On making couscous with Hafida

Posted from the cornfields...

Hafida and me

Last Thursday, the day before I left Ifrane, Hafida showed me how to make couscous. I was initially stressed by the thought of adding "cook a big meal" to my to-do list for the day before leaving the country, but it turned out that, by the time we were ready to start cooking, my bags were packed and I had very little to do anyway.

Those of you who have cooked with this semolina product before may be wondering, "What's there to show you? You just add some boiling water to the couscous and let it soak up the water and then do whatever you want to do with it." That's what I thought before moving to Morocco. I quickly learned that I had been doing it wrong all along.

When Moroccans talk about "making couscous," they are talking about a complete dish that consists of seasoned, stewed vegetables (traditionally onions, turnips, carrots, pumpkin, zucchini, and cabbage, plus chickpeas) and (usually) meat served atop couscous that has been thrice steamed above the stew using a couscoussier. This method makes the couscous light and fluffy as well as flavorful, since it absorbs additional flavor from the stew.

Moroccan society, compared to society in the United States, is still very traditional, so virtually all Moroccan families have couscous as the large midday meal on Fridays. Couscous is prepared in a very particular way, too, and I was lucky that Hafida was willing (although not entirely happy) to 1) make a vegetarian version and 2) leave out the tomatoes so a friend of mine with a tomato allergy could join us for the meal.

We didn't talk a lot as we cooked, but I still enjoyed the time with Hafida, and I enjoyed learning from her. I thought about how she must have begun cooking couscous with her mother when she was a very little girl, and that if she had a daughter (she has only one child, a son), she would teach her daughter in the same way. I thought about my relationship with my own mother, and about the things I wish I had taken the opportunity to learn from her when I was a young girl. Living in Morocco has helped me to become more aware of both the reasons why I appreciate the flexible norms of my own culture and of the things that can be lost as a result of that flexibility.

Just as we were finished preparing the couscous, our friends Lynn and Karen stopped by. We convinced Hafida to stay and eat the meal with us. She helped me serve the couscous Moroccan style, on one large platter from which everyone could eat. It was a great way to spend my final afternoon in Ifrane.

T was there, too; he took the photo.

Soon after I got to Nebraska, I tried to prepare couscous for my parents. I tried not to make too many changes, but I left out the pumpkin and chickpeas and tried using vegetarian "chicken." Mom and Dad said it was fine, but I thought it wasn't remotely as good as the couscous I had made with Hafida. I think this is due only in part to my lack of experience preparing the dish. What contributed to the deliciousness of the couscous I made with Hafida was the newness of the experience as well as the companionship. My theory is that couscous cooked alone is not as tasty as couscous cooked with a family member or friend.

But at least I got to eat my couscous with family.

Mom, Dad, and Pierre, ready to try my couscous (served in the tagine I brought with me from Morocco)

Heidelberg

On New Year's Eve, AC's mother brought us fortune cookies. AC and IC had typical fortunes, bland and vague statements, not specific about the future, which I have completely forgotten.

But my fortune made me nervous. It said something like, "An adventure is coming." I got even more nervous when T read his fortune, something about "you will know the right way." I read these in combination to indicate that T was going to lead me on some crazy adventure, and I wasn't quite feeling up to an adventure at the time. Maybe it had something to do with the cold I had developed on our second day in Germany, or maybe it was related to Africa fatigue… I don't know.

The next day, T and I started to feel like our hosts needed a break from us, so we suggested that, on January 3, they could send us off somewhere on our own via public transportation. Instead, though, they loaded us into IC's car along with her TomTom and sent us off to Heidelberg. After a bit of a rough start (the TomTom led us to the center of town, where without a real map or any tourism information, we were a bit disoriented), we had an enjoyable day on our own.


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View of the town and the Neckar River from the castle

I went to Heidelberg knowing exactly two things about it: An American military base is located there, and the city hosts a colony of wild ringnecked parrots (and if you know me, you know which of these two things I was most excited about).


The town is very popular with tourists (but not, I think, due to its military or psittacine residents). When we first got there, I was hearing more English than German around me. I was happy to see a lot of Asian people (who don't often come to Morocco) and Asian restaurants. Thai food for lunch was an unexpected treat.

