We all know moussaka - but the one we know and the one they serve in Greece aren't the same dish. Ours is with potatoes and minced meat, direct and without frills. The Greek one is a layered structure: eggplant, minced meat in tomato sauce and a thick layer of béchamel on top, baked until golden. And the irony is complete: the dish Greece defends as national actually comes from Arab and Ottoman cuisines - and the béchamel was only added in the twentieth century.

The secret of a good Greek moussaka isn't in technique, but in order and patience. First: the eggplant is cut into thin rounds, salted and left in a colander to release its bitter water. Then it's fried with minimal oil and dried well - eggplant soaked in oil drowns the whole pan.

Ingredients for a pan that serves four: 2 eggplants, 1 onion, 3 tomatoes, 1 potato, 400 grams of minced meat, half a glass of dry white wine, grated cheese, salt and pepper. For the béchamel: 1 liter of milk, 40 grams of butter, 40 grams of olive oil, 80 grams of flour, salt, pepper and nutmeg.

The method: for the béchamel, melt the butter with the oil, add the flour briefly, then the milk gradually, stirring constantly so there are no lumps - the sauce should be thick, not runny. The potato is boiled in thin rounds and laid down as the first floor in the pan. The onion and tomato are sautéed, the meat is browned separately, then everything is combined with the wine and cooked until the liquid reduces. Here the Greeks add mint, parsley and - don't be afraid - a pinch of cinnamon. It sounds strange, but it makes the difference.

It's layered like lasagna: potato, eggplant, meat, then eggplant again, and on top the whole béchamel with an abundance of grated cheese - the authentic choice is Greek kefalograviera, but our old kashkaval honestly does the job too. It bakes for 20 minutes at 180 degrees, then another 3 minutes under the grill for a golden crust.

And the most important rule, the one nobody respects: the moussaka must rest for at least one hour before slicing. Hot, it falls apart; rested, it slices like a cake. We know the smell won't let you - but the difference between a good and a perfect moussaka is exactly that hour of waiting.