This weekend, I visited Meknes Morocco for two reasons: I was very close to spending my summer in Meknes and not Tanger, so I wanted to at least see what could have been; and there is a Moroccan cooking school that comes very well recommended (second only to one in Marakesh which is far too far). So Friday morning I play hookie from work and hop on the first train to Meknes. I sleep most of the 4 hour train ride and meet Corey at the train station. You’ll notice from his name that he is American. On our car ride to the school I thought back: when is the last time I had an actual conversation in English? Debbie and I talked in English a little, and Sara and I had one conversation in English, but other than that it has been 45 days. I was a little rusty. Around 1PM I get shown my floor (yes I have my personal floor with two bedrooms, a sitting room, a kitchen, and a bathroom) and told my first lesson starts at 4. So naturally I decide to go wander around.
I get a super touristy carriage ride around the old city, go into the old stables (which used to house 12,000 horses), walk around the big square with “take a photo with a camel” booths, and then head back for my first Moroccan cooking lesson. Enter Fazamahara (sp?), my college-age, Moroccan, cooking instructor. We start by properly making Moroccan tea (up until now I had just been dumping all the ingredients into a pot and adding boiling water, turns out theirs more to it), then we head into the kitchen. It’s a unique set-up. We both have our own station which are these pushcart style cooktops with extendable work-areas both positioned in the foyer. From the backroom, the prep-cook/ dishwasher brings out all of the hardware and software we’ll need. Chicken already deboned, beef with the silver skin already butchered, spices already measured in tagines. I could get used to having a prep-chef. We go through how to cook a chicken dish with lemons and olives and a lentil soup. I didn’t think it was anything revolutionary, mostly just chop everything up and throw it in a pressure cooker, but it was still fun. Fazamahara and I talked the whole time and at the end came my favorite part: eating. Now like I say I wont say that I had any culinary epiphanies, but it was still really good (and I didn’t even have to do any dishes at the end).
That night, I headed back up to the main square of Meknes, got scoffed at when I asked if there was anywhere in the old city that serves wine or beer, and plopped into a wicker chair for a mint tea. There was some sort of assembly in the square that day, and I am assuming it was about the new Moroccan constitution for which there is a vote on Friday. They old man speaking was either very for or very against it. I couldn’t tell which. He was followed by a karate school performance, and traditional Moroccan dancing (which consists mostly of spinning around in circles really fast and then jumping up in the air and clapping under your legs). Either way there were a lot of people, and it felt very Moroccan.
The next Morning I took my coffee and bread on the rooftop patio (which was my favorite room in the guest house, I’m defiantly going to have one of these when I get my own place), and then headed inside for my second lesson. Chris, the Texan owner of the school, and a ex-personal chef stayed for this one, so we were able to talk non-stop throughout the whole cooking and eating process. This meal was a lot more culinary expanding. Beef Tagine with prunes and roasted almonds, and Zazook (roasted eggplant and tomato mash served with bread). From roasting the almonds to making the syrup for the prunes to whole roasting an eggplant to making a tomato-peel rose, I learned something with every step of the process. And I learned one more thing when we sat down to eat. I really like Beef Tagine with prunes and roasted almonds, and Zazook.
After finishing lunch, I headed up to the Mosoleum (its one of the 3 Islamic buildings that non-Muslims are allowed in) which I hadn’t been able to see because its closed on Fridays. I arrive just as the workers are headed out to lunch; they assure me they’ll be back in 2 hours. The 15 minute walk up the hill made me realize how incredibly hot it was. While 42 doesn’t sound that hot, plug it into google converter and realize I was trekking around in 108 degree heat. I find a café, and order a cold drink. Although I was in the shade, you could still feel the incredible heat engulf every surface. Exacerbated by my (and everyone’s) always wearing long pants, I sat in my head-induced stupor for an hour and a half.
A quick shoeless tour of the Mossoleum and I headed back to gather my things. I told myself that after the Mossoleum I would spend the rest of the afternoon exploring new-Meknes (also where the train station is), but the heat had other ideas. I instead hailed a taxi to the train station, and sat wallowing in my sweat.
The girls next to me on the train talked about me the whole way back. While I don’t speak Darija (yet), the frequent use of the word “Américain” and frequent giggling glances at me are dead giveaways. I put in my headphones and tried to zone them out but then I realized I only have 10 songs. It was a repetitive 4 hours.
I liked Menkes a lot more than Rabat. The whole town felt more welcoming, more like a small town. It did help that the focal point was food. But Moroccan cuisine better watch out now: I know its basics and it’s about to get tinkered with…a lot.
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