Fattoush (Moroccan Bread Salad)

Moroccan Bread SaladFar and away my favourite Moroccan salad, fattoush is both tasty and filling.

Popular throughout the Middle East, this bread salad is similar to an Italian panzanella. Not only is it a great way to use up old bread, it is also a great addition to any Moroccan meal. It even makes an interesting alternative to your typical “braai” salad and is a great option for any vegetarian guest you may have.

In this recipe I’ve used tinned artichoke hearts, but you can substitute these with any number of alternatives if you want – I would recommend using either some grilled green bell peppers or perhaps some grilled baby marrows (courgettes). Traditionally the recipe calls for oily black olives, but these aren’t always readily available so I would just use the tastiest black olives you can find instead.

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Couscous (Plain and Cinnamon)

Plain CouscousCooking the perfect couscous may seem easy and generally it is, but it is also very easy for it to go very wrong. I should know, I’ve had enough couscous catastrophes to last me a lifetime; too wet, too dry, too clumpy – if there is a couscous calamity out there, I’ve suffered it!

In spite of my failings over the years, I’ve persevered with my mediocre attempts until I finally figured out the key to good couscous: olive oil…and your index finger. Sounds a bit strange? It’s really not. In fact, the key to my couscous conundrum is surprisingly simple – the trick is to lightly oil the grains before adding the boiling water. This simple act will produce clump free, fluffy couscous every time. I’ve been following this simple method for years now and I’ve been enjoying the perfect couscous ever since – now so can you.

For more delicious Moroccan recipes please click here, or if you would like to read on about Moroccan food, please click here

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Couscous Tabbouleh

Couscous TabboulehOften mistaken as being Moroccan, tabbouleh is originally from the Middle East and is commonly served as part of a meze. Especially dear to the Lebanese – the dish is so loved, it has even been granted the honour of having its own celebration: National Tabbouleh Day! So widely popular is tabbouleh, this humble dish is seen as a common cultural link between the divided people of this once war-torn nation; reflecting the diversity of the Lebanese people through its diverse ingredients. Seemingly, for the Lebanese at least, this makes tabbouleh something worth celebrating.

For the rest of us, however, it is just a salad.

So whilst traditionally part of a meze, in Western convention it is more likely to be served as an accompaniment to a main meal such as a tagine, stew or even a barbeque. Typically made with bulgur wheat, tabbouleh can also be made using couscous. Whilst not entirely authentic, I prefer using couscous as I find bulgur wheat a little chewy and, to my mind, it can weigh a good tabbouleh down. I have also recently rediscovered the joys of quinoa, which would also make a great base for a tabbouleh.

The great thing about tabbouleh is its adaptability – provided you have some fresh herbs and lemon, you can virtually use any ingredients you have available. There’s really only one “rule” to consider when assembling your tabbouleh (and even that isn’t set in stone) and that’s the ratio of couscous to herbs. Traditionally the couscous is actually one of the secondary ingredients and not, as is common practice, the main ingredient – this honour actually falls to the fresh herbs. Traditionally the herbs should make up at least 70% of the overall tabbouleh, but this is rarely the case in Western interpretations of the dish, where the ratio is often reversed in favour of the couscous. In truth though, it is not really that important – all that really matters is making the dish to your own tastes and preference. After all, your tabbouleh doesn’t symbolise the aspirations of the Middle East, it is just dinner.

For the recipe of perfect couscous, please click here.

If you would like to serve tabbouleh with some delicious Moroccan dishes, please click here

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Morocco: Lifting the Lid on Tagines

Ever since I visited Morocco back in 2000, I’ve been obsessed with tagines.

