Fish Tagine with Preserved Lemon, Olives, Grapefruit and Saffron

Rainy Winter Weather, Rubber Boots and Tagine

Like the rain I have fallen for you and I know just why you liked the rain. 

Always calling for you I'm falling for you now, just like the rain. 

- Clint Black

The week has been spent searching for boots. Not just any boots; no, that would be too easy. We have been looking high and low for two pairs of rubber boots, our own rubber boots that have mysteriously disappeared from our home.


The winter in Nantes has been a particularly rainy one. The weather mild, bearable, but capricious and none too pleasant. One day slides into the next, a long, tranquil river, as the French say. Rain to sun to fog to fine mist. And back to sun. Shut up in the house for days on end, as soon as the sun makes its appearance all we want to do is pack a snack, leash up the dog and head outside the city for a romp in the vineyards or the forest. But because of all of the rain, the rubber boots are a must. Slogging through muddy fields in city shoes takes the joy out of the outing. We both could have sworn that we have used the boots since our move into the new apartment last October, but in that case you would think that finding two pairs of rubber boots in bright lemon yellow, flashy red, forest green or marine blue in a mere 100 square meters would be easy.

Stuck in the house as we are, the search for those damn boots has become somewhat of an obsession, leading us upstairs to our cold, damp attic to comb through dusty sacks and bags and old laundry baskets filled with the dregs of an apartment renovation. And down in the packed basement with boxes piled up to the ceiling. Three, four, ten times we have been up and down searching, opening up every suitcase, peering in all the bags, sticking our hands inside the big boxes stuffed with baby clothes, books and old videocassettes. To no avail. This has been a head scratcher.

Meanwhile, the rain is back and this crazy godforsaken weather has us cooking more often, stews and tagines rather than simply throwing together salads or baguette, cheese and fruit. Wet, misty, chilly weather oblige, we have certainly needed richer, warming, more comforting dishes to curl up with of an evening. As husband has been doing more and more of the cooking, we have been eating North African tagines frequently. I sit perched on a stool and watch him throw things into the big pot leaving a trail of carrot and potato peelings, garlic skins and bits of chopped herbs strewn across the back counter under the window; he, unlike his wife, has never been a “clean as you go guy” but I don’t ever complain or I know he’ll refuse to cook. His two years in Morocco before we met has greatly influenced his cooking, and what better than a tagine to ward away the winter blues, brighten up a dreary, foggy day?

Wandering through our local covered market early in the day, he had decided that he was going to replace the usual chicken or lamb for fish. Two thick filets of codfish joined dazzling preserved lemons, fat, slick, dark salty olives, fresh coriander and tiny sweet sultanas in our basket. He decided to add a bit of winter brightness and a mild tang by adding the sections of half a pink grapefruit. Any great basic tagine recipe can usually be made with either lamb, chicken or fish interchangeably, and preserved lemons and olives often find their way into husband’s Moroccan dishes no matter the main ingredients. The grapefruit and the saffron were new additions, but equally at home in the culture and the cuisine; the darkness in the apartment required some sunshine in the kitchen.

As the tagine was simmering, our older son dropped by with a curious request. “I’m going to another costume party,” he began, avoiding direct eye contact hoping that I wouldn’t ask questions. “Do you have any feathers left over from your hatmaking days that I can have?” So I slipped on sneakers and a sweater and followed him down to the basement where all of my millinery supplies are stored. We dragged the bikes out of the way and he climbed up on the ladder and started shifting the top boxes around to get to the cartons labeled “chapeaux”. All of a sudden he said “hey, mom… could this be the rubber boots you guys have been looking for?” as he pointed to a box on which the words RUBBER BOOTS were written in big, black magic marker letters.

With four pairs of rubber boots lined up in front of the floor-to-ceiling kitchen cabinets behind the bar stools and the rain slithering down the window, a watery sunlight filtering through the white net curtains, husband ladles fish tagine onto golden mounds of couscous grains, setting half a preserved lemon and a jumble of olives close to the cod. Sitting cozily side by side at the bar in our warm kitchen, still chuckling about the damn boots as we wait for another break in the temperamental weather, we savor the blend of flavors, the tender but firm white fish, the delicate yet flavorful sauce bright with saffron and a hint of lemon, the salty bite of the olives, the tangy nip of coriander and I realize how such a complex, exotic yet thoroughly comforting dish is as good as stomping through the mud and puddles in the sunshine after the rain. 

