We were presented with a shopping list that included things like dried fruits, flour, two chickens (more on that later) and tomatoes. Oh, and one egg. There was simply no way to discern a menu from it, so we set about our task, with our guide taking us to the preferred merchants (why? She never let on) and making sure we didn’t get lost. There were some memorable moments: folks who were shocked that they killed a chicken when you ordered it (he let it bleed out while he settle the account and then plucked it and gave it to us).
At some point, we spent an entertaining half hour in a spice shop, where the shopkeeper put on a great show and explained many things, but then it turned out that there were no spices on our shopping list!
We finally ended up in a little tiny riad, about a half-room wide. This half room was our kitchen space—all six of us, plus the guide and cook, and later the kitchen helper. There were a lot of bumping elbows! I was thrilled to see lovely German knives (one small, one big), but diappointed to find that while the chef’s knife was sharp, the paring knife was quite dull.
We were handed a stack of recipes stapled together, and there were six workstations, some high, some low. My back was hurting, so I chose high. What I didn’t know was that by choosing my workstation, I had chosen the dishes I would be working on. By comparing the pile of recipes with the ingredients in front of me, I discovered I had chosen the ubiquitous Moroccan salad and a sweet carrot appetizer. My recipes called for things like peeling and seeding tomatoes and coring carrots (cutting them in half lengthwise and prying the core out), something I generally don’t bother with. In the end, Alfred and I (he was working on a samosa-type vegetable filling with young Miss Salt Lake) ended up spending over an hour peeling, coring and chopping, while the people across the room were whipping up spicy sauces and marinades, working with the now showered chicken and fresh sardines and preserved lemons and other exotic ingredients. No spices on our side of the room, sigh.
The cook spoke very little French, and none of us spoke Arabic, so it was not always easy to communicate. I found my frustration rising as I had to ask for nearly everything I needed: dishes, plates, pots, matches, oil, missing ingredients, etc. At some point, I got on the wrong side of the cook by putting the oil and vinegar in the bowl before the tomatoes, and scolding me, she wouldn’t let me chop the onion. She gave it to Alfred to chop instead.
We did eventually get the main dishes simmering away and found we could relax a bit and work together making cookies and rolling brionates. This was far more fun than coring carrots!
In the end, we had prepared feast: several salads, a hearty appetizer and a main dish that leaft us groaning (we barely touched it, we were so full). An excellent—Moroccan—wine was offered with the meal. And we still had cookies to eat and take home. And we had reservations for dinner that night—Friday is couscous day in Morocco!
Here are ‘my’ two recipes, the way I make them:
Moroccan Salad
- 1 kilo tomatoes, (peeled and seeded and) diced
- 1 red onion, finely chopped
- 1 tablespoon fresh parsley, chopped
- 1 teaspoon ground cumin
- ½ teaspoon salt
- 2 tablespoons vinegar
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
Toss all ingredients together in a bowl.
Sweet Carrot Salad
- 1 kilo carrots, peeled and cut into batons
- 3 cloves of garlic, unpeeled
- 1 tablespoon fresh parsley, chopped
- ½ teaspoon sweet red paprika
- ½ teaspoon ground cumin
- ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
- ½ teaspoon salt
- 4 teaspoons sugar
- 2 tablespoons vinegar
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
Cook the carrots in boiling salted water with the garlic. Drain and place in a bowl. Peel boiled garlic cloves an dmix with remaining ingredients. Toss together and let cool. Serve as a salad.
