Marrakech: Eat More Tagine

Sometimes I choose where to travel, and sometimes my job chooses for me. In late 2018, the Moroccan government funded our crazy office gaggle of writers, editors and proofreaders - with our many languages, cultures and oddly shaped suitcases - to fly across the Atlantic to beautiful Marrakech, Morocco.

Ostensibly, we were there to help some important good things get done. The work schedule was heavy, packed into two solid days, and I worried I would barely have time to dip my toes into Marrakech before it was time to fly home.

But after just a few short days, I left this old-world city positively steeped in its charms, and more dazzled than I could have ever anticipated.

I credit the depth of my brief Marrakech experience to the truly warm, generous locals I met, but also to a city so proud of its heritage that it simply pulls no punches. From the moment you step into the blinding north African sunlight, to the deep (and city-mandated!) damask rose color of the buildings, to the intense perfumes in every establishment, there is nothing shy about Marrakech.

On our first day in town, we spend the morning prepping our conference space - located in an impressive pop-up venue out in the desert sun - and the afternoon tooling around the city’s famous, winding souq.

This is the kind of traveling I live for.

Around every corner a new smell, a wall of dried herbs, buckets of briny olives, hundreds of colorful rugs piled high.

The souq is disorienting but not unpleasant. Folks try to sell you things, calling out in French, English, Spanish, trying to figure out where you’re from.

You buy, or you don’t buy. But nearly every interaction ends with smiles if you bring one in with you. (A little French and a casual “Alhamdulillah” goes a long way, too.)

I drop into one stall to learn about saffron threads, another to try on traditional Berbere lipstick, made of poppies and henna and shaped into a rounded cone.

I buy three different kinds of harissa powder and Morocco’s world-famous ras el hanout, wondering what on earth I’m going to do with them. We snack on the most gorgeous, gooey dates I’ve ever eaten. Finally, we settle on a lunch spot in what seems to be the souq’s touristy corner, famished and overwhelmed in that wonderful, intrepid explorer sort of way.

After our late lunch, the sun is starting to drop, and women all around us pull their shawls and head scarves tighter. This is the high desert - hot and dry in the day, rather bone-chilling at night. We find our way out of the souq’s tightly wound maze of streets.

Slowly, at the outskirts, the streets begin to widen. We pass a street lined with bored carriage horses, tails flicking, and then a tall, angular mosque that casts shadows both beautiful and severe.

At the end of the road: Jamaâ El Fna, the medina’s big, open, famous square, where men charm snakes and vendors set up small tents and glittering light bulbs to hawk their wares after sunset.

I’ve read about this daily ritual, and I know now is the time to stake out a warm spot on a terrace, just above the square, to drink tea and watch night fall.

Later that evening, a colleague - who happens to be from Morocco - organizes a rather swanky dinner at a beautiful hotel called Dar Rhizlane.

It’s a fabulous affair that first introduces me to Marrakech’s grand tradition of hospitality, its elegant design aesthetic, and the careful balance of sweet and savory that makes its flavors unique.

Like the city itself, Dar Rhizlane is unbelievably opulent and somehow also really tasteful. It’s already night when we arrive, but the swaying orange blossoms and twinkling candles are that much more magical in the dark.

We’re treated to a head-spinning number of “salad” starters - much like tiny meze or tapas - followed by a succulent plate of lamb. (I know, I know. But seriously. In Morocco, ORDER THE LAMB.)

We eat, we drink, and at some point two men appear, clapping, singing and playing the sintir. A tray of dessert comes.

I’m a gonner.

Then, for the next two days, we work.

Some of us arrive back at the hotel in the evenings, revved up and ready to go exploring. Some relax with a hammam - the traditional Moroccan sauna and body scrub.

A few (luckily, not me!) get violently ill from some errant bite of food, whose exact source remains a subject of much office controversy.

I don’t do much. I’m saving my strength for the 24 hours I have free at the end of the conference, when I’ve made plans to meet friends-of-a-friend at the guesthouse she co-owns, called Dar Basyma, for a private cooking class.

It’s a Wednesday morning when I arrive at the little guesthouse - known as a riad - in the residential Bab Doukala neighborhood. (Marrakech is small, and everything is a walk or a short taxi ride away.)

Dar Basyma is cheerful and bright, featuring a sky-high ceiling complete with a retractable window at the top. The simple rooftop garden boasts breakfast tables and flowering vines. From there, a beautiful, enormous globe light fixture dangles into the guest house below, giving each of the four well-appointed bedrooms a bit of drama.

Mokhtar, who manages the guesthouse, kindly agrees to answer some of my burning questions about Marrakech. He runs Dar Basyma’s daily business, and his English is flawless - he says his Japanese is getting pretty good, too. He introduces me to Zineb and Mohamed - who work as Dar Basyma’s head cook and all-around go-to-guy, respectively - and with whom I shyly interact in my rusty old French.