FISH TAGINE WITH PRESERVED LEMON, OLIVES, GRAPEFRUIT & SAFFRON
Serves 2 people

As with most tagines and most of my husband’s cooking, amounts of each ingredient vary depending upon your individual taste, so quantities are estimations.

2 thick codfish filets or other dense white fish
1 clove garlic, peeled and chopped
1 small yellow onion, peeled and chopped
½ a round zucchini, peeled and cut into small cubes
1 or 2 potatoes, peeled and cut into small cubes
½ green pepper, trimmed, seeds and white ribs removed, pepper chopped
½ or more pink grapefruit supremes (only the segments, none of the membranes; see here)
1 preserved lemon (citron confit), halved or quartered
2 Tbs tiny dried sultanas
1 cup olives, preferably purple olives
Ras al Hanout for coating the fish filets
Curcuma or saffron, a pinch or so
Red Adobo Chili powder, to taste
Salt and Pepper
Fresh coriander 

Rub the fish filets with ras al hanout and a bit of the adobo chili powder on both sides.

Heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil or equal parts olive oil and margarine in a large pot over medium heat. Once hot, add the chopped onions and garlic, stir to coat, then place the fish skin side down to sear quickly; flip and sear quickly on the other side; you want the outside of the fish to color and shrink slightly but not cook through.

Carefully remove the fish from the pot, lift out and place on a plate. Add the potato and zucchini cubes, the green pepper, the preserved lemon, the sultanas and the grapefruit supremes to the pot; cover with water, salt and pepper then add a pinch of saffron, a bit more of the ras al hanout and adobo chili powder and allow to simmer until the potatoes are tender; add water as needed, you do not want the water to boil away. Once all of the vegetables are very soft, return the fish to the pot with the olives and a couple of tablespoons of chopped fresh coriander, allow to simmer just until the fish are cooked through, adding more water if needed. Taste the sauce and adjust the seasonings.

Serve over hot couscous grains, garnished with a bit more coriander.

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JP’S MOROCCAN PRESERVED LEMON & OLIVE CHICKEN TAGINE

TAGINE DE POULET AUX CITRONS CONFITS ET OLIVES

Life is either a great adventure or nothing. 

– Helen Keller 

Some children are just born for adventure, have it in their blood, jump into new undertakings with both feet, laughing out loud. Clem was this child, courageous and curious. Happily dipping into a ditch, river or lake with both hands, a net or a fishing rod, buckets of snails or tadpoles or frogs found their way back home. Ever fearless, he tromped through woods, fields, beaches looking for animals, treasures, mushrooms, waltzed through museums and monuments, up dizzying tower staircases, boarded airplanes all alone which would take him flying off to far-away lands when he was all but a tiny four-year-old surrounded by strangers. And at ten, he and his father giddily prepared their backpacks for their newest adventure, a trekking holiday through the Moroccan desert.

I was knee-deep in researching my genealogy and vacationed in New York every chance I could get, spending my days at the archives and evenings meeting relatives newly discovered and quizzing them about family. The particular summer in question found me boarding a plane to the States, Simon’s small 8-year-old fist firmly in my hand and JP and Clem heading south to Morocco. While I was skimming birth records, naturalization certificates and keeping a small boy calm with an endless supply of superhero figurines and slices of pizza, JP was showing Clem the Old Country, the place he fell in love with all those many years ago.

 Photo courtesy of JP

They spent a glorious week in hiking boots, kicking up sand, days under the burning sun, nights tucked up in sleeping bags under the inky star-lit sky. Huge communal tents were set up for lunches and dinners, two gentlemen preparing tagines and couscous, salads and fruits, fresh breads to see them through the days. Clem was in his element, buoyant and excited, rolling down hills, sliding down mountains on the seat of his pants, running instead of walking, always twenty five paces ahead of his father. Nothing tired him out, nothing slowed him down. Food was gulped down, tents were put up, our little boy could have extended his adventure for an added week and he would not have flinched. While the only other child in the group – the same age as ours – whined and complained, cursed and caused trouble, Clem enjoyed himself thoroughly. Clem lived every single moment to the fullest in great pleasure and delight.