Vegetarian Thanksgiving international potluck

 I became a vegetarian when I was 12 years old, and since then, holiday meals have generally consisted of a set of rather bland side dishes--vegetarian stuffing and gravy, green bean casserole, black olives, etc. (I don't even get to eat the mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie anymore, thanks to food allergies).

The food was eaten so quickly that I hardly had a chance to get a picture.

American, Canadian, Brazilian, Portuguese...maybe we can all get along!

But that wasn't the case this year! On Saturday, T and I hosted a vegetarian Thanksgiving international potluck dinner for a small group of vegetarians (and veg-sympathizers). This year's Thanksgiving dinner featured red lentil pumpkin soup, roasted root vegetables, spicy Indian chickpeas and vegetable korma (with precious basmati rice), curried lasagna, fruit cobbler and chocolate chip pumpkin bread.

Right now, I think I have what is traditionally called "the holiday blues," exacerbated by being so far from home and by a fairly high degree of uncertainty about my future. Because of this, yesterday's dinner was a much-needed opportunity for me to reflect on what I have to be thankful for. One thing I keep coming back to is the high quality of people I've had the great fortune to meet. I've written about this before, but it's worth reflecting on again. Every place I have lived, I've met remarkably intelligent, kind, generous, and interesting people. It's easy for me to dwell on how much I miss those I've left or who have left me, but I also need to be thankful for the wonderful people I have met here.

Melilla, Spain

Monday was Eid al Adha, or Eid Kbir, a big Muslim celebration which I wrote a little about last year (here and here). T had a few days off from teaching, and we decided weeks ago that we wanted to go somewhere that wasn't Morocco when the Eid break came. When I told my friend Michael this, he wrote (whether sarcastically or not, I don't know) that he was surprised I didn't want to stay and experience the Eid. The truth is, when called upon, I can drum up a great deal of respect, or at the very least tolerance, for a wide variety of cultural practices. But that doesn't mean I am interested in participating in or observing them. For goodness' sake, there are aspects of my own culture that I'm not interested in – like keeping track of celebrity marriages, divorces, and international adoptions, or watching American Idol. So if you're interested in reading more about Eid al Adha, you'll have to look somewhere else, like here.

Because I went to Spain.

Strange fruit

A significant aspect of experiencing a new culture is trying the new foods that come along with it. This is often something I miss out on because I'm a vegetarian with food allergies.

I often resort, then, to vicarious enjoyment of Moroccan foods. I will come home from the bakery with a new treat for T to try, and as he munches on it, I ask for reports on the flavor. I do the same thing when he eats a tasty looking tagine or bestilla.

The truth is, eating at Moroccan restaurants is not very exciting for me, as I usually get panini "fromage" (there's a reason why fromage is in scare quotes), mediocre pizza, a salad, or, if I'm lucky, lubbiya or bessara--both of which are satisfying but not particularly exciting.

If I want to try new foods in Morocco, I'm better off focusing on produce. I once had a rather interesting experience with desert "truffles" I bought on the side of the road outside of Rabat. (They were pretty tasty, but I found it impossible to get all of the sand out of them, which made for a texture displeasing enough that I decided trying them once was enough.) I've tried quince and some squash I don't even know the name of. I've learned how to cook fresh fava beans.

When we were walking around outside the Meknes Medina on Sunday, T and I saw several vendors selling some interesting looking fruit on sticks. We asked one of the vendors what the fruit was, and when he saw that his explanation meant nothing to us, he let us try it. The taste was pleasant enough, although not particularly impressive. It sort of reminded me of mulberries, but a little less sweet. Nevertheless, the fruit was something new to us, and it was cheap (one dirham for a stick), so we bought two sticks.

The fruit looked totally unfamiliar to me, but after we got home on Sunday, T was able to identify it in about five minutes. I don't think this fruit is cultivated in Morocco; my guess is that these trees are growing in people's yards or somewhere nearby their property, and since the fruit is edible, they're picking it and selling it when it's in season.

That's just a guess, though. In any case, it was fun to try something new, and finding that fruit was a reminder to me to keep my eye out for other new foods I can try.

Poor baby

In Darija, məskin* (for a man) or məskina (for a woman) means "poor." It can be used to mean "without money," as in Ana məskina, "I'm poor." But it can also be used much in the same way we would use "poor baby" in English (pobrecito/a in Spanish). Much like the English phrase "poor baby," məskin(a) can be used as a declaration of true pity, a term of playful mockery, or a term of endearment. Really, I think it can be used for all three purposes at once.

