Morocco travelogues of the 1940s and 1950s were inevitably titled "Morocco: Land of Mystery" or "The Riddle of Morocco."
But surely you can learn all you need to know about any country just by cooking and eating its food.
Much Moroccan food is cooked slowly, methodically _ even thoughtfully. The flavors have a long time to build and meld and blend together until they become a singular taste; you can no longer distinguish the individual ingredients.
There is an art to making many of the classic Moroccan dishes, almost a ritual. Couscous _ the tiny pasta that acts like a grain _ is perhaps the defining dish of the country, where it is eaten every day. It is prepared with much effort in a special pot called a couscoussier and is steamed three times before serving.
Moroccan mint tea is also something of a ritual _ there is more to this sweet, minty tea than mere tea. For Moroccans, the tea takes on extra significance when it is shared with others; the cup of tea becomes imbued with all of the culturally critical aspects of hospitality.
If nothing else, Moroccan mint tea tells us one thing about the country and its inhabitants: They like their tea sweet. Very, very sweet.
I took a culinary tour of Morocco by cooking five classic dishes. One taste of each is all you need to know why Moroccan food is considered one of the most popular cuisines in the world.
I began with perhaps the most iconic of the country's many iconic dishes, Couscous with Seven Vegetables. In many homes, it is served every Friday. I made mine with stewing beef, but you could also use lamb or just keep it vegetarian.
If you like complexly flavored food, you're going to want to make it.
All of that flavor does not just come from the seven vegetables of the name (carrots, sweet potatoes, turnips, zucchini, cabbage, squash and chile pepper, or any substitutions you want to make). Much of the amazing taste comes from the irresistible combination of spices that give the dish its punch: ginger, turmeric, parsley, cilantro and saffron.
If you mix those ingredients together with some beef, onion, tomato and water, you end up with a powerfully spiced _ but not hot _ broth that will gladden your soul.
And don't worry about the ritual of steaming the couscous three times. I'm sure that tastes amazing, but I just used the instant stuff from a grocery store, and it was great.
For a delightful contrast, I next went with something bright and light, a Moroccan Orange Salad.
This dish is deceptively entrancing; easy to make, yet with an unexpected taste. It is just slices of orange in a lightly sweet, cinnamon-orange sauce. The sauce is just a bit of orange juice heated with sugar or honey, cinnamon and orange blossom water. I didn't have orange blossom water, so I simply added orange zest to water, which isn't the same thing but is an adequate substitution.
Then the oranges are topped with shredded mint and a few chopped pistachios. Though the dish is made with only a few ingredients, each one adds its own kick.
I next went with another traditional offering, a lentil soup called Harira that is most often served during Ramadan but is also popular throughout the year.
Harira has everything you would find in most good lentil soups (onion, garlic, ginger, cumin, cilantro, celery leaves or celery), plus a couple of curve balls that make it uniquely Moroccan.
Saffron, for one. The famously expensive spice adds a heavenly, exotic perfume and flavor, especially when paired with cinnamon. These two spices are sometimes paired together for tea, but they are only brought together for lentil soup in Morocco. The combination can be habit-forming.
A great soup needs a great bread, and many different types are made in Morocco. I baked the most basic, a plain Khobz, which is made with white flour.
Khobz (the word refers to bread that is baked in the oven, as opposed to on the stove) is a thin, flat bread that is neither as thin nor as flat as flatbread. It is easy and relatively quick to make (it only rises once) and has a simple, uncluttered taste.
You might even call it bland, which is fine. Actually, it's ideal. Khobz is used to sop up spicy sauces; it complements them, rather than competes with them.
Khobz is almost required with one more national dish, the famous tagine. A tagine is actually the conical-shaped, earthenware pot that the stew, which is also called tagine, is cooked in. The shape presumably helps to blend the flavors.
I made a tagine of Moroccan Lamb with Apricots, Almonds and Mint, only I didn't use a tagine to cook it in. I have occasionally thought of buying one but never have because they cost a lot more than you would think, especially at those high-priced shopping-mall kitchen stores.
And besides, you don't actually need a tagine to cook a tagine. I made mine in a pot on the stove, and it was spectacular.
You can never go wrong with slow-cooked lamb anyway, but this version has something that makes it special: sweetness.
It isn't very sweet or even too sweet, it is just a little sweet from the dried apricots, a splash of orange juice and a sprinkling of fresh mint. And a bit of sweetness turns out to be just the thing to play off of the meaty lamb and the rich almond sauce.
It's a hearty dinner you will want to add to your repertoire. And there's nothing mysterious about that.