 Photo courtesy of JP

But two days or three were spent alone with his father in Marrakech. Clem and JP stayed in tiny hostels, a place to stash their luggage and lay their heads at night. Days were spent exploring the city, the markets, the sites, sounds, odors and flavors of Morocco. JP was back in his old stomping grounds, a place he knows so well, a culture he loves. And nothing thrilled him more than sharing this with his son, imparting the joy, the pleasure and the knowledge of this magical city, this fascinating country. And the food! For their very first meal in Morocco together, Clem ordered a Chicken Tagine with preserved lemons and olives. A big, bold order for such a young man, a meal bursting with flavors, salty, tangy, exciting! But Clem had always been a great eater, a bold eater and he was afraid of nothing. Driven by his passion for eating and his adventurous spirit, his curiosity and the excitement of being in a strange new country all alone, man to man, with his dad, he ordered this new dish. And fell in love with it. And for those several days, both before and after the hike, every mealtime found him ordering the same dish, Tagine de Poulet aux Citrons Confits et Olives – Chicken Tagine with Preserved Lemons and Olives.

We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries 

every day with new experience and character. 

– Henry David Thoreau 

And once back home in the bosom of his family, our occasional jaunt to a Moroccan restaurant would find him perpetuating his far-away experience, titillating both taste buds and memories with the same dish, Tagine de Poulet aux Citrons Confits et Olives – Chicken Tagine with Preserved Lemons and Olives. And JP and I would smile at each other, understanding that that particular dish was not only infused with the bright flavors of olives, saffron and lemon, but with happy memories and that special father-son connection they shared in the sand.

And now, whenever JP decides to make this dish, we make sure Clem is there at the table with us and we smile… he may have forgotten that long ago trip to Morocco, that time spent exploring and dining out with his father, but we see that same ten year old, excited, talkative, adventurous, again and again, every time we serve this dish to him. Like magic.

JP makes this dish regularly with either chicken or fish. He cooks, as he says, au pif, by instinct, and any Tagine – any dish he makes – is adjusted as he goes along so the amount of liquid added, the cooking time, the amount of herbs or spices is all dependent upon taste and the immediate. The homey one-pot dishes he cooks usually are best prepared in advance, allowing the dish the time to sit, the sauce to thicken, the flavors to blend and meld and infuse the meat. Play around…. taste as you go. I have attempted to pin him down to specific amounts and cooking times, but do not be afraid to adjust as needed, to increase amounts to serve more people, to feel your way along the process. The basic directions are more than simple, and can be applied to almost any stew or tagine.

Find the inner child in you, kick up the adventure and enjoy.

TAGINE DE POULET AUX CITRONS CONFITS
Serves 4

Prepare the Tagine ahead of time to allow the chicken, once cooked, to sit for at least 20 minutes before reheating and serving.

1 chicken cut in pieces or 2 breast filets + 2 leg/thigh sections
½ preserved lemon (citron confit)
½ ladleful (a dozen or so) large purple olives
2 small onions, peeled, trimmed and finely chopped
1 clove garlic, peeled, trimmed and minced
Small potatoes, as many as desired for four people, peeled and cut into large cubes
1 small bouillon cube (stock cube)
½ tsp saffron powder, turmeric *
Salt and pepper

* One can also purchase yellow “saffron” powder in tiny sachets of individual portions; in France it is sold for making couscous, in Italy for making Risotto Milanese. Use one sachet or tiny packet for this Tagine.

Heat equal parts margarine and olive oil, not more than a tablespoon of each, in a large heavy-bottom pot or Dutch oven. Add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring, until tender and golden. Add the chicken pieces and toss/turn to coat with the oil; cook until golden on all sides. Add the potatoes and toss to coat.

Add the saffron powder or turmeric and the salt and pepper, toss the chicken and potatoes until everything is uniformly yellow; add the stock cube, the olives, the half preserved lemon cut in two pieces and 1 bowl of water (about a cup to a cup and a half), cover the pot and allow to simmer for at least 20 minutes or until the chicken and potatoes are cooked through and tender. Toss the chicken and potatoes occasionally during the cooking and add a little bit of water if and when necessary, if the level of water gets too low.

Once cooked, turn off the pot and, leaving it covered, allow to sit and cool a bit, at least 20 minutes – this is a dish that can easily be prepared ahead of time. Before serving, place the Tagine back on a low heat and slowly bring to a simmer; allow to simmer for 10 to 20 minutes to allow the sauce to thicken while the chicken and potatoes heat through. If the sauce is too thick or has evaporated, add more water before simmering; if the sauce is too watery, simply allow it to cook down on a very low simmer until desired consistency.

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QUICHES, KUGELS, and COUSCOUS by Joan Nathan

PART II: La Culture Quiche (It’s all French to Me)


A multi-cultural marriage is nothing if it isn’t a life of concession and compromise. I showed up on my wedding day wrapped in a cloak of family heritage, carrying a bagful of traditions and joined my lot to a man with a different set of unmatched luggage. Religious beliefs (spiced, for one of us, by a very large pinch of skepticism), holidays and festivals, national pride, habits and ideas of the way things should work have been put to the test, talked over, played with, balanced out. Some points have been conceded, rituals pared back, concessions made, certain traditions eliminated and others adopted and all in the name of a happy marriage and what simply works best in the country and culture where we set up house and unpack the suitcases.