My friend LW told me that her maid Amina refers to me as məskina (as in, "I saw the məskina at the souk yesterday") because Amina has this idea that I, poor thing, can't eat anything. I can see where she would get this idea. I think that, when LW has asked Amina to cook a meal to which I have been invited, she has instructed Amina to leave out meat, eggs, and Knorr (pronounced "kənor"; that's what Moroccans call all bouillon, a much-relied-upon ingredient in a suprisingly large percentage of Moroccan cooking).

And, lest you doubt LW's claim that Amina's name for me is məskina, I can say that it is, indeed, what she calls me in person as well as in my absence.

Ana məskina, apparently.




*I'm using pseudo-phonetic spelling here.

Essaouira

Since arriving in Morocco, T and I have made it a habit to ask people what their favorite places are to visit here.

By far, Essaouira has been the most mentioned city. And last weekend, T and I finally got to go there (with our friends Brian and Sara).

Essaouira (pronounced something like ES-U-WIR-UH) is a popular but peaceful coastal resort town quite a distance south of Ifrane. The only crummy part of our trip was the getting there and getting back.

Brian and Sara, ready in their djellabas for some Morocco travel.

To get there, we took a night bus from Ifrane to Marrakesh. The bus left Ifrane at 9:30 in the evening and arrived in Marrakesh around 4:30 the next morning. the bus was crowded and a bit smelly. We went through mountains. We had one bathroom break. It was not my favorite trip ever. In Marrakesh, we had to spent four hours at the bus station. That was followed by another three-hour bus ride that got us into Essaouira around noon.

It was worth the wait.

Toilets and tofu

Part I: Toilets
 
Just as part of the "fun" of owning a home is fixing things yourself when they break, part of the "fun" of being a renter is relying on other people to fix broken things. And when you throw in language barriers and different cultural standards related to maintenance and repair, the situation can be even more interesting.

Our toilet with its new drainage pipe

When T and I got back from our vacation, one of the things that greeted us was a small pool of water under the drainage pipe of our upstairs toilet. It has always been clear that this toilet had problems in the past. The pipe from the toilet appeared to be made almost entirely of cracked caulking and was sticking out of a fairly substantial and disastrous-looking hole in the wall.

When the plumber saw the leak, he seemed to suspect the caulking-covered pipe sticking out of the wall. So what did he do? He covered the whole thing with a fresh, thick layer of caulking. Pipe-frosting. I cleaned up after him, put the bathroom back together, and watched for leakage...

Which, of course, there was. The leak wasn't coming from the drainage pipe; it was coming from something in the wall behind the toilet. Remember, this wall has always had a substantial hole knocked out of it, allowing for back-and-forth passage of all kinds of things, including water, between the wall and our bathroom.

So it was back to the apartment office to tell them the leak remained. I took everything out of the bathroom again.

How would you fix this problem? Cover the entire hole with caulking, of course, which is what the plumber took several hours the next day to do. I don't know much about caulking, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't designed for that.

The leak got worse. I took everything out of the bathroom again.

Yesterday, day three, the plumber returned and undid all of his beautiful caulk-patching by pulling out the toilet. He was in there making loud, violent-sounding banging sounds all afternoon. As he was leaving, I asked him "mezyan?" (That means "good"). He responded, "mezyan" and said something else in Darija, and I took it all to mean he was finished.

I cleaned up the bathroom, which took quite a bit of time and even more bleach.

And this morning, when I got up, I found water on the floor. This time, it is coming out of the little metal knobby-thing that you can see in the picture to the right.

I took everything out of the bathroom again.

(Of course, when I told a member of the housing staff about this, he said the plumber told him yesterday that he wasn't done with the work. Well, it's not like anybody needs to tell me that. I just live here.)

Fourth time's a charm?

Part II: Tofu

On a much happier note, I now have – thanks to my husband and some very attentive family members –a year's supply of vegetarian jerky. Go protein!

