with Feta and Mint

(shown above as a topping for broiled salmon)

This Mediterranean salsa takes its inspiration from two sources: the grab bag challenge ingredients suggested by the creators of Food52, Amanda Hesser and Merrill Stubbs, and the cuisine of Diane Kochilas. The salsa pairs fabulously with grilled or broiled fish, and it would also work well on feta alone, which you could bake in foil packets in the oven or prepare saganaki-style (floured and pan fried in olive oil and butter). The way you incorporate the feta and mint is really up to you: dried mint or fresh (chopped and sprinkled on a finished dish as garnish); feta sliced or crumbled. These two components can be added before or after a dish is cooked, or may not be cooked at all, just blended with the blood orange and olive mixture and eaten off the spoon. The recipe as given here is meant to be a catalyst for your own creativity.

Yield: approximately 2 cups salsa

Ingredients:

1 cup blood orange segments, all white pith and membranes removed (3 to 4 oranges)

1/2 cup cracked green olives, pitted and coarsely chopped

1/4 cup diced red onion

2 teaspoons nonpareil capers

2 Tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Juice of 1/2 lemon

1 pinch kosher salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Greek sheep’s milk feta (quantity depends on the final dish desired; generally 4-5 ounces is enough)

Mint (1 generous pinch if using dried, blended in with salsa; otherwise, about 1/8 cup chopped fresh mint as garnish)

Method:

Combine orange segments, olives, onion, capers, olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper in a bowl and mix well. Set aside at room temperature to marinate for about a half hour, or you can refrigerate for use at a later time.

If you are serving the salsa raw, you can incorporate dried or fresh mint at the same time as the other ingredients. If you plan to cook the salsa (as a topping on a fish dish, for example) then either incorporate dried mint into the salsa marinade, or else use fresh mint as a garnish after the dish has cooked. The feta is likewise adaptable to the final dish you desire to make. For something baked or broiled, I generally sprinkle crumbled feta on top of the salsa; otherwise, the salsa becomes a topping for the feta, or else all is blended together and scooped up with triangles of feta.

For the salmon pictured above (or for another broiled fish), spoon about a quarter to a half cup of salsa over the fish, according to your taste and the size of the fillets. If the feta and mint have not already been incorporated into the salsa, then crumble them on top. Broil for about 10-15 minutes.

Blood Orange Olive Focaccia with Feta and Dried Mint

This hearty, rustic bread represents a “best of” compilation of Mediterranean ingredients. Blood oranges (said to have originated in Sicily) combine with Olympian green olives and creamy sheep’s-milk feta to form the topping for this not-so-traditional focaccia. Inside, dried mint adds a subtle nod to the Eastern influence found throughout Greece. Although authentic Italian focaccia is most often flat and seasoned simply with olive oil, herbs, and coarse salt (and very good that way, too), I confess a penchant for higher, airier loaves that support creative toppings the way a good deep-dish pizza can, but without the sauce. This focaccia, topped with anti-oxidants, healthy fats, and a protein source, can be thought of as a meal unto itself, or it can be split and used as the base for a deluxe sandwich. Any way you slice it, you’ll be satisfied. Look for dried mint in any market with a good stock of Middle Eastern foods.

Yield: 1 rectangular loaf focaccia (9 x 13 inches)

Ingredients:

For the focaccia dough:

3-4 cups all purpose flour

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1 envelope (1/4 ounce) active dry yeast

2 teaspoons dried mint (if mint leaves are large, crumble them with your fingers)

1 teaspoon dried oregano

1-1/2 cups (12 ounces) warm water

1 Tablespoon vegetable oil

Cornmeal for dusting the baking dish

For the topping:

1 cup blood orange segments, all white pith and membranes removed (about 4 oranges)

1/2 cup cracked green olives, pitted and coarsely chopped

2 Tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus a few more tablespoons for drizzling on the focaccia

Juice of 1/2 lemon

Freshly ground black pepper

5 ounces fresh Greek sheep’s milk feta (preferably packed in water), to yield 1 cup crumbled feta

1 pinch dried mint

1 or 2 pinches sea salt (I like Maldon salt flakes)

Method:

Put 3 cups of the flour in a large bowl with the salt, yeast, dried mint, and oregano. Blend together well with a fork. In a measuring cup, combine the warm water (it should be slightly warmer than skin temperature, not too hot) and the vegetable oil. Incorporate the liquid gradually into the flour mixture.

From here, add in extra flour up to 1 cup, as needed to make a smooth, elastic dough (I ended up using another 1/2 cup, which I added in 1/4-cup increments). Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and give it a few extra kneads. Return the dough to a clean bowl that’s been lightly coated with olive oil (you can just rinse out and dry the one you started with), and turn the dough to coat it on all sides. Cover the bowl with a clean, slightly dampened kitchen towel, and set it aside to rest in a warm place for around 45 minutes to 1 hour, until it doubles in size.

While the dough is rising, prepare the topping for the focaccia. Place segmented blood oranges in a bowl with the chopped green olives, 2 tablespoons of olive oil, lemon juice, and pepper. Set aside to marinate.

Preheat the oven to 425F. Coat a 9 x 13-inch baking dish lightly with olive oil and sprinkle with cornmeal.

Turn the risen dough out into the dish. If the dough seems too sticky in the bowl, that’s OK, just sprinkle some flour on the dough, dust your hands with flour as well, and scrape the dough out and into the baking dish. With a touch more flour on your hands if needed, press and stretch the dough across the bottom of the pan. Cover again with a towel and let rise for another 30 minutes.