And nowhere is this more obvious than in our culinary traditions. We may travel the world, move from one country to another, experiment with this dish or that, but one thing we all carry with us, the one aspect of our culture that generations of immigrants have kept close to their hearts, loathe to leave behind, is our cuisine and the rituals that surround it. And as our grandmothers and great-grandmothers before us adapted their Old World recipes to New World ingredients, new cooking methods and a new life, we try and prepare our childhood and family favorites, the traditional dishes of our ancestors, the celebratory and festive meals as we know them yet are often inspired by a new culture or simply by necessity to adapt, change, transform. Over time we merge recipes, toss in a new spice or herb, lighten an otherwise heavy dish or blend cultural influences and in the process we end up creating an entirely new and very personal culinary repertoire.


Joan Nathan’s newest cookbook, Quiches, Kugels, and Couscous (My Search for Jewish Cooking in France) is all about this culinary phenomenon. Just flip through the book and you will see a seemingly incomprehensible mish-mash of French, Yiddish, North African words and recipes. But look closer and you will see a fascinating blend of communities, origins, styles and flavors and once you read her culinary history of the Jews in France you’ll understand completely. “Even though some of the oldest Jewish recipes have been subsumed into French regional cuisine, you can often recognize ancient cooking in the dishes the Jews are serving today,” Ms. Nathan explains. She goes on to show that “between intermarriage, travel, expulsion, changing food ways, and different waves of immigration, it is often difficult to trace with precision the path of Jewish cooking in France.” Their history is a complex one and reflected in their delicious and diverse yet wholly traditional dishes.


My own cooking is a perfect example of this cultural fusion: Latkes are served every Hanukkah but now have that special touch of caramelized shallots. Passover finds us enjoying Matzoh Brei like my mom made but now it is served with a luscious slice of smoked salmon and a dollop of crème fraîche. An Alsatian fish choucroute now makes a fabulously festive holiday meal paired with a dense, golden Challah. And that Challah, the sweet brioche-like bread traditionally baked, braided and eaten every Shabbat eve, pairs so well with a good, nutty French comté or salty Roquefort and a tad stale makes a dynamite Pain Perdu, French toast. And now, thanks to Joan Nathan’s fabulous Quiches, Kugels, and Couscous, on we go. My recipe index for holidays as well as every day has just gotten thicker, my discovery of a whole panoply of new flavors and dishes adds zest to my cooking. Her intriguing look at the evolution of French Jewish cooking illustrates this merging of cultural influences, the blending of religious and secular components, the marriage of Jewish and French all leading to the creation of a tantalizing, original yet still thoroughly traditional cuisine unique to the Jews of France. The history Ms. Nathan recounts as well as the fantastic, mouth-watering array of recipes is fascinating not only to the Jewish cooks among us but will appeal to everyone. Why? Across the world and over time most cuisines have traveled, evolved and been transformed into the foods and dishes we recognize today. Each culture holds their traditions dear and close to the heart but revels in the gustatory changes that time and movement allows for.


Once again, I have chosen 3 recipes from this wonderful book and, once again, we were absolutely delighted with each of them. The first is a North African-inspired Chicken dish tangy with cured black olives and preserved lemons with an unusual touch of honey and simmered in a very French white wine, cultural fusion at its best. My husband selected the second recipe: a French cake or quick bread filled with fresh goat cheese and comté, redolent of mint and studded with either chopped dried apricots (Ms. Nathan’s version) or dried cranberries (my version). And finally, a dessert. I knew that I couldn’t go for very long without delving into her fabulous selection of sweet treats and I stumbled upon one that is doubly perfect: Gâteau de Hannouka, a Polish Hanukkah Apple Cake. As we are right in the middle of Hanukkah celebrations, I wanted to make something special for this festive occasion, but I also knew that any cake with apples is a favorite of my husband’s. A slice of my Jewish heritage served up with something ooh-la-la so French.


Now, on my previous post I offered you all three recipes for Joan Nathan’s Chicken with Apples and Cinnamon, the French Potato Salad with Shallots and Parsley and the Parisian Pletzl. But I can’t give all of her recipes away, now can I? I have decided to share with you one of the recipes yet my opinion of all three.