Something to keep in mind if you go to a grocery store in Morocco the day after Eid Kbira

All of the people in town who can afford to will be bringing their sheep carcasses to the grocery store butcher to have them cut up, ground into sausage, etc. They will load the skinned and gutted carcasses from their cars into grocery carts, where the skinless legs will be sticking straight up into the air. They will then mob the meat section of Label Vie, and it will be impossible for you to turn in any direction without seeing a whole, upside down sheep carcass. It will also be impossible to get to the alcohol section, which is where you were trying to go. Finally, you will leave the grocery store wondering whether you were putting your groceries into a shopping cart that had previously been carrying a sheep carcass.

The big holiday

If you look at your calendar, you might see that this coming Wednesday, November 17, is labeled as "Eid al Adha." Here in Morocco, this most important Muslim holy day is called "Eid Kbira." "Kbira" means "big," so basically Moroccans call this "the big holiday."

Come Wednesday, this sheep will probably become a former sheep.

The purpose of this blog post isn't to give a religion or history lesson, so those who want details about this holy day can look here or here. I will note that the day is marked by each family slaughtering a sheep, goat, or even cow. An important part of the celebration is participating in and watching the slaughter.

Many of the Americans I know who live here seem to be a bit disturbed by this holy day. I think this is because, while most Americans greatly enjoy eating meat, "animals" and "meat" are generally two separate things in their minds. (I think it helps a little bit that in English – and, I'm sure, in other languages – the words for many animals are different from the words that are used to refer to the meat that comes from those animals. When you're eating a hamburger, you are probably thinking about eating "beef," not "cow.") Most Americans get their meat from the grocery store, where it doesn't look much like the animal that it came from. In contrast, many Moroccans buy their meat while it's still alive! They watch the chicken transition from a living, feathered thing to food on their plate. They participate in that transition. So the idea of watching their kids play with a sheep for a few days, then slaughtering and eating the sheep, is completely natural and in no way disturbing.

At least these sheep look happy right now...

As a vegetarian, I actually admire this. One reason I don't eat meat is because I know that I could not kill an animal. And I don't want to watch someone else do it.

I have been told that the streets literally run with blood on the Eid, and I will not go out on that day. If a Moroccan were to invite me to his or her home for the Eid, I would turn down the invitation. This means I miss out on a significant cultural experience. But I guess I'm completely okay with that.

JABS's "I don't have any Mexican ingredients" quesadilla recipe

Ingredients:
Two tortillas for each person
A handful of grated cheese (half gouda, half parmesan) for each person
A small handful of almonds for each person, finely ground (the almonds, that is, not the person)
Cayenne (or other hot pepper), to taste
Olive oil

Directions:
Heat your skillet and add a little olive oil. For each quesadilla, spread some cheese and almonds on one tortilla. Sprinkle with cayenne and then cover with another tortilla. Cook each quesadilla in a hot skillet for a few minutes on each side, until tortillas are slightly browned and cheese is melted. Serve with some kind of green vegetable – whatever you happened to find at the souk.

Moulay Bousselham, Asilah and a little of Rabat -- in pictures

Dear Americans, want to know what the Atlantic Ocean looks like from the other side? Read on.

JW and LW, an American couple living here for a year with their two daughters, invited T and me to go on a trip to the beach  with them over the weekend. These are the towns we visited:


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Moulay Bousselham is so small that it doesn't even show up on Google Maps, but the marker on the above map shows you approximately where it is.

Asilah is not even an hour's drive north of Moulay Bousselham, not far from Tangier.


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We stayed at Driftwood Apartments in Moulay Bousselham for two nights.

View of Driftwood Apartments from the street

These cows walked through town each morning to rummage through the garbage across the street from where we were staying. This was part of our view from the balcony of our apartment. It was more entertaining than it might seem, although the meat-eaters amongst us (i.e. everyone but me) were a bit disturbed to see their future dinner eating garbage.

 The beach was spectacular. I especially enjoyed searching for crabs, fish, and shells with the girls during low tide.

LW with Sandy the dog, who adopted us during our time in Moulay Bousselham. Did I mention that there are a lot of feral and homeless cats and dogs in Morocco?

T, as if you didn't know

We loved Moulay Bousselham enough that we are already plotting our return, but I think I have to say that my experience in Asilah made it my favorite Moroccan town or city thus far. It is a community of artists, and the medina is full of beautiful artwork--some of it painted right on the buildings. It is a low-key, open, and peaceful medina, especially compared to the one in Fes.

 After walking around the medina, we ate dinner outdoors at Al Kasabah, where I had a divine vegetable tagine and T had his first taste of bestila (I think there are at least half a dozen ways to spell that).

