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Letter from Morocco: couscous Friday Letter from Morocco: couscous Friday
(2 days later)
Sohail's vegetable stall right on the corner of two busy arteries in Salé medina is strategic. Not only is it one of the largest, the goods are sorted attractively with not a rotten sample in sight. But there's more to it than pleases the eye: every day the vegetables change so that Monday there might be a focus on aubergine and sweet peppers, Tuesday it's artichokes and peas, and by Thursday and Friday it's the gigantic pumpkins, tiny turnips, carrots, cabbages and zucchini that dominate the stall. It's as though Sohail could anticipate his customer's menu by conjuring a tasty tagine, a spicy zaalouk or traditional couscous.Sohail's vegetable stall right on the corner of two busy arteries in Salé medina is strategic. Not only is it one of the largest, the goods are sorted attractively with not a rotten sample in sight. But there's more to it than pleases the eye: every day the vegetables change so that Monday there might be a focus on aubergine and sweet peppers, Tuesday it's artichokes and peas, and by Thursday and Friday it's the gigantic pumpkins, tiny turnips, carrots, cabbages and zucchini that dominate the stall. It's as though Sohail could anticipate his customer's menu by conjuring a tasty tagine, a spicy zaalouk or traditional couscous.
As I chose my wares rapt in a culinary reverie, I heard the woman next to me ask if I liked couscous. I said I did but didn't know how to make it. "Then you must come to my house tomorrow and have some." Intrigued by this tempting invitation, I wrote her address on a scrap of paper. For Friday is the day of prayer and of couscous and if it's not being prepared at home, people go out to a restaurant for some. As I chose my wares, rapt in a culinary reverie, I heard the woman next to me ask if I liked couscous. I said I did but didn't know how to make it. "Then you must come to my house tomorrow and have some." Intrigued by this tempting invitation, I wrote her address on a scrap of paper. For Friday is the day of prayer and of couscous and if it's not being prepared at home, people go out to a restaurant for some.
The following day, guided mostly by instinct, we descended the hill into the medina in the direction of the Grand Mosque. When I asked a fully veiled woman for Hammam Shleih, she led us round the corner. As the hostess didn't answer my call, we ventured down the road and rang her door bell. Someone came to open the door and when I asked in faltering Arabic if this was Hajja's house, the young woman greeted us in a broad California accent and ushered us in.The following day, guided mostly by instinct, we descended the hill into the medina in the direction of the Grand Mosque. When I asked a fully veiled woman for Hammam Shleih, she led us round the corner. As the hostess didn't answer my call, we ventured down the road and rang her door bell. Someone came to open the door and when I asked in faltering Arabic if this was Hajja's house, the young woman greeted us in a broad California accent and ushered us in.
On the second floor of their courtyard house was the salon marocain and here we were introduced to an uncle who had come to visit from Holland. Shortly afterwards Hajja appeared bearing an enormous terracotta dish brimming with couscous and the vegetables she'd bought the previous day. As the family chatted and joked, we ate in enraptured silence. Leben was served and then it was time for siesta.On the second floor of their courtyard house was the salon marocain and here we were introduced to an uncle who had come to visit from Holland. Shortly afterwards Hajja appeared bearing an enormous terracotta dish brimming with couscous and the vegetables she'd bought the previous day. As the family chatted and joked, we ate in enraptured silence. Leben was served and then it was time for siesta.
Both Hajja's uncle and son had reclined on the sofas and were dozing off when they were covered motheringly with blankets. I was invited to a separate salon and offered a dressing gown to keep warm. When the adhan sounded, Hajja handed me a prayer rug saying: "It fell on my head and now I only give to those I love."Both Hajja's uncle and son had reclined on the sofas and were dozing off when they were covered motheringly with blankets. I was invited to a separate salon and offered a dressing gown to keep warm. When the adhan sounded, Hajja handed me a prayer rug saying: "It fell on my head and now I only give to those I love."
• Every week Guardian Weekly publishes a letter from one of its readers from around the world. We welcome submissions, which should focus on giving our readers a clear sense of a place and its people. Please send them to weekly.letter.from@guardian.co.uk• Every week Guardian Weekly publishes a letter from one of its readers from around the world. We welcome submissions, which should focus on giving our readers a clear sense of a place and its people. Please send them to weekly.letter.from@guardian.co.uk