QUICK GOAT CHEESE BREAD with Mint and Apricots

A savory bread definitely meant to be eaten fresh from the oven, this Goat Cheese Bread – or cake, as the French would call it – is chock full of not only crumbled fresh goat cheese but nutty Comté, Gruyère or Cheddar cheese as well, whichever you prefer. While the recipe calls for chopped dried apricots, I preferred to use a cup of dried cranberries, which added a marvelous tangy sweetness to offset and compliment the nuttiness of the cheese. A handful of fresh or dried mint adds something fresh and colorful to this beautiful bread. A wonderful treat to serve simply alongside a salad or a bowl of soup for a complete meal. As easy and quick to put together as the name indicates, this bread has found its way onto my “bake-me-often” list of recipes.


HONEY-COATED BAKED CHICKEN with Preserved Lemon

Although Ms. Nathan offers us a more straight-forward traditional Moroccan Chicken with Olives and Preserved Lemons, I decided to make her Honey-Coated Baked Chicken with Preserved Lemons which is more of a fusion dish, combining “a Moroccan flavor to classic French roasted chicken.” I loved the addition of sweet honey – I am crazy about sweet & sour meat dishes – and found that baking the chicken simmering in honey and wine produced fragrant, extremely tender meat. As my own baking dish is smaller than the recommended 9 x 13-inch casserole, I used less chicken and therefore cut back the preserved lemons from 4 to 3. We still found that the flavor of these citrons confits was too strong and next time I make this dish – which I definitely will – I will use only two preserved lemons. And after I had made the Chicken with Apples and Honey I learned my lesson and poured only enough of the liquid over the chicken to come about 2/3 the way up, allowing the surface of the pieces to stay above the liquid in order to brown. A gorgeous, flavorful dish to serve simply with couscous.


GÂTEAU de HANNOUKA (Polish Hanukkah Apple Cake)

A whole lot of apples for not a lot of batter makes for one delicious cake. This recipe calls for vegetable oil which 1) makes it perfect for Hanukkah as foods cooked in or with oil are traditional, 2) makes this cake parve, allowed with either meat or dairy meals following the laws of Kashrut and 3) makes for one super moist yet extremely light cake. I made this apple-filled, cinnamon-infused cake in my dad’s old, original Bundt cake pan as Ms. Nathan does but the amount of apples in the batter makes it a tad difficult to hold together attractively (as if Jews ever cared about food being attractive as long as it is fabulously delicious!). The next time I will find a 9 x 13-inch baking pan so I can simply slice and lift out huge squares of it to serve along with a cup of coffee. JP gave this fruity cake a two thumbs up and called it really, really good. And it is. Overflowing with chunks of sweet and tart apples tossed in cinnamon, the cake is moist, tender and absolutely delicious. I can just picture my Bubbe, my grandma, asking for seconds. And thirds. Well, so did my French husband.


1 cup vegetable oil, plus more for greasing the pan
5 apples (3 Fuji and 2 Granny Smith or Reines-des-Reinettes, or any combination of sweet and tart apples which, when baked, become meltingly tender yet hold their shape), peeled, cored and cut into ½-inch (1 cm) cubes, about 6 cups of chunks
Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon *
1/3 cup walnut halves, roughly chopped **
1 ½ tsp ground cinnamon
2 cups flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/8 tsp salt
2 Tbs chopped almonds (I used 2 Tbs ground almonds)
1 ¼ cups + 2 Tbs sugar, divided
4 large eggs
¼ tsp almond extract

* I had no lemons so I eliminated this. I tossed about a teaspoon of vanilla extract with the cinnamon and apples instead.
** As JP cannot eat walnuts, I did not add them and found the nutless version perfect!

Preheat oven to 350°F (180°C). Grease either a Bundt pan or a 9 x 13-inch baking pan.

Toss the cubed apples with the zest and juice of the lemon*, the walnuts** and the cinnamon together in a large bowl.

Pulse (in a food processor) or mix (with an electric hand mixer) together the flour, baking powder, salt, chopped or ground almonds and 1 ¼ cups of the sugar together. With the processor or mixer running, gradually pour in the eggs, oil and almond extract, processing or mixing just until well blended.

Spoon 1/3 of the batter over the bottom of the prepared pan. Scatter the apples on top then cover the apples with the remaining batter, smoothing. Sprinkle the remaining 2 tablespoons (you’ll need less if using a Bundt pan) evenly over the top of the cake.

Bake for 45 to 60 minutes or until golden and cooked through. The cake will take the shorter amount of time if using the shallower baking pan than in the Bundt pan.