The first thing Mokhtar tells me about Marrakech is something I’ve heard before.

“Rabat is Morocco’s administrative capital - where the government is,” he says, making himself comfortable as we settle into soft chairs for some tea. “Casablanca is the economic capital, and Fez is the spiritual center - it’s full of mosques. But Marrakech is the heart of Morocco.”

I want to know more about each of these sides of what, I’ve come to see, is a highly tolerant and surprisingly modern country. Mokhtar tells me that it’s a crime to insult any religion in Morocco, and while it’s an overwhelmingly Muslim country Fez is also home to thriving Jewish and Christian communities.

Both Mokhtar and Mohamed hail from the Sahara, and offer their services as guides to tourists seeking magical, overnight camel treks. Their descendants were proud Berbere nomads, the first peoples of Morocco, crossing the Sahara well before Arabs arrived.

The silence, the stars, the humbling expanse of nature - this is what many folks in and around Marrakech still crave as the city grows more and more developed. Many families still gather together for reunions in the high Atlas Mountains, or in the desert, each year. “We say here that the Sahara cleans the soul like water cleans the body,” explains Mokhtar.

But things are different in Morocco these days. Climate change is as in-your-face here as in any spot on earth, with the Sahara spreading north by some 50 meters each year. Many nomadic families have been forced to settle into towns, Mokhtar says, describing the impact of the worsening droughts on their herds.

Not a country to be left in the (literal and figurative) dust, Morocco has taken matters into its own hands in recent years.

In 2016, it launched a novel kind of solar power plant - producing something called concentrated solar power, or CSP - which is funded jointly by the government, the European Commission and various private companies. The Noor Power Complex, now in Phase III, has evolved into the largest CSP facility on earth.

CSP is complicated, but from what I can glean, small mirrors reflect the Sahara’s searing heat into a kind of molten salt that retains the energy - and renders it much more durable than older versions of solar.

The three Noor plants together offset more than 530,000 tons of CO2 each year, power much of Morocco, and may soon play a critical role in providing Europe’s energy, too.

Eventually, Mokhtar gets on with his daily business, leaving me in the capable hands of Zineb and Mohamed. We grab some totes (Morocco has banned plastic bags entirely) and head into their local souq - much smaller than the one I visited before - to pick up ingredients.

Today I’m learning to make one version (there are countless!) of Morocco’s undisputed national dish: Tagine!

The reason tagine has so many variations is that the word refers not to a recipe but to a cooking vessel, explains Zineb, whose smiley, motherly quality makes me feel instantly at home. Indeed, the cone-shaped clay pot is a Moroccan icon. It goes directly from stove top to the table and does it all - sears meat, holds stews or makes tall mounds of couscous. Every Moroccan kitchen has one, Zineb tells me, grabbing my arm to steer me clear of motorbikes as we walk.

Along the shop-lined alleyways, she and Mohamed greet neighbors and show off some of the best spots, like a stall with a shocking array of pickles and olives. They also know exactly where to go for our ingredients: vegetables, fresh herbs, hot bread, chicken.

Back in their kitchen, Zineb unwraps her headscarf and scrubs up, ready to get serious.

While she begins to prep, Mohamed - in his 20s, handsome, a little goofy - entertains me, showing me photos of his desert excursions and family members who still live there. I learn that, aside from his job at Dar Basyma, he is studying law, hoping to bring more a more accessible kind of justice to Morocco’s poorer communities.

In his Saharan home town of Zagora, he also helps support a new skills-training project for aging women - including his mother - which he says has revolutionized the way widows and divorcees live.

“Many women in the old days didn’t learn to read or write,” Mohamed explains, showing me photos on his cell phone of his mom’s latest lessons - tight, neat Arabic script with a teacher’s correction marks in red pen. He’s grinning, beaming with pride. “The younger generation is showing them how to do these things. They’re learning crafts and weaving, too.”

Mohamed has a broad smile, a great laugh and a touch of swagger. He loves photographs and music, and it’s not long before he’s put the famous Malian singer Ali Farka Touré on the speakers, grabbed my camera and started snapping shots of me cooking alongside Zineb.

A master of her craft, Zineb first teaches me to scrub away the gaminess of the chicken breasts, thighs and legs, using vinegar and salt crystals. We rinse and pat the bird dry, then shuck peas and slice vegetables - in this case, carrots, onions and potatoes. Finally, we chop a heap of parsley. (Mohamed helps, too, but mostly just to mug for photos.)

I’ve never seen a tagine used before. Zineb’s is outfitted with a metal diffuser base, which allows her to really crank up the heat without worrying about breaking the ceramic.

This is how she browns the chicken, which is first smeared with a paste of crushed garlic and grated red onion. We flip the pieces to cook on both sides, then top them with bigger chunks of onion, parsley, nibs of pungent preserved lemon, heaping spoonfuls of turmeric and ginger powder, and a finally a good drizzle of olive oil. We let this magic potion simmer.

