Friday. The whole medina smells like couscous by noon. The grains are rolled by hand, steamed three times over the vegetables and meat. The process takes hours.
The vegetables change with the season — turnips and pumpkin in winter, courgettes and peppers in summer. Seven is traditional. The tfaya — caramelised onions with raisins and cinnamon — goes on last.
The pot has been going since noon. Lentils, chickpeas, tomatoes, celery leaves — the leaves, not the stalks. Cumin, turmeric, ginger, cinnamon at the very end. The steam fills the courtyard by four.
The bread is at the communal oven. The table is set: harira, dates, chebakia, eggs. Same every night for a month.
The flour-water goes in at the end — that's what makes the texture right. Thick enough to coat a spoon, still pourable.
Harira
Olive oil, onion until soft. Tomatoes, celery leaves, herbs, spices — two minutes. Lentils and chickpeas in, water to cover. Simmer 45 minutes. Flour-water stirred in slowly at the end. Lemon at the table.
January. The dough is made from scratch — flour, water, a pinch of salt, rolled thin and cut into circles. The skins dry slightly on the counter while the filling comes together. Lamb and coriander today. Earthy and green.
The pleats are the same fold used for pastilla. Same technique, different filling.
The kitchen smells like cumin and sesame oil at the same time.
Quiet morning after the fireworks. The first pot of the year is on the stove.
Beans on January 1st. They look like coins, they swell when they cook — prosperity, abundance. White beans today, with cumin and olive oil and lemon.
The courtyard smells like bay leaf.
White bean soup
Olive oil, onion and garlic until soft. Cumin and paprika, one minute. Grated tomato, cook down. Beans, bay leaf, water to cover. Low and slow for an hour. Crush a few against the pot with a wooden spoon. Lemon at the end. Olive oil on top.
The courtyard is still cool. Fountain on. Light through the mashrabiya making patterns on the tablecloth.
Msemen — flaky, layered, made this morning. Baghrir with all the little holes that soak up honey. Bread from the communal oven. Olive oil from the Haouz. Amlou — roasted almonds ground with argan oil and honey. Butter. Jams. Orange juice squeezed ten minutes ago. Mint tea.
Everything on the blue ceramic plates from Fes, the ones with the chipped edges.
The sardines at the souk this morning — small, silver, eyes still clear. A kilo for almost nothing.
Chermoula: coriander, garlic, cumin, paprika, lemon juice, olive oil, pounded together. The sardines sit in it for an hour. Then the charcoal grill — a clay kanoun on the terrace. Three minutes a side. The skin blisters, the fat drips, the smoke carries.
Eaten with bread and more lemon.
Grilled sardines with chermoula
Pound the chermoula into a rough paste. Coat the sardines. Rest one hour. Grill over charcoal, three minutes a side. Bread and lemon.
Aged, salted butter. Funkier than ghee — closer to a strong blue cheese in smell. The jar on the counter has been going a while. A small spoonful goes into couscous, into lentils, into anything that needs depth.
Pungent, salty, almost fermented. A little transforms simple food into something ancient.
The sardines get filleted and chopped fine with a knife — not a blender, too smooth. Mixed with chermoula spices, shaped into patties, fried in olive oil until crispy outside and soft in the middle.
The kitchen smells like the sea and cumin. Eaten in bread with sliced tomato and raw onion.
Sardine kefta
Chop fillets finely with a knife. Mix with coriander, garlic, spices, egg, breadcrumbs. Shape into flat patties. Fry in olive oil, a few minutes each side until golden.
Notes from the house