Allow to completely cool on a cooling rack before loosening the cake and turning it out of the pan.

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LAMB KEFTA WRAPPED IN FILO DOUGH

PRETTY AS A PICTURE


I love surprises, little somethings wrapped up in pretty paper and elegant ribbon, shiny satin or lush velvet. Rings slipped into tiny silk sachets pushed across a white tablecloth or chocolates wrapped up in gold, tucked into tissue paper that rustles as I choose. I remember when my dad parked the new car he had bought my mom on the front lawn all decked out in a giant, bright red ribbon, the bow sitting jauntily atop the roof as he led her out of the house to see. Marty wrapped up in JP’s jacket against the March cold, baby face just peeping out from between the lapels, a little bundle of joy. Special gifts in boxes much too big simply to throw me off the scent or presents hidden under the coats in the back of the closet for curious hands to find, searching in the dark days before Christmas. Parcels that come in the post enveloped in brown paper and string, ripping it open after days or weeks of anticipation.


Old black & white movies, images of elegant women wrapped in luxurious furs back in the days when it was politically correct; movie star poses, fur sliding softly down, caressing bare skin, a shoulder bared just so, coat parted to reveal a shimmering gown and just enough leg to excite imaginations. Children running out of the chilly surf, scooped up and quickly wrapped in beach towels, their plush warmth all cuddly and safe.


Or simply wrapped up in his arms.


Or what about rice wrapped up in grape leaves or delicate slivers of fish swathed in dark, glistening nori, dark jewel-like prunes wrapped in bacon and grilled, the sweetness of the fruit mingling sensuously with the saltiness of the meat, fresh, tangy goat cheese snuggled into smooth smoky roasted red pepper, bananas and strawberries enrobed in warm, sexy chocolate smearing lips and dripping down fingers.


Why are things wrapped in something else so attractive, so delicious? Why do they remind us of presents from loved ones, exciting surprises? or snuggling deep down into blankets or wrapped up in the warmth and glow of a burning fire?

I love lamb. It’s my predilection. If I have my druthers – and I usually do – I cook lamb. But after all the tagines and couscous, the roasts and the chops, I was in the mood for something fun, something special, something to surprise. These gorgeous, flavorful keftas wrapped up in filo (phyllo) dough are a special treat indeed. They were inspired by a recipe I saw in Cuisine & Vins de France and were greeted, as I placed them on the table, piled high, in front of my men, by ooohs and ahhhs. Biting into the crispy wrap, tasting the savory filling and the room was filled with mmmmms.


KEFTA WRAPPED IN FILO DOUGH

20 – 25 oz (600 – 700 g) ground/minced lamb
6 sheets of filo (phyllo) dough
2 slices white bread
3/8 cup (100 ml) milk (if you don’t mix milk and meat, replace with water)
2 onions
2 Tbs pine nuts
1 large egg
1 small bunch fresh coriander
1 tsp liquid honey
1 tsp allspice
½ tsp ground cumin
½ tsp ground coriander
Salt & freshly ground black pepper
Olive oil or melted butter for the filo dough


Place the ground/minced lamb in a large mixing bowl.

Finely chop the 2 onions. Heat a large skillet, preferably non-stick, over medium heat and add a little oil, butter or margarine. Cook the chopped onions for several minutes until caramelized a golden brown.

Beat the egg in a small bowl. Measure out the spices. Soak the two slices of bread in the milk until soaked then squeeze out all of the excess milk. Chop the soaked and squeezed bread finely. Finely chop the fresh coriander.


Add the caramelized onions, the bread, the beaten egg, the chopped coriander, the honey, the spices and the pine nuts to the ground lamb. Add the spices to the meat and generously salt and pepper.


Using your hands, blend all the ingredients with the ground meat until completely and evenly combined.


Spread a sheet of parchment paper out on a large serving platter or an oven tray. Form the meat mixture into quenelles or cylinders of even thickness and about 2 or 3 inches (5 to 8 cm) long and 1 to 1 ½ inches (2 to 3 cm) wide. Lay them on the parchment paper as you prepare them.


Heat back up the skillet you used to fry the chopped onions over medium heat. Add a little oil if it is not non-stick. Brown the quenelles of lamb on all sides, lowering the heat to medium-low if it seems too hot, about 8 minutes each batch. Do not overcrowd. They will still be pink in the center (they will finish cooking in the oven. Remove the browned lamb quenelles to another baking sheet or platter as you go and continue cooking until all of the quenelles are browned.


