Morocco Food Quotes

We look up to see if it is day or night. If stars burn cool and moon does shine, We take to smoke divine and wine. If breath of sun does belch its heat, we boil coffee and prepare to eat.

Out of that kitchen came food not only that I had never tasted, but that I hadn’t even dreamed of tasting. Gumbo, corn jacks and blackened fish was just the start of many dishes. It was like finding all the exotic scents in the world and wrapping as many of them as you can into a dish. Cumin and coriander, paprika, red peppers, anise and fennel, burnt orange peel and chili. It felt like the sailors from every port in the world from Morocco and Madagascar to the coast of Malabar had each brought a spice with them to throw into the cooking pot.

globalization and air transport mean that we are now exposed to a previously unheard-of overabundance of fruit. Pineapples from the tropics nestle on our supermarket shelves in the middle of winter, next to fresh strawberries from Mexico, and some dried figs from Morocco. So, what we label a food intolerance may in fact be nothing more than the reaction of a healthy body as it tries to adapt within a single generation to a food situation that was completely unknown during the millions of years of our evolution.

Food stall owners reach out with menus, calling out their dinner selections like midway prizes

In 1955 flying was much more dangerous than it is now, but there was a party atmosphere aboard long flights and everyone enjoyed the ever-flowing drinks and food. Smoking was the norm and it didn’t take long before the cabin was full of smoke. The stewardesses were friendly and I can remember some that were very friendly. I don’t remember much about my time in Lisbon because, before I knew it, we were in the air again heading south across the ocean to the vastness of the North African desert. The light yellow sand under us in Morocco and the Spanish Sahara was endless. The fine sand went from the barren coastal surf and endless miles of beautiful beaches, inland as far as the eye could see. After a time I saw what I believed, at the time, to be a radio relay station located out on a desolate sand spit near Villa Bens. It was only later that I found out that it was Castelo de Tarfaya, a small fortification on the North African coast. Tarfaya was occupied by the British in 1882, when they established a trading post called Casa del Mar. This forgotten part of the world is now in the southern part of Morocco.

Say what you will about Napoleon, but under him, commoners had a chance. After he was gone, the Bourbons turned back the clock. In my home, we were short of everything: food, clothing, leather for shoes and boots, warm coats. And this despite the fact that my parents were emancipated farmers.

The fifteen clerks taking their lunch break in the counting house of the Spencer & Son Shipping Company almost choked on their food. There at the door stood Sibylla Spencer, visibly out of breath and pressing an envelope against her chest as she looked from one startled face to the next. The boss’s twenty-three-year-old daughter normally visited only once a year, when she and her stepmother distributed Christmas presents. Yet it was not Christmas but the middle of June. It did not bode well that Sibylla had appeared unannounced, distraught, and, it would seem, unaccompanied in the rough masculine world of the Port of London. At least this was what Mr. Donovan, the lead accountant, feared. He stepped away from his desk with

Under international trade laws, “sardine” covers almost two dozen species of fish (for U.S. products it exclusively means young herring), though the true sardine, from Portugal, Spain, France, Morocco, and Algeria, refers to the young pilchard (Sardina pilchardus) caught in Mediterranean or Atlantic waters.

Immigrants from the Arab countries arrived simultaneously - from Algeria, Morocco and Tunisia in North Africa and from Yemen as well as from the Middle East, namely Iraq, Iran and Syria. The Yemenis were brought in by plane, in an undertaking called the "flying carpet." Later would arrive the Jews from India, called "Bnei Israel." The newcomers needed everything that sustains life: food, shelter, work and the knowledge of the new language, a means of communication.

I had to demonstrate that I had mastered the routes only a resident of the medina, the ancient city, would know. If I could not master the alleys, I would be forever hounded by the hawkers and illicit guides who preyed upon the unsuspecting, the weak, the lost, the tourists.

I take the roasting pan of braised chicken thighs with shallots and tomatoes and mushrooms in a white wine Dijon sauce out of the fridge and pop it in the oven to reheat. I dump the celery root potato puree out of its tub and into my slow cooker to gently warm, then grab the asparagus that I steamed yesterday and set it on the counter to take the chill off. I pull the butter lettuce I bought at Whole Foods out and separate the leaves into a bowl, filling it with cool water as I go, and when they are clean, I pop them into my salad spinner and whizz the crap out of them. They go into the big wooden salad bowl I got in Morocco. When dinnertime comes I'll chop the asparagus and add it to the salad along with some tiny baby marinated artichokes, no bigger than olives, toss with a peppery vinaigrette. The sourdough baguette I picked up goes into the table intact; I love to just let guests tear pieces off at the table. The three cheeses I snagged at the cheese counter get set to the side so that they will be appropriately room temp by the time I serve them after dinner. I might not be French, but all those years there have stuck, and I simply cannot have dinner without some cheese after.