When the dough has finished rising, have ready a small bowl with a few tablespoons of olive oil. Dip your fingers in the oil and poke holes in the top of the focaccia. Spread on the blood orange and olive mixture, then top with crumbled feta. Sprinkle the focaccia with a little bit of crushed dried mint and drizzle with the olive oil that remains in the small bowl. Sprinkle on a pinch or two of sea salt.

Bake 25-30 minutes, or until the focaccia is puffed and nicely browned.

Eat as is, dip into fine olive oil, or slice and use as a base to build a great sandwich.

FORGET THE KIDS. They’re sleeping (maybe at Nona’s house). Or there aren’t any. My Friendship Day Marshmallows post was for them. This, though . . . This is for adults only.

For all my soapbox talk about how anyone—coupled, single; young, old, or in between—should be able to celebrate Valentine’s Day, it is still true that the place of honor goes to lovers each February 14. This weekend we’ll be awash in seduction, in all its guises: tawdry black and red lingerie (or else very fine and expensive unmentionables); champagne, roses, and other gifts; suggestive cards and love poems; chocolate (we’ll get to that in a minute). This is to say nothing of that annual courtship display we recognize as the scramble for a reservation at the right restaurant.

Valentine’s Day is now forty-eight hours away, and odds are, if you’re going to have plans you’ve made them already, or your love interest has. But maybe not. Maybe you have no plans and are panicking. Don’t. It will all work out, I promise. Just stick with me.

First, a confession: I am going to be alone on Valentine’s Day. I almost always am, despite having found someone to whom I became engaged ten years ago; to whom I’ve now been married for eight years. It’s not that we’ve grown apathetic—oh, god, have we?—no, it’s because I am what’s known as a restaurant widow, as good as single on every major “date night” in the calendar. Who can guess how many couples my husband will serve this Sunday, pouring champagne, being a willing accomplice to a marriage proposal or two (diamonds in champagne glasses, ring boxes served with dessert, he’s done it all). I do know one thing: he won’t be serving me.

It’s all right, though, because I’ll be serving myself some of this:

What? It doesn’t look like much? Don’t be fooled. Take a look at what’s inside:

This, dear readers, is a wicked-temptress chocolate cake. A sexy cake, bursting with the sensual aroma of forbidden fruit. Think Adam and Eve in Eden. Then go one step farther and think about why they needed fig leaves. Forget apples. If there is a paradise—and if there is a sinful (but delicious) fall from it—this cake is it.

Even better, it’s easy to make. But a word of caution here: Please, don’t let “easy” mean you make this cake for just anyone. It’s not a tart, after all. Make this cake for someone special, someone you love—that person could even be you. If you do, nothing else will matter. Not the dishes in the sink, not your child’s Jack-in-the-Box routine at bedtime, not another year alone. None of it.

To send you on your way this weekend, I wish you your fill of love, flirtation, seduction, and chemistry for Valentine’s Day. Of course I do. Just remember to save a little room for dessert.

Chocolate Walnut Fig Cake with Grappa

and Cardamom Cream

This flourless chocolate cake was inspired by a Ligurian (Italian) recipe called “Torta di Noci e Canditi” from Michele Scicolone’s book, La Dolce Vita. I used the same proportions of chocolate, eggs, and sugar, but changed up the ingredients a little bit to showcase my favorites: walnuts, which are traditional, with figs and grappa. If nuts and dried fruit can put you off, fear not. This is one of the moistest, most decadent cakes around. For good measure, I also add a dollop of whipped cream spiked with cardamom. One bite and you’ll know you really have found the sweet life.

Yield: One 9-inch cake

Ingredients:

For the chocolate cake

6 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped

1-1/3 cup walnuts

6 large eggs, separated

2/3 cups sugar, divided

2 tablespoons grappa

2/3 cups finely chopped dried figs (small dice), stalk ends removed

confectioner’s sugar for dusting (optional)

For the cardamom cream

1 cup heavy cream, chilled

2 Tablespoons sugar

1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom

Method:

With a rack set in the middle position, preheat the oven to 350F. Butter and lightly flour a 9-inch springform cake pan, tapping out excess flour.

Place the chocolate in a food processor fitted with a steel blade (or in a blender with food-processing capabilities), and give it a few whirls to chop further. Add walnuts and process until finely ground.

In a large bowl, beat the egg yolks until well blended. Gradually add 1/3 cup of the sugar and beat until fully incorporated; the mixture should be thickened, almost fluffy, and very light in color. Beat in the grappa, then beat in the chocolate-walnut mixture and the figs.

With clean beaters on high speed, beat the egg whites until foamy. Beat in the remaining 1/3 cup sugar and continue until soft peaks form. Fold one-third of the egg whites into the chocolate to lighten. Gradually fold in the rest of the egg whites, combining thoroughly but using as few strokes as possible.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan. Bake for 40-45 minutes, or until the cake is puffed but the center is still moist. Cool completely on a wire rack. The cake will fall a bit and shrink away from the sides of the pan; that’s fine. When the cake is cooled, run a spatula or knife around the rim and release the sides of the pan. If desired, sprinkled the cake with a light dusting of confectioner’s sugar.

Make the cardamom cream. Combine all ingredients in a bowl and beat on high speed until soft peaks form (or to your desired consistency). Serve alongside slices of cake and pass extra on the side.

A Note on Dried Figs and Grappa:

It does make a difference to use very soft dried figs; sometimes, though, you end up with tough ones, and in that case, you might want to try plumping the figs first in a bit of warm water. If you do this, make sure to drain and pat dry the figs, though, to avoid excess moisture in the cake. For the grappa, I like to use a lovely citrus tree honey grappa from Nonino Gioiello, but you should use whatever you have on hand; for baking, you do not need an expensive one.