Preheat the oven to 410°F (210°C). Line a large baking tray or cookie sheet with parchment paper.

Working with one sheet of filo dough at a time, brush the sheet with olive oil or melted butter. Evenly slice the sheets into long strips, slicing lengthwise into widths as wide as your quenelles (I divided my strips into lengths 3” (8 cm) wide, the width of my quenelles. Place a quenelle on the end of a strip and simply roll up, sealing the end with a bit more oil or butter. Place, seem side down, on the lined baking sheet. You can place them fairly close together if need be. Brush the outsides with more olive oil or butter.


Bake them for about 10 minutes until golden brown. The meat peeking out each end should be sizzling. Serve immediately.


We ate these with olives, but they would be delicious dipped in a spicy dipping sauce or even a cool, tangy tzatziki-type sauce. You can accompany them with a salad of tomatoes, cucumbers and onions. They can be made smaller to serve as finger foods or hors d’oeuvres.

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MOROCCAN HARIRA SPICY LAMB SOUP AND MOUFLETA FLATBREAD

Tell me a story, my dear…

Many years ago, a young man graduated university and stepped away from those crazy, wild college days to come face to face with adulthood and his obligations : military service. Either he could sign up to do one year traditional army training here in France or he could leave the country and find a job somewhere out in the wide, wide world where he would then be asked to stay for two years. Now our favorite son being no traditional kind of guy, “adventure” his middle name, he made the choice to head on out. So suitcase packed, off he went to discover Morocco.


Veterinary diploma in hand, he quickly found a job, and a most interesting one it was (and he will absolutely freak out when he discovers that I am telling you all this story, but it is too funny NOT to put it in here…) : he was hired to work for the King’s brother at his Ostrich Farm, and was put in charge of the incubators (the nursery, I guess you could call it).


Things went along swimmingly for the first week, 10 days, until that fateful morning when he walked in and found all the eggs cooked! Yes, indeed. Someone (who? Hmmm?) had placed their empty coffee cup on top of the incubator, right on the temperature gauge, pushing the temperature up to “bake”…. Poor little things….

So off he went to look for another job. He ended up teaching Biology at the University of Rabat for two years and enjoyed every minute of his stay, traveling, exploring, discovering. Fascinated by this country and her people, he dove in and became a part of it. He has never been one to stand apart, play the “expat”, aloof and clubby with the French community. The chance to live in another country, another culture is truly something to be grabbed and hugged close to your heart, learning the language, the customs, hanging out with the neighbors and getting to know how life works. And he was fascinated, fascinated by the openness and friendliness of the people, enamored by this family-oriented culture.


Camera in hand, he crossed the desert, strolled the markets, hung out in cafés and visited workshops. He watched the children play in the street, the workers on their donkeys, the ritual slaughtering of animals; wherever he could insinuate himself he was sure to go.


And in between, he learned to cook. He loved to hang out in the kitchens wherever he happened to be rooming, and watch the women cook. He loved the food, the tagines and the couscous, the Pastilla, the gazelle’s horns and the loukoum. He loved to cook and learned while in his mother’s kitchen, and here was a whole new world opening up in front of him.


And master this wonderful, exotic, spice-filled cuisine he did. He has been passing on his knowledge to me slowly but surely over the past 20 years, yet he is the better cook of us two. We are lucky enough to live in a country with a large North African community, which means that the spices, the preserved lemons, the choice of olives and other ingredients are only a step away. He takes the basic recipes and improvises, from lamb to chicken to fish, from olives to lemon to prunes and dates. And I am never far behind, eating it all with pleasure.

Children with JP's magical dog Morgane, born on the beach in Morocco

Several years ago, he took Clem on a 2-week trekking holiday across the Sahara, starting and ending the trip in Casablanca. During the trip, the cooking equipment was transported on the backs of donkeys and set up before each meal in a tent, where the Moroccan men would cook and everyone would sit in a circle on carpets and eat. Clem fell in love with this wonderful cuisine as well at the tender age of 10.

Harira is a thick, fragrant, spicy soup of chickpeas, tomato and lamb, spiced up and then flavored with lemon and fresh coriander, traditionally eaten during the month of Ramadan each night to break the day’s fast. JP explained that vendors ladle out bowls of this soup from huge vats in the marketplaces around the city. I originally found my first recipe for Harira in a wonderful little cookbook called The Book of Soups by Lorna Rhodes. It is a rather easy soup to put together, then simply simmered, lemon and coriander added just before serving. JP tasted mine and raved that it was exactly like the soup he ate in Morocco. A compliment indeed!