Over the years I have amassed a fair collection of these conical wonder-pots; so much so, I actually have a cupboard solely dedicated to storing my tagines! Thankfully my obsessive nature has since moved on to other kitchen oddities, but the fact remains that tagines are possibly the greatest casserole pot ever invented. Ingeniously designed to produce meltingly tender stews – tagines are to Morocco, what the wok is to China: inseparable and indispensable! Whilst I’m unsure of the exact culinary science behind the tagine’s unwavering ability to produce such tender meat, rather unsurprisingly, the key to its design lies in its conical lid. This uniquely designed lid allows the steam to rise up to the top and drip back down into the simmering stew, that is about all I know. Beyond that, it is just magic.

Traditionally made out of clay and cooked over a charcoal fire, today tagines come in a variety of guises. Pick a size or colour, cast-iron or pottery; these days there is probably the perfect tagine out there to fulfill your own specific “foodie” aspirations. Whilst I have a real soft spot for authenticity, I would avoid buying a traditional clay tagine as these are notoriously tricky to cook with, require “seasoning” and are hostile to alternative cooking methods (they may crack or worse, explode!). To my mind, what makes a good tagine is its ability to go directly from the stove-top to oven. I currently use a tagine made out of mircostoven, not very traditional I know, but what it lacks in authenticity, it makes up for in versatility! I’ve had a number of tagines that were suitable only for cooking in the oven and I found these to be very inconvenient as you had to prepare and sauté your stew ingredients in a separate pan, before adding them to the actual tagine for cooking in the oven. I’ve always found this to be detrimental to the flavour of the finished meal – any time you use two separate pans/pots like this, you run the risk of losing some of the flavour in the transfer. If that is not enough to convince you to buy a multi-functional tagine then consider this the ultimate persuasion: one tagine means there’ll be less washing-up!

So now you know what type of tagine you should buy, back to tagines as an actual meal.

Tagines in Morocco were not at all what I expected. In fact, from my own experience they’re largely indistinguishable from the complex heady concoctions we have come to expect from watching TV chefs who are drunk on preserved lemons and dates stuffed with walnuts. In the month that I trailed around Morocco, the few tagines I encountered were actually pretty plain affairs; tasty, simple and unrefined – Berber Tagine ruled supreme! I have no doubt that grander tagines were being eaten in the luxury courtyards of ancient riads or on a rooftop overlooking Marrakesh’s Jemaa El-Fna, but sadly these places, and tagines, were beyond my meagre backpacker budget.

This does not mean that I didn’t have some amazing tagines in Morocco, far from it. The best tagine I had was a simple berber tagine from a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, located just inside the main entrance to Marrakesh’s labyrinthine souk. Made in individual portioned clay tagines and eaten with chunks of soft bread, these tagines were a master class in simplicity: lightly spiced lamb with potatoes, onions and carrots, that was all it took to create tagine-magic. Our favourite part of this mini-tagine was, however, the encrusted potatoes and onions at the bottom of the stew. Whilst seemingly unintentional, these fonds, or sucs, gave the tagine an intensity that had us coming back time and again! Unfortunately, as this culinary masterstroke was unintentional, which turned the simple act of picking our individual tagine (out of the 20 or more available) into a game of culinary roulette! We would try to stack the odds in our favour by asking which tagine had been cooking the longest, in the hope this would be most likely to have formed the coverted crust, but like all gambles it was hit and miss. What was worse though was when only one of us hit the jackpot – tagine-envy is truly an ugly thing!

So whilst my time in the country gave me a greater appreciation of the potential for simplicity in Moroccan cuisine, it did not dampen my devotion to its headier flavours. I, like many before me, am readily seduced by the spiced romance of the Moroccan palette; whether the food is simple or grand, central to that allure is the tagine. Many years on, a good few tagines later, I still love making Moroccan food. Often my tagines are coddlingly sweet, other times they’re refreshingly tangy and sometimes they’re the epitome of simplicity. And if I’m lucky, and my cooking karma is just right, sometimes my tagines will reward my unwavering devotion with an encrusted potato, or two…but sssh, don’t tell my partner!

For some delicious Moroccan recipes, please click here