Smoke and spice - Moroccan winter salads
One month into our Essaouira stay. It is undeniable that the taste of the food that stays in our memory has been punchy, uncompromising.
When cooking, at least when cooking with Amina and Khadija, each ingredient is greeted and treated to an amplification of its worth.
Even from the point of choosing, kneeling on the ground of the suq to find the best produce. Perhaps picking up and putting down again, not worth the price. It’s a far cry from Tesco home delivery.
Shakshuka in action. This tomato has been smoked, the spices ground
It’s expected that you taste in the suq. When we’ve been on our own, and I’m not sure about what’s good or not, I’ll stand next to someone who is piling a bag full of peas, satsumas, dates. “C’est bon?” I’ll ask.
9 times out of 10, there’ll be a, “oui,” and one will be handed in my direction with a last little nudge. An invitation to try and know for myself.
Satsumas at the suq
Then there’s the spices.
These spices are confident.
No hiding behind fancy packaging here. Turmeric has that wonderful earthy warmth, autumnal leaf yellow. Cumin (a real MVP in Moroccan cooking) takes on a multi-dimensional journey, a mellow, respectful one. Ginger holds your hand, a strong and comforting glow.
When we made tagine, Kenza was careful to make sure that if we went to buy spices, they really were the best ones, freshly ground. Don’t get fooled by their selling you old spices.
Didn’t even know that was an option.
I’m pretty shy as a human, but there I was marching into the fish market. A no thank you to spice touters too swift to claim my trade, until I found a quieter corner.
Taking Kenza’s advice, I lose all confidence in my fr-arabic and claim, reliant on the language cross over, to be…
a chef
(apologies to any chefs out there)
in order to ask for the freshly ground versions of their wares.
Unfortunately this is lost on the human who met my pseudo-brazeness. He doesn’t speak French. An older man is called from the stall next door.
So here we are, in the corner of a half covered market. In place of piles of spices, painted triangular pyramids advertise each on offer. The spices, the ground ones, kept in jars that line shelves like an old sweet shop.
This is my kind of sweet shop.
A slip of the tongue and I might end up with ‘health’ (could be useful), ‘malaria’ (less than useful), or ‘female/male viagra’ (interesting).
Either way, these two shop sellers still can’t understand what I’m saying. I’m almost at the point of abandoning ship when they shout up a ladder that seems to go to nowhere. The space is so cramped in this corner of the market where I found a whiff of confidence, that I imagine this man between the floorboards.
Legs descend, then arms.
Turns out they’ve gone and found an English teacher.
He understands my concern, takes a fistful of dried ginger, attaches a bag to the bottom of the grinder, and shows the poor man who first met us how to grind, bag and weigh. I pretend I’m not thrilled. They’re more openly delighted, opening the clear plastic bag wide for me to smell.
Turmeric arriving
Ahhh that’s the good stuff.
I nod the nod I imagine you nod when you approve of a glass of wine.
In my panic (entirely self-inflicted), I only get ginger, turmeric and ras el hanout. Guess that’s us for the next three hundred grams of spices then.
We leave, grateful, elated with our haul. Our flat smells delicious for a month.
Just adding spice to dishes doesn’t cut it here, though. Smoke has its place too.
Walk into a building on a colder day, and you might be mistaken for thinking that folk are really bad at making toast. This might be the case (those burnt toasts were my fault Amina, no matter what the family tell you!), but it could be the preparation for winter dishes, at least the ones that I’ve learnt.
Side note: winter in Essaouira as far as we’ve experienced, is a relative concept, dropping to 8°C.
When we arrive to make tagine with Amina, there are three aubergines on the gas hob. These aren’t the monsters we know from back home, but polite aubergines, not too many seeds.
Aubergines smoking
We learn that there is an art when we attempt our own zaalouk. Pyromaniac tendencies can’t be leant into too far. Just enough to cook the flesh, but not crucify the skin.
Into a plastic bag to sweat and steam through some more, then the smokey flesh can be revealed. You can do the same to garlic, tomatoes, long green peppers.
I’d always been sceptical about electric hobs, induction, over gas. Now I’m a fire convert.
The two recipes below are winter salads, prepared to be eaten with fresh bread. I’m a glutton for these, addicted to the smoke, the spice. Try them out for yourself.
Shakshouka
Pop a big tomato, big green pepper and garlic cloves onto a gas hob to fire. Remove when they’re blackened all over and cooked through, soft to a knife. Pop into a plastic bag for a few minutes. This will steam them and help to remove the skin.
Chop up the tomato, skin the garlic and pepper. Dice then smush the garlic, peel, de-seed and dice the green pepper.
The spices are cooked off a little first in a small pan with olive oil. Paprika and spicy paprika (one teaspoon of each)salt, garlic.
Low heat so it doesn't burn in the pan and stir.
Add in the charcoaled, peeled and chopped tomato. On low and allow it to melt.
Add in a teaspoon of sugar to balance the acidity of the tomatoes
Then the chopped green pepper and cumin (confident two pinches). Taste to adjust the seasoning. Eat.
Zaalouk
In the same pan you cooked the shakshouka in, add in the 2 cloves of smoked garlic diced and smushed and a diced onion.
Then the peeled, de-seeded and chopped aubergine (about 3 small ones).
I’ll let you know which spices when I’m of the bus I’m publishing this from!