Spanakopita and silver whiting at Antipodes

This weekend, I’ve got a gig to cook at Antipodes' Lonsdale Street Greek Festival. I’ll be cooking recipes from my new book, Afternoons in Ithaka. I’m quite nervous about it. I’ve been asking myself, ‘What is this home-cook doing sharing the limelight with the likes of more professional cooks like Phil Vakos (Spitiko), Kathy Tsaples (Sweet Greek), and the fiesty My Kitchen Rules' contestants Vicki and Helena.

On Saturday, I have the skirts of the formidable septuagenarian Theia Georgia to hide behind – she is preparing her famous spinach pie with homemade filo pastry. This morning I rang her to make sure she’s still OK to cook in the heat – “Anything for you Spiri” – and then proceeds to tell me what she is bringing along. Her broomstick for rolling out the pastry. Her ‘special’ flour. Dill from her neighbour’s garden. And can I get some greens from my mother’s garden? Of course I can. She’s the boss. Thank God for strong Greek matriarchs - they've always got everything covered.

That leaves Sunday’s cooking demonstration. I’m preparing fried calamari and little fish, along with Yiayia’s tyganites (fried) patates. If I can convince my mum and daughter to come up to the stage; there’ll be three generations of Greek-Australian cooks strutting their stuff. We’ll try and spare the audience our bickering as we work around each other.

It’s been some time since I’ve prepared calamari – the last time was in the south of Greece in my aunty’s kitchen, circa 2010. There we cooked it slowly in onions, fresh tomato pulp and garlic. A dish to die for, especially when mopped up with crusty, just-baked bread. If only I could teleport myself back to that moment right now, I would.

To alleviate my nerves and make sure nothing goes wrong, a test run is called for. I buy some calamari from my local fish monger, as well as a kilo of silver whiting that look particularly appealing. I bring them home and clean them on the kitchen bench while my kids do homework. I make a show of pulling the head and tentacles away from the body of the squid – my son says ‘no way am I going to eat that’, and leaves the room dramatically. Next, I divest the little fish of their scales and innards. It’s looking like a massacre on the kitchen bench and I’m wondering how I’m going to make this look pretty on the day. But there’s something satisfyingly primal in preparing this dish; getting down and dirty, using as much of the squid and fish as possible. It reminds me of where my food is coming from, a feeling I don’t get when I’m working with a pre-prepared fillet or the rubbery squid rings that come in 2kg packets in the freezer section of my supermarket.

I fry the little fishes and calamari in the gorgeous green olive oil that my aunty still sends me from Greece, and the kitchen smells divine. A bit of salt, a wedge of lemon, a salad to accompany it all and it’s done.I call the kids to the table, and they eye the calamari. My son hesitates, takes a tentative bite.