Fresh Air, Fresh Fish

I stepped off the bus from Marrakech bracing myself for the locals to start badgering me.

"Excuse me, miss, you need hotel?"

"Can I help with your bag?"

"Taxi?"

But the barrage of hustlers never came. Whereas in Marrakech I had to thrice fend off local men trying to give me directions* during the short walk across the main square and over to my hostel, in Essaouira no one accosted me. As the wind from the Atlantic ruffled my shirt (which in Marrakech had been perpetually stuck to me with sweat), I breathed a sigh of relief.

While exploring the medina that afternoon, I noticed that, save for an occasional "Hello, bonjour," the shop owners seemed like they really didn't give a shit whether you entered or not. It's so much more enjoyable that way; being able to take in the surroundings rather than staring at the ground trying to avoid that fatal first eye contact which, in all other cities, will have the business owners yelling and gesticulating wildly for you to come in and hear all about the "special price" that awaits.

"Why would you go back to fucking Marrakech?" a hostel staff member demanded a fellow traveler trying to sort out his last few days in Morocco.

Essaouira has that effect.

For dinner that first night, a large group of us that had first met in Marrakech went to the blue-and-white shacks near the port and enjoyed a massive meal of fresh seafood grilled to order. After negotiating the price down to 65 dirhams per person (including salad, bread, drink, two large fish and four sardines), we sat in the semi-darkness of an old-fashioned gas lamp, picking our way through tuna and sole as they came straight off the grill to our table, while feral cats lurked in the shadows hoping we'd toss them some scraps. It was a delicious but thoroughly messy affair and at the end of the meal looking at the mounds of balled-up napkins and fish bones on each plate, we debated whether this would be a really awesome or really terrible first date.

I went back the following night with some other new acquaintances. We paid a bit more but got to try red snapper, tuna, calamari and shrimp as well. The host let us take turns being photographed holding live crabs and lobsters. Doesn't get more fresh than that!

*This is how the scam works. A local - generally a young guy in his teens - sees you with a large backpack or suitcase and asks if you need a hotel. You say you already have a reservation. Instead of going away, he asks where you're staying. It matters little whether you tell him or not, because he knows all of the hotels and hostels in the area, so will continue to walk a few steps ahead of you in the same direction. It sounds completely illogical that a person can lead and follow you at the same time, but that's exactly what happens all the way to the hostel where, at the door, he will stop short of following you inside but will demand money. The staff is used to this and doesn't intervene. So in the end you toss the kid a few dirhams just so he'll fuck off. 

Cooking In...Morocco

I was checking my email over breakfast Wednesday morning when I saw a response from Café Clock (English-owned restaurant in a beautiful riad with an American coffee shop vibe - basically if you're in Fez you need to go at least once) to my inquiry about cooking classes. Sorry for the late reply, it said, but we have a class today at 11am. I checked the time: 20 minutes to get there and find the place. Inhaling the rest of my food, I collected my things and hurried outside; or rather as much as one can hurry in 80+ heat along streets that are unmarked and connected in ways that make very little sense. (The Fez medina has over 9,000 streets; I doubt even a special ops team could successfully track a person once they entered). 

I arrived just in time to meet our chef, a friendly Berber woman, and my other classmate, an Aussie about my age, who had already decided on the menu: lentil soup, aubergine salad, lamb tagine and a dessert of phyllo pastry with fresh fruit and yogurt. Washing my hands and donning an apron, I joined them in the kitchen. For the next few hours we talked, joked around and learned some of the secrets to Moroccan cooking (lots of garlic! lots of spices!). 

What follows is what I can remember to the best of my ability. Nothing was measured nor timed, which pretty much sums up everything I dislike about cooking and, hence, why I am a pastry chef. 

Prepping the herbs with the "bellydancing" knife. (Using it properly feels like a full body workout).

Lentil Soup 

500 g lentils

1.5 L water

1 yellow onion, chopped finely

1 head of garlic, minced

Fresh parsley and coriander

Tomato paste 

Olive oil (~2 T)

Place all ingredients in a pot. Add spices (paprika, salt, pepper, cumin, tumeric) to taste. Mix well. Bring to a full boil and cook until lentils are soft.  

Grilling the eggplant.

 Zaalouk (smokey aubergine puree)

1 eggplant

2 bell peppers

1 head of garlic, minced

Olive oil

Paprika

Cumin

Chili Powder

Tumeric

Grill eggplant and bell peppers over gas flame until charred. Let cool, then peel. (You can wrap them - especially the peppers - in a plastic bag to get them to sweat, then after you can scrape off the charred bits with the back of a knife). Remove the stems from the grilled vegetables. Cut the eggplant into chunks. Remove the seeds from the peppers and do the same.

Sautee garlic in olive oil in a pan. Add eggplant, peppers, and spices. Mix well and continue to cook until thoroughly heated. Serve. 

Finished salad.

Finished tagine.

My new Aussie friend, as it turned out, is quite the globetrotting foodie herself. On this particular trip she was with her parents, but previously she'd been to some of the world's more dangerous cities (Nairobi, Johannesburg) alone, and felt perfectly at ease using the one form of lodging I was not brave enough to try on this trip: couchsurfing. I was impressed, and inspired. Did I mention that she also likes taking cooking classes wherever she goes? We made plans to stay in touch so that she can show me around her hometown, Sydney, once I get to Australia.  

Birds & Poultry at La Mosquée de Paris

That time I had chicken couscous and mint tea at the Paris mosque, and had to keep staving off birds from dive bombing my plate. The food was good and the courtyard very pretty, but the whole avian threat thing sort of detracted from the experience. I had my back to the other tables so I’m not sure whether this was a problem for other customers, or the birds were just targeting me. Hopefully not the latter. Next time I will ask to be seated inside.