I make my Greek grandmother's 20-minute orzo recipe whenever I feel lazy and it's the perfect summer dish (2024)

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Growing up, my mom and my yiayia taught me how to make many Greek-Cypriot dishes. Now we live in three countries, so I head straight to the kitchen when I'm particularly missing them.

I like to think I inherited a lot from my yiayia Chloé as her namesake, but I definitely can't do her justice in the kitchen.

Still, she and my mom — also a talented cook — have taught me how to make several Greek-Cypriot meals over the years.

It's what connects us now that we live in different places; I'm in the US, my mom is in the UK, and my yiayia is in Cyprus. And whenever the three of us are in one place, it won't be long before there's a plan — we've barely eaten breakfast before we're talking about the next day's dinner — and a cacophony of clattering pots fills the house. It's music to my ears.

It means that soon enough, we'll be sitting down to share some of our favorite comfort food: sometimes a Sunday roast, pastit*io, or avgolemono soup in the winter. But, in the summer, it's always kritharaki.

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My favorite dish they've taught me to make is kritharaki. The no-frills tomato orzo is popular in Cyprus and Greece, and is the kind of meal you'll go back to for seconds.

Kritharaki has been a constant at my yiayia's lunch and dinner table throughout my life.

I've lost count of the number of times I've watched her make it fresh in the kitchen, or pop the leftovers in the microwave to serve alongside plates of grilled meat, thick-cut chips, a Greek salad drenched in olive oil and vinegar, and a basket of pita on the table — my papou says that if there isn't bread on the table, it isn't dinner.

The truth is, whether you have kritharaki on its own, as a side dish, or in a salad, there's no wrong way to eat it (unlike a scone).

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You only need a handful of ingredients for this recipe, but don't bother measuring out the olive oil or salt. I like to make enough for about six full servings so I'll have leftovers.

To make about six servings of my yiayia's kritharaki, you'll need the following:

• 14.5 oz (1 can) petite-diced tinned tomatoes
• 2 cups of orzo
• Olive oil
• 1 tbsp chicken bouillon, or 1 cube of chicken stock (if you're vegetarian, swap with vegetable bouillon or stock)
• Salt (you'll add this as you go, to taste)

First, heat your olive oil in a deep pan on medium-high heat. Pour as much oil as it takes to cover the bottom of the pan.

Make sure the oil is heated through before the next step.

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Pour in the orzo, and stir to coat it in the olive oil. This should take less than a minute.

Don't let the orzo sit in the oil for too long, or it could stick to the bottom of the pan.

Keep stirring until all of the pasta has an oily sheen to it.

Then, throw your tinned tomatoes into the pan. Don't throw out the empty can —you'll need it in a second.

Tip the can all the way to let the tomato juice pour out, and stir it into the orzo.

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Fill the can with water and dump it into the pan, then do it again.

If you're making more or less of this recipe, however many cans of tinned tomatoes you use, you'll want to double the amount of water.

So if you're doubling the quantity of the ingredients to make a larger serving, you'd use two cans of tinned tomatoes and four cups of water — make sure you also use double the amount of orzo.

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Add chicken stock and some salt to the pan, stir it in, and bring to a boil. Then simmer and set a 12-minute timer. Then, stir at regular intervals.

I use a tablespoon of powdered-chicken bouillon to add a good amount of flavor, but you can always use less if you're watching your sodium intake, or swap it for vegetable bouillon if you don't eat meat.

As you bring it to a boil, use a spoon to nudge any stubborn pieces of orzo clinging to the bottom of the pan. You'll want to keep stirring while it cooks to prevent this, but don't beat yourself up if it happens. I usually find some orzo stuck to the bottom of the pan whenever I make this, but it's nothing a quick soak with dish soap can't solve while you're eating.

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At 12 minutes, if the pasta is al dente, give it another three to five minutes to cook while covered and over low heat. When it's ready, the water should have been absorbed and a fork will break through a piece of orzo.

Give it a taste and add more salt if it's lacking flavor, and until you're satisfied. I try not to put too much, but I've seen my yiayia literally pour salt into this dish like it's water on a hot day. Admittedly, her version always tastes better.

When you're happy with the taste, you're done!

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Turn off the heat, and serve! Eat it any way you like.

When your kritharaki is done, serve it right away, or if there's any remaining juice let it sit in the pan for a couple of minutes with the lid on and heat off to soak it up.

Serve your kritharaki on its own — my favorite — or grate some halloumi on top. I've also seen relatives put a dollop of plain Greek yogurt onto their plates to dip their kritharaki in before eating; it adds creaminess and a hint of tartness if you want to try it.

And if you want to make it more of a one-and-done meal, you could make it with meat, which my yiayia likes to do more lately.

No matter how you eat it, kritharaki feels like a light dish but it's filling at the same time. The orzo feels decadent, like it could almost melt in your mouth, and the tomato flavor is subtle yet well-rounded and comforting when combined with the chicken stock. It's truly like a big hug in a bowl.

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It's become the star of my easy weeknight dinners and makes perfect leftovers. And it transports me back to my childhood summers in Cyprus.

On a lazy summer night, my husband will grill some chicken thighs marinated in olive oil, salt, pepper, and oregano, while I'll make the kritharaki and chop up cherry tomatoes and cucumber to make a rough-and-ready Greek salad.

It's my favorite kind of weeknight dinner, requiring very little prep — and washing up.

A bonus: I've found that kritharaki keeps well in the fridge, and days after I've made it I look forward to my lunch break, when I'll heat up a bowl or throw it cold into a salad. I think it tastes just as good, and sometimes even better, the day after I've made it.

But the best part is that it takes me right back to my childhood, and makes me feel like my mum and my yiayia are just in the other room. If I listen hard, I can hear the sound of pots clattering.