Feasting in Fés

A gastronomic journey at once humble and regal

It is said that in order for a nation to develop a great cuisine, it must have four prerequisites: a rich land from which to draw upon an abundant range of ingredients; a variety of foreign cultural influences; a great civilization; and lastly, a refined palace with royal kitchens to inspire the nation’s cooks. Morocco has it all, and is home to some of the most tantalizing food imaginable. From robust roasts to rich aromatic stews, spiced or sweetened salads to savoury pastries and fragrant mounds of couscous, there is such a wide variety to choose from. One great example of the country’s cuisine is bastilla, an exquisite blend of shredded pigeon and spiced onion sauce with saffron and herbs encased in a flaky, filo-like pastry, topped with cinnamon and sugar – an intricate dish that epitomises everything that is grand and extravagant in Moroccan cooking.

One of the most interesting ways to absorb the delights and diversity of the country’s cuisine is to visit the souks (markets) and where better than Fés, often regarded as Morocco’s culinary capital. To wander through the myriad of laneways that make up the medina of Fés el Bali (old Fés) sampling the food on offer, is to take a gastronomic journey through Morocco itself.

Early morning is a wonderful time to be out and about and I set off to get thoroughly lost. Sunlight streams in slanted rays through the woven bamboo shades covering the narrow alleyways, catching the steam rising from the many cookers. Street vendors are preparing for the day’s trade and already the air is awash with all manner of exotic- aromas, the hustle and bustle as stalls are set up and neighbours greet one another.

Great crusty rounds of warm khboz (bread) are on display at the feet of an old man crouching behind his produce. Munching on this doughy aniseed-flavoured bread is perfect for strolling the medina. In most Moroccan homes bread is prepared every morning, kneaded in unglazed red clay pans and sent to the community bakery on the heads of children on their way to school.

Close to the city gate of Bab Bou Jaloud one stallholder is already busy at trade cooking and selling one the most common forms of Moroccan breakfasts, miklee. With deft handwork he pinches small balls of dough and presses them into a paper-thin squares covered with oil. Folded, then folded again he slips them onto a skillet sizzling with oil where they materialise into flaky pancakes and are served to eagerly waiting customers with butter and honey.

In a fruit and vegetable souk, produce of every kind lines the street. There are juicy oranges, lemons and grapefruits from the sun-drenched groves of Agadir, golden melons, vine-ripened tomatoes, clementines, crisp celery and plump mounds of grapes, preserved fruits and nuts. Entire shops are jam-packed with nothing but olives – of every flavour, size, quality and colour or bunch of fresh mint displayed in baskets and hanging from ceilings.

I head down into the dark underworld of the souks, through alleys so narrow that the only way the shopkeepers can get their stock in, is on a donkey’s back. The medina’s 9400 lanes and streets see the with a human tide of endlessly streaming humanity, crammed with shops, restaurants, mosques, rug stores and even tanneries. Somewhere near the Attarine quarter I stumble upon a spice souk.

The smell, colour and range of the spices are striking. There’s the bright reds of paprika and cayenne peppers alongside the rich yellow turmeric, soft-hued ginger, dusty sticks of cinnamon all contrasting in texture with seeds of cumin, sesame, aniseed, caraway, coriander and many more. All are heaped in tubs waiting to be measured into twisted envelopes of paper. These are some of the spices that form the soul of Moroccan cooking, transforming simple dishes to exotic heights.

This Moroccan love of spices is a tradition handed down for thousands of years from their ancestors, who brought them in caravans across North Africa from Arabia and beyond. They brought with them the sophisticated knowledge of their uses as perfumes and medicines, as an enhancement of food and as currency for trade.

In one dusty spice shop jars of ras-el-hanut (which translates as ‘shopkeepers choice’) line the top shelf. Consisting of anything up to a hundred different spices, no two mixtures are the same and only the maker knows the quantity of the various ingredients. When I ask the shopkeeper what the contents of his mixture are, he throws his hands up dramatically and exclaims, “This is the finest ras-el-hanut in all of Fés, and the ingredients are secret.”

A seductive aroma wafting from a nearby food stall reminds me that I have a lunch date. Moroccan hospitality is famous and an invitation to dine with a family is never to be turned down. Any local cook will tell you that the best Moroccan cuisine is eaten at home, lovingly prepared by the lady of the house.

“Welcome my friend, come, my home is your home!” says my host Taleb drawing me into his home. I follow him down a labyrinth of passageways and up a flight of stairs and into a spacious salon. The walls are decked out with intricate woodwork, colourful zellij tiles and graceful archways. Berber carpets and rugs cover the floor.

Mint tea is traditionally served before and after a meal. Today is no exception. The tall silver teapot packed with fresh mint leaves, tea and sugar appears on a four­-legged silver tray called a siniyya. After the tea has brewed for some minutes, Taleb makes a ceremony of pouring the fragrant golden liquid from a great height into small decorative glasses.

Taleb’s wife Nahmiah and his two daughters serve the first course of lunch; a sumptuous salad of oranges, cantaloupes, carrots, Dijon mustard and balsamic vinegar. The unlikely marriage of these ingredients is simply delightful. When there’s a guest in a Moroccan home, the women might not always eat with the family, but allowances are made when female visitors arrive for lunch and Nahmiah joins us.

Next comes the tajine, one of Morocco’s most famous dishes. The name refers to the conical-lidded pot in which it is prepared, as well as the intricately spiced stew of meat and vegetables, sometimes with dried fruits and nuts, cooked very slowly over a charcoal fire. Typical tajine combinations include: lamb with raisins and almonds; beef with prunes and apples and lamb with dates.

Today it’s a Moroccan classic; chicken tajine with green olives and preserved lemons – a simple yet delicious dish that is accompanied by thick wedges of crusty Moroccan flat bread, perfect for soaking up the sauce.

The arrival of a large platter topped with a mountainous mound of steaming couscous replete with pumpkin, raisins, and almonds and topped with fresh coriander has me loosening my belt. The basic premise behind Moroccan hospitality is that no guest shall go home hungry and Nahmiah is making sure I leave her table on all fours. What many people do not realise, is that couscous is not traditionally considered a main course, rather it is the dish served at the end of the meal to achieve shabban (total satiation).

After the meal we retire to the cushioned divans that line the walls to stretch our legs and partake of yet again, more mint tea. Sipping on the refreshing sweet liquid and nibbling on fruit, I now fully understand that wonderful word shabban, and why Morocco’s cuisine is one of the world’s best.