I’m starting to realize that this is how flavor is built in a tagine - in layers.

We take the cone off again, this time adding grated tomatoes, peas and even more parsley to the mix. (Moroccans really like parsley.) Then Zineb arranges the carrots and potatoes in a kind of beautiful mosaic, topping it all with some hot red chilies. “Now we really let it cook,” she says.

The tagine does its thing for the next 30 minutes. Meanwhile, Mohamed shows me around, telling me excitedly about everything from his studies to the purifying “sand baths” that many tourists like to take in the Sahara, to the traditional mutton jerky that is a favorite snack for nomadic riders.

(At the moment, he’s particularly jazzed about some massive solar panels he’s about to install on Dar Basyma’s roof.)

He and I set the plates, and then I help Zineb carry the tagine - along with a simply dressed salad and some Moroccan bread - to the table. Mokhtar joins us for this feast, which they teach me to eat traditionally by reaching bits of bread into the tagine to scoop up “the good bits.”

The tagine is truly wonderful.

The clay pot stays hot on the table, and - as Zineb predicted - the finished product is quite rich with sauce, despite not having added an ounce of water or broth. She explains that the vegetables release liquid that then bounces off the sides of the cone, turning the entire vessel into a sort of spice-filled stew capsule.

After we eat, I bid Mohamed, Zineb and Mokhtar a warm goodbye. Zineb kisses my cheeks and even gives me my own little tagine to take home - right from her kitchen! - as I head out on my travels.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur of walking and trinket shopping and a worthwhile pit stop at the Jardin Majorelle. This early 1930s spot is an oasis of bubbling fountains and cacti and bamboo trees - one of the prettiest gardens I’ve ever visited.

On my last night in Marrakech, I arrange a dinner with some coworkers at a restaurant that came highly recommended, both by guidebooks and friends. With two locations, Al Fassia is a veritable female empire. It’s owned and run by a pair of sisters and staffed almost exclusively by women.

We eat (and drink) well, ordering a range of kababs, tagines and some surprisingly good bottles of Moroccan rosé.

The star of the meal, however, is the daily special - a braised lamb shoulder for two, tender to the point of dropping off our forks, and shared for the table. (The great photos you see below were snapped by my coworker, and a former field reporter, Robert.)

Needless to day, GO EAT HERE!

And for that matter, visit Dar Basyma, the Jardin, the souqs and everything else that beautiful Marrakech has to offer. Stay on the beaten paths and be smart. Buy some orange blossom oil, chat with locals, and don’t be afraid to try some damn meat on a stick.

Though happily spent, my own trip to Marrakech was far too short. Maybe next time, I’ll join you.

* * * * *

Chicken Tagine

INGREDIENTS

1/2 bone-in chicken, chopped into parts, skin removed

3 small red onions (1 grated, 2 chopped)

6 cloves garlic, crushed

4 medium potatoes, cut into 2-inch-long chunks

4 carrots, cut into inch-long pieces

1 medium tomato, grated (no skin)

1/2 cup fresh peas (shucked)

1 large bunch parsley, chopped finely

3-4 hot chilies (whole), if desired

1/2 preserved lemon (from a jar or homemade), sliced into 4-5 small chunks

5 tbs extra virgin olive oil

1 tbs coarse salt and about 1/2 cup white vinegar (for cleaning chicken)

2 heaping tsp ginger powder

2 heaping teaspoons turmeric powder

1 scant tsp cumin

1 tsp black pepper

Salt to taste

Good baguette or other bread slices for serving, if desired

EQUIPMENT

One large clay tagine, preferably with metal diffuser plate

DIRECTIONS

1.  Place chicken parts in a large bowl and douse with vinegar. Add coarse salt and scrub chicken flesh until soft, clean and not slimy. Rinse off salt in cold water, pat chicken dry, set aside.

2. Heat 1 tbs olive oil in the bottom of tagine over high heat. Meanwhile, rub chicken pieces with grated onion and crushed garlic. Place pieces in the bottom to brown, uncovered. Flip after brown on one side - about 5 minutes total.

3.  Once browned, sprinkle chicken with turmeric, ginger, cumin, pepper and about 1 tsp salt. Add half the parsley, chopped onion and preserved lemon. Cover and allow to cook about 5-10 more minutes.

4.  Open the tagine lid. Add grated tomato, peas, potatoes and carrots, arranging as desired for visual effect. Top with chilies if using.

5.  Cover tagine. The cone should have a very small hole to release a bit of the steam - if not, or if you want less steam, jimmy a spoon between the tagine dish and the cone. Cook undisturbed for 30 minutes.

6. Uncover and test the chicken. It should be fully cooked and tender. Serve directly from the tagine, dishing onto plates, and encourage guests to use bits of bread to soak up the juices - directly from the tagine, like a true Moroccan!