Moufleta is a kind of crêpe or blini from the Jewish communities of North Africa, often eaten either to end the Yom Kippour fast or at Hanukkah when we traditionally eat fried foods. I found this recipe in the book I just received from Ruth and Guy, La Cuisine de la Diaspora by Deborah Haccoun & Antoine Schneck-Rosenfeld. These are simple, plain breads, almost like Indian Naan often eaten with butter and honey (which I found delicious when I tried it!) or as we did here, dipped in a spicy Harira.

In our beautiful little hand-painted Moroccan soup bowls

And I am sending this recipe for Moufleta off to this week’s Yeastspotting (the event of all things yeast), created and hosted by my friend Susan of Wild Yeast.


HARIRA

Vegetable oil
13 oz (400 g) lean lamb, shoulder or leg
1 onion, cut in half or quarters and thinly sliced
2 tsps ground coriander
½ tsp ground turmeric
¼ tsp cayenne
½ tsp ground ginger
½ tsp ground cumin
8 oz (250 g) ripe tomatoes (about 3), peeled and chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 – 14 oz (440 g) can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Juice of 1 lemon
Handful chopped fresh coriander


Cut the lamb into bite-sized cubes, removing and discarding all excess fat and all the yucky stuff.


To peel tomatoes, make a cross in the bottom of each with a sharp knife, dunk for just one minute or so in simmering water, scoop out and peel.


Measure out the spices, slice the onion, crush the garlic, drain, rinse and mash the chickpeas. Set aside.


Heat a few tablespoons of vegetable oil in a large pot and add the cubed lamb. Fry very quickly over high heat until evenly browned all over. Add the sliced onions, lower the heat and continue cooking, stirring continuously, for 5 minutes until the onions are soft.


Stir in all the spices, making sure that the lamb cubes are all coated and the spices are blended in well, and cook for 1 minute.

Add the chopped tomatoes, the crushed garlic and the mashed chickpeas (as you will notice in the photo, I added the water before the chickpeas which makes it harder to blend in the chickpea mash. Stir everything together well before adding the water – which is what I normally do.) Add 2 ½ cups (625 ml) water. Bring to the boil, cover, lower heat and allow to simmer for 40 minutes. If you would like to thicken the soup up a bit, push back the lid of the pot and inch or two for the last 10 minutes of cooking.


Chop the fresh coriander and squeeze the lemon. Add the coriander and the juice to the Harira, stir, and allow to simmer for 2 minutes.


Serve hot.

MOUFLETA

8 cups / 35 oz (1 kg) flour
1 tsp salt
2 cups (500 ml) warm water (up to ½ cup more, as needed)
0.63 oz (18 g) dry active yeast or 1 ½ oz (42 g) fresh yeast
2 Tbs (30 g) sugar
Vegetable oil


Sift or stir the flour and salt together in a large mixing bowl.

Put the sugar and the yeast in a small bowl and add a small amount of warm water, maybe 1/4 cup. Leave for 10 minutes until frothy.


Make a well in the center of the flour and pour in the yeast mixture and then the rest of the warm water. Stir with a wooden spoon until all the flour is moistened and starts to stick together and form a dough.


Turn out onto a lightly floured work surface and knead for 6 – 8 minutes until you have a smooth, elastic dough.


Divide the dough into about 20 pieces (here again, I followed the recipe and divided it into 40 pieces, but I found them to be much too small).

Oil either your marble worktop or a large baking or oven sheet. Roll each piece into a ball and place on the oiled surface. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and allow to rest for at least 30 minutes (up to 2 hours is fine).


Have a large skillet or frying pan, preferably non-stick, ready. Using a paper towel, lightly oil the pan. Heat when ready to start.

Oil your hands.


Press one ball of dough between your palms and press and squish, rubbing your hands around in circular motions until you have flattened your dough. I made the first ones very very thin and the next a bit thicker, and I liked them both. Depends on what you want.


Fry on one side until golden brown (where the moufleta touch the pan), then turn and cook on the other side until golden brown as well.

The slightly thicker pancakes, more like bread

Serve immediately, best eaten warm.

As you can see by the small amount of salt and sugar in these little breads/crêpes, they are rather bland. They are great for dipping into soups and sauces, especially spicy, flavorful North African dishes. Or serve them for breakfast or snack smeared with butter and drizzled with honey. Yummy!

Thinner pancakes drizzled with honey

(and I made plain dinner rolls, brushed with olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt, with the leftover dough. They came out light and fluffy).

JP fell in love with this beautiful land

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