Cornes des Gazelles

I can't wait to have the recipe for this one typed and finished and ready to share with you all. Cornes des Gazelles are a sweet pastry with an almond paste filling found all over Morocco. I've eaten them in every town and village we've been to but the ones Fusia prepared for us at Riad Kaiss have by far been the best, they just had something more rugged and homely about them, something special that separated them from the rest making them perfect for our book.

One tray is never enough.

Oh, and Riad Kaiss also has a pretty special courtyard.

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The Moroccan way or the highway

It's important to stay alert in Morocco, a lapse in concentration can have you backed into a tight corner at any moment. You never know when you are going to come across a police speed camera or check point, they love a good roadblock.

The same goes for any good Moroccan kitchen, beware the roadblock. You can sit for hours and talk about the cooking technique and ingredients of a single recipe until a point is reached where everyone is happy and in agreement. We have agreed on the origin of the recipe, where it has taken its influence from, how it should be cooked and exactly what ingredients and ratios are needed and that the traditional regional requirements have been fullfilled. 

"Excellent, seeing as we are all in concurrence, lets cook it!" 

Fusia begins to heat a pan of milk, the first step in the preparation of Mehelbiya, a classic Moroccan milk pudding. In goes a cup of corn flower, things are going smoothly so it's time for me to put my feet up for a few minutes until the next dish is ready to shoot. I haven't even reached the door before I hear a heated Arabic/French/English debate firing up in the kitchen between Fusia, Sophia and Jane, our food stylist. By the time I make it back the kitchen has descended into silence. Jane is still and looking confused, Sophia paces the room in frustration and Fusia stands victoriously in front of the simmering pot of milk slowly stirring in what looks to be a second cup of corn flower.

"I thought we'd agreed that one cup was the correct ratio for this recipe?" I asked.

"Yes, we did" Sophia blasted back at me. "Fusia said that was traditionally how it was done and that it should never be done any differently".

"What's the problem then?"

"Well apparently that's not the way Fusia does it".

Roadblocked. 

Sophia gets blocked.

The girls celebrate their victory.

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Yotam's Army

It was never going to be a fair fight. Yotam Ottolenghi (the famous London based chef and restaurant owner) and his army had arrived in Marrakech to shoot part of his upcoming tv series that follows him across eastern countries as he experiences the local food and culture. Not only were they in Marrakech but they were staying right here with us a riad Dar Les Cigognes, a food media turf war was being waged under the one roof. 

Each morning two mini buses would come to pick up Yotam and his team while our little band of soldiers would struggle out the door ladened like donkeys as we all raced off to stake our rights on the nearby locations for the day.

We managed to capture this one image of Yotam (second from the left) and our team before Sophia and Jane turned on him like wild animals and ripped one of his arms off.

Apparently grey is a very cool colour.

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Bachelor's stew

We've spent a few days cooking and photographing recipes for our book at Riad Dar Les Cigognes in Marrakech with Fatna and her team so when we heard our next recipe, one of the great traditional Moroccan dishes called the tangia, was to be cooked down the road in the hammam (public bath house) we were intrigued. I could already visualise it. Soph, me.... and Fatna were going to nude up and explore the origins of traditional Moroccan cuisine.

Fatna sat at a low table with her tangia pot (the same word refers to the meat dish) which looked like a Grecian urn with a wide belly, narrow neck and handles on both sides, stuffing it full of a variety of cuts of lamb, casually sprinkling in a pinch of Saffron threads and two of cumin, some sea salt and pepper, a load of garlic, a few large swigs of olive oil and finally throwing in a whole preserved lemon. She wrapped the top of the pot in baking paper and announced in arabic that it was time to head off down the road. I grabbed my camera and my towel.

As I stood clutching my towel behind Steve and his video camera at what looked more like the back door of the hammam I was beginning to wonder how well this was all going to play out on film, I'd been struck by a moment of self-consciousness. Fatna knocked, the door was quickly opened by a slim, smiling man named Abdelhak who ushered us down some old crumbling stairs to a dark dirty room coated in charcoal, hmmmm not the hedonistic vision of endless food, splashing water and overflowing bath foam that I was imagining but then again we were in Morocco and not Ancient Greece I guess.

Abdelhak took the tangia from Fatna and buried it in a pile of hot ashes next to a fire that was burning in the corner of the room and told us to come back at the end of the day. What? That was it??

Walking back to our riad in a state of disappointment mixed with mild relief, Fatna explained to me that this was really one-pot cooking at its best. They called it 'bachelor's stew' as it was popular with single hard working men as they would go to the markets in the morning, have their tangia filled with the ingredients of their choice and drop it under the hammam where the hot fires heated the baths directly overhead. At the end of the day they would return to the hammam to wash and relax before picking up their perfectly cooked tangia and heading home for a delicious meal for one.

This story didn't end in the steamy way I had imagined but single guys if you cook this on your next date, I guarantee you won't be cooking for one for too much longer!

Fatna fills her pot.

Sophia, Abdelhak, random biker, Fatna and Steve. Clothes on.

Just add ashes.

A delicious meal for one, or two if you're lucky.

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2 important travel tips

Moroccan travel tip #1- Use taxis.

They are cheap and a they can advise you on all things Moroccan including important landmarks, culture and even cuisine.

Moroccan travel tip #2- Don't use taxis.

Every taxi ride will require intensive negotiation and because they know everything about Morocco they won't stop where you want them to, will lecture you on Moroccan politics and don't even get them started on traditional regional dishes!

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Moroccan Breakfast

We piled into the car at 7am with our favourite cab driver Abdou (actually he's not our favourite anymore. Abdou got greedy so we gave him the flick after breakfast) and headed to an orange farm a few miles out of Marrakech. A friend of ours Hicham who owns the farm, and also owns riad Casa Taos where we were married last year, had promised us a real Moroccan breakfast cooked up by the family that runs his farm.

After shadow boxing with Adbou (he was beginning to give us all the shits so I was feeling like slapping him around a bit) for 30 minutes out the front of a petrol station by the side of a busy road we were eventually met and guided down a long rough old road to a neatly set table nestled amongst the trees of a beautifully well kept orange orchard. Smiling faces of the farming family rushed out to meet us and quickly ushered us into a small old building where Mum was preparing msemmen (Moroccan crepes) on a small gas stove. Back outside under a tree Dad was cooking khlii (a type of preserved meat) and eggs on a little coal BBQ under the close supervision of his daughters who were heating up the pans ready for pancakes and batbout (chewy pita like breads). The Moroccans like their carbohydrates and with all these mini kitchens going everywhere Steve and I were dying for some to refuel our energy tanks.

The local girls grabbed our cameras and filled in while we ate and as soon as we finished we were marched off down the long rows of orange trees to pick fresh vegetables. The honey from breakfast came straight from their beehives, I went in for a close look until Steve threw a rock and had me chased out by angry Arabic bees.

Steve on the boom.

Local Speilberg.

Bread and pancake making.

"I love your shirt, it's just like mine."

Jane running away for a new life.

Carbs, carbs, carbs.

Moroccan cucumber.

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Recipe research

Sophia doesn't stop. Everywhere we go she's on the lookout for another recipe, something new, something different, something with an unexpected twist. This means never turning down an opportunity to hear someone else's point of view on Moroccan cuisine and how they like to prepare food at home. Whether we are photographing a chef from an exclusive hotel, relaxing in a Berber village, sourcing props in the souk, catching a train, visiting family and friends or picking up hitchikers, Sophia always walks away with a new recipe.

A trade off. Sophia had to wash 2 carpets in return for the family