...because the Moroccan food is wonderful. While searching on the internet in Canada before coming here, I found a company that is very careful about trying to be beneficial to individual Moroccan families. They set up homestays with a family whose daughter shows you the ropes of her honey production or you might take some cooking classes with a local woman. I had found a few cooking class options but they were either in local cafes or with a chef of a maison d'hotes. To my mind, these were already faring quite well on their own. I preferred the idea of learning from a local woman in her own kitchen. Thus I met Fatima-Zohra.
We met at the Bab Boujloud a couple of weeks ago and made our way down the Tala'a Kibeera and off on a number of twists to her ground floor apartment. A slight issue was my limited French and her more limited English but we thought we could muddle along. She seemed more nervous than I as I sat sipping my freshly squeezed orange juice in her large ornate parlor. Hilariously, the reason for her nervousness became apparent when she explained that I was her first student! So it was to be a learning experience for us both. The parlor is three large connected rooms. The kitchen is open to the courtyard. The kitchen is approximately 5 ft x 10ft. I am being generous with my measurements. In this small space she creates great Moroccan dishes mostly on the edge of the sink where there is a space of about 12"x16". The other small counter is taken up with the microwave and dish rack. The small table tucked in the corner is where things are set to rest in between stages. The oven holds sugar and flour and couscous and various kitchen implements. With notebook in hand, I wrote in a mixture of English, French and Arabic the instructions for making couscous. (One line reads "Poulet, everything the same mais sans Hummous").
When I had first arrived in Fez and Sanae had asked me what she should make for dinner one day, I shrugged casually and said "couscous". My experience with couscous is of the five minute variety. Add butter, fluff and serve with steamed vegetables or whatever your heart desires. I wondered why Sanae said that it would cost so much but gave her the money and headed out the door. Upon my return, I found a very, very large tagine on the counter. When I lifted the lid, there was a massive mound of couscous and layered vegetables intermixed with pieces of what might have been of an entire chicken. You can imagine how whole-heartedly I apologized to Sanae after learning how to make couscous with Fatima-Zohra. Couscous here is not of the five minute variety. It is more of a two hour labour of love. Or just labour I guess if you are not making it for your family and friends and just for some foreign woman who isn't going to eat a third of it. (I ate it for dinner the night Sanae prepared it, three times the next day and for breakfast the day after that because I did not want to offend her when she returned to cook again. I couldn't dent it.) Fatima sprinkled the dried couscous into the bottom of a large tagine and sprinkled water over top before setting it aside. What followed was multiple steaming sessions in a special pot (which I am buying a version of before I head back) while another pot held the chicken, spices and a multitude of vegetables. (I believe seven different types is customary). In between steams, the couscous is returned to the tagine bottom and more water or oil or lastly, butter is added. You must repeatedly run your fingers through the couscous to make sure that the pieces separate and do not clump. This tends to scorch your fingertips. (Not mine, I was madly writing!) Once again, upon completion, I found myself seated in the parlour with a ridiculously large portion on my plate. Served with Berber whiskey or the famous mint tea.
This was also my first time watching the mint tea being made. Fresh mint is added to a teapot with Chinese gunpowder green tea and hot water and the teapot is put right on the gas burner! (I will not be doing that with my new amazing birthday teapot from my sisters-I may not even use the teapot because I am in awe of it. That's another story...) I do not wish to shock those people with a delicate Vancouverite sensitivity to calories and admit to the amount of sugar that goes into a small pot but I will say that I am glad that I already have a dentist appointment set up for my return. And perhaps a blood test for diabetes ought to be in order. Very important is the word Shwee'a which means "a little" and must be trotted out all day in regards to the amount of sugar that I'd like added to my coffee/tea/banana or avocado smoothie (and apparently to my fruit salad. Who knew Sanae could add that much sugar to a fruit salad to make it inedible. Who knew she was going to add it?)
A couple of weeks passed before I felt up to visiting Fatima again. I made my way successful back to her house unaided and commenced a lesson in some of my favourite Moroccan comfort foods. Not that I have any right to learn to make more foods that are so indulgent but I am using the excuse that my brother asked for recipes and I think that he just might like these ones. As will my Mom, my nephews, Jenn and Jeremy when I have to cook for them in their new kitchen, my sisters, okay, everyone I know. (Uhm, Jonah J., you live a tad far away geographically, you'll have to make the recipes yourself or get a plane ticket. Sorry.) This class involved Makouda or fried potato dumplings, Baghrir or a crepe/English muffin that is eaten with either honey or olive oil, and Harira which is a wonderful chickpea/tomato based soup. As you can see in the photo, the makouda are golden and have a crisp, thin outer layer. The inside is soft. The Harira has noodles and cilantro. It is customary to eat Harira with a sweet, either dates or Sh'peck'ia (sp?) which is a pretzel shaped, fried, dough-based sweet soaked in syrup. (I feel the need to stand in warrior pose just to account for writing that sentence).
I am now going to admit that at the end of Souk R'Cif nearest my house, there is a makouda stall that I am known at. Okay, there is a makouda stall at the other end of Souk R'Cif that I am known at also. Plus, after I buy my makouda dinner, I pop into the local tea house to sit with the cigarette-smoking card sharks to eat it. I have tea. I don't say 'shwee'a'. They like me. The other night I bought my dinner and though they had turned out the lights and I think were heading out the door to the mosque, they all trooped back in, sat down and dealt out the cards so I wouldn't be alone. Here is the worst part, the dinner is comprised of a half round of flat bread. The center of the bread is stuffed with four or five makouda. If you eat it at this end of R'Cif, you get it with a fried egg mixed in. If you eat it at the other end of R'Cif, you get it with french fries mixed in. Both versions are topped with hot sauce. Downward dog anyone?
A bonus recipe this last cooking class was for Say'fa which I was busily looking interestedly at while Fatima prepared it for her daughter's lunch. Say'fa appears to be an tiny egg-noodle based recipe. The egg noodles are steamed for an hour (in a mini-version of the couscous steamer. Am also buying one. Oh, and there is also a small pressure cooker!) with raisins. You ladle the noodles onto a plate and add crushed almonds (which you've just crushed yourself) and a dusting of powdered sugar. Absolutely, undeniably yummy. Fatima said that you normally eat it while enjoying a glass of milk and that you can also serve it with the chicken and sauce recipe that I learnt from couscous class.
After rolling my overfed self into Cafe Clock, I sipped my cappuccino and wondered how many hours of yoga I should do between this class and next Friday's "Cakes of Morocco" class...
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