On the drive home, we stopped briefly in Rabat. We had lunch at the mega mall, where I ordered tofu at a Japanese restaurant. It was silken tofu, which I usually dislike, but it tasted wonderful. We also briefly visited the medina and then had some ice cream by the river.

T with JW and LW in the Rabat medina

I loved the colorful boats in the river.

If I remember correctly, Sale is the city that you can see across the river here.

We drove home on Sunday evening with the sun setting, tired but with a feeling of fullness and blessedness. How lucky we are to know such a wonderful and generous family, and to live in such a beautiful country!

Being vegetarian in Morocco, or "Get over it and pick the meat out!"

Before T and I moved to Morocco, I knew that one of the greatest difficulties for me was going to be surviving as a vegetarian here. Most of you know that, for more than my adult life, I have been an unusually strict vegetarian. (Sorry pesco people, but fish have brains and eyes--they're animals in my book.) Add in my significant allergies to eggs and peanuts and a low tolerance for dairy, and you have one person who is annoyingly difficult to feed (right, G and K?).

My diet was sometimes challenging in the U.S., but I was at least dealing with people who spoke the same language as me. It may have embarrassed my co-diners, but I could always ask the server at a restaurant, or the host or hostess of a dinner, about the ingredients. The concepts of veganism and vegetarianism are fairly widely understood in the U.S.--even in Wyoming! :)

Now I'm in a country where English is not widely spoken. Nor is the concept of vegetarianism widely understood. Meat, being high in protein and in price, is highly valued. I get that. I certainly understand that people, especially those in poorer countries, like and eat meat. I wouldn't expect any Moroccans to convert to vegetarianism.

However, I am already frustrated by the lack of understanding of what to me is something much greater than a dislike of meat. I had a somewhat unpleasant encounter with an (originally American) person yesterday who, upon discovering that I am vegetarian, essentially told me to "get over it" and to get used to picking meat out of things (at a minimum--it was obvious this person would prefer that I return to the natural state of human food consumption and start eating meat).

I don't want to write much more about that encounter, but it did get me thinking more about my dietary habits. It made me ask, for the hundredth time, what is my problem? What's the big deal if my vegetable couscous or tagine has meat broth in it? These are not easy questions to answer. For me, the decision not to consume a certain category of animal products is not just based on health or environmental issues. It is not just based on the very real disgust I experience at the thought of consuming meat (sorry, carnivores). It is close to religious. Too bad there are probably no Buddhists here. Maybe they would understand. In any case, my strict vegetarianism is not something I could give up lightly, nor easily. To be blunt, I am concerned about the impact it would have on my conscience.

I think I am also frustrated because I would expect Muslims (and 99% of Moroccans are Muslims) to have a better understanding of dietary restrictions based on religious or philosophical reasons.* I don't think anyone would ever think of inviting a Muslim to dinner, make something with bacon in it, and tell the Muslim guest, "Well, just pick out the bacon. What's the big deal?" And yet that is essentially what I am being told to do. What gives?

Anyway, I think I'll be eating a lot of meals like this one, here in my apartment:

A simple chickpea and tomato salad with fresh lemon juice and YUMMY olive oil, with some biscuits and imported Spanish cheese. I don't yet have the supplies to cook any real meals that, you know, follow actual recipes.

I'm also going to find all the vegetarians I can find on campus and talk to them about what they do. I already found one, and I have the names of more. I can do this! Right?

I'll end with the major successes and failures of the day.

Successes:
-Went to the marché and found a vendor who speaks quite a bit of English. I taught him the English word for pois chiche--"chickpea." Also bought some much needed food supplies.
-Met a nice American who invited T and me to join him and his family at La Paix (a downtown restaurant) this evening for ftour (the Ramadan fastbreaking meal at sundown). (BTW, this meal will be an interesting test of the "to be, or not to be a vegetarian" question.)

Failures:
-Forgot to look for almonds at the marché. They're supposed to be everywhere, but I didn't see any. Must find more protein!
-Have continued to be unsuccessful at getting our apartment maintenance issues taken care of. Must learn to live on Moroccan time.

*Just to be clear, I'm not saying that no Muslims, nor that no Moroccans, are understanding of vegetarianism. But I have done enough reading and talking to other people to know that I will encounter little understanding of it here.