FOOD

 I promised a communal oven photo. Here you go!

Fez, as far as I can tell, doesn’t really have a restaurant culture. My first restaurant experience was disappointing: we went as a whole group to a touristic restaurant in the old medina before our guided tour last Sunday. The vegetarian tagine I ordered was bland and about 75% potatoes. The water was overpriced (10 dh for a small bottle, whereas 1.5 liter bottles are just 6 dh at the hanoots), and the service was less than satisfactory. We concluded that food in Morocco would be best in the home, where women who learned from their mothers cook every day with ingredients bought fresh from the market.

Spices, oranges, clementines, and more for sale at the souk.

We were correct. The food at my homestay has been more than phenomenal. On the rollercoaster of study abroad, the comfort of a hot meal waiting at home cannot be underestimated. Breakfast is a reliable assortment of baguette, delicious tangy spreadable cheese, flavourful mesquta (Moroccan breakfast cake), sweet mint tea, and today, since it was Saturday, a fried egg with cumin and sea salt. Lunch and dinner are always surprises, although couscous is a Friday tradition. I’d had couscous once already before yesterday, at the riad that we stayed at on Sunday night. The meal leading up to the couscous – the soup, dates, and dozens of salads – had been one of the most flavourful and diverse meals of my life. The couscous, however, was a disappointing finale: it was good, it was fine, but it wasn’t up to the excitement level set by the rest of the meal. But after a week of my host mother’s cooking, when she said we’d have couscous, I had confidence that it would be delicious.

It was. Like all Moroccan food so far, it was not served in isolation. Soup is always accompanied by shubakiya and dates. Beans and lentils come with a salad and a pickled vegetable; today at lunch we were treated to pickled carrots, tangy and zesty. Couscous, we found out, is served with harissa, a condiment made from spicy red peppers and paprika. I found it in a supermarket aisle in Chicago once, and love using it to add flavour to soups and sauces. Here, we mixed it into the couscous to add a bit of heat, with a savory broth added as well. The onions were caramelized, the carrots were so deliciously carroty, and the couscous itself was like eating a cloud. I wish I were going to be in Fez next Friday just to eat my host mother’s couscous again! Hopefully my family in Rabat also cooks well – fortunately or unfortunately, I now have a high standard.

 A sweets seller in the old medina. The cylindrical pile to the right is a glorious golden stack of shubakiya.

Even my restaurant expectations were raised today. Our host brother had said he’d take us to his friend’s birthday party, but plans changed and when I called from our designated meeting spot, he told us we were no longer going. My roommate and I quickly called a friend who was meeting some other students for an early dinner – they’d gone hiking and had missed lunch. We met up with the group, even though we’d eaten not too long ago, and went to Restaurant des Jeunes, right near Bab Bejloud, the entrance to the old medina. I just ordered a glass of sweet almond milk, but the others took advantage of the prix fixe option: soup or salad, couscous or tagine, and clementines for 40 dh ($5). We were also served bottomless Moroccan bread, ample harissa, and lentils. The tea that some people ordered came with delicious marzipan-filled crescents. Although nothing was quite as good as our host family’s meals, it came surprisingly close.

Although the souk and hanoots are the main source of daily foodstuffs, supermarkets do exist. About twelve of us took an expedition to Marjan, the Moroccan version of Target (plus a produce section). Some of the aisles could have been straight from the United States: notebooks, tape, staplers; cleaning supplies, toilet paper, towels. And then you’d happen upon a bin of tagine pots; the olive section, brimming with tempting varieties with pickled lemons and veggies as well; the couscous, available only in bulk next to pyramids of dry pasta; or the spices, a giant rainbow display. The chocolate-hazelnut-vanilla spread section offered a staggering selection. Our host family buys the Pop Cream brand, and the jar is always out and open at breakfast, but between the very sweet tea and the breakfast cake, my body can’t handle any more sugar before 10 a.m., so I reach for the Laughing Cow cheese instead.

 

 So. Much. Choco-hazelnut cream.

And thanks to the hanoots, bakeries, and street vendors, Fez has a very healthy snacking scene. Lunch is usually taken around 1:30 or 2, and dinner around 8:30, so snack-time falls anywhere from 4-7 (or, since everything looks incredibly delicious, all the time). I did indeed try some cashews from our favorite hanoot yesterday – possibly the best (and least expensive) cashews I’ve ever eaten, freshly roasted and lightly salted. And today I tried a cookie from a wandering street vendor – like a giant French macaron, less delicate and more satisfying (and only 2 dirhams, or about 25 cents).

I promise I do more in Morocco than just eat! But in a city like Fez, touristic destinations are limited. It was built for being lived in, not necessarily enjoyed. The new part, the Ville Nouveau, echoes Spain and France. It was built by the French, and features wide streets with gardens in the middle, and looks exactly like a slightly dingy and much longer Calle Independencia in Zaragoza. The dinginess isn’t a sign of inferiority – all of Fez looks rather dusty and drab from the outside. Since Islamic culture places an emphasis on humility and privacy, one is not supposed to show one’s wealth with an elaborate or ornate façade. On the inside, most of the buildings are gorgeous, with lovely tiling and plasterwork. But from the outside, they are all equally gray. This is especially true in the old city, Fez al-Bali, where we live and study. Our school, which is incredibly beautiful on the inside, looks like every other building on the street. Fez al-Bali is devoid of gardens or public spaces besides a few squares with fountains and the souk. The mosques are, I’m sure, breathtakingly beautiful, but non-Muslims are barred from entering. (Understandably – I imagine gaping tourists and flashing cameras are not conducive to private reflection and prayer.) So after a day spent wandering the old market, Fez doesn’t have much to offer to tourists.

Luckily, we are not tourists. Between our families, snack time, and studying in Café Clock, we manage to find lots to appreciate in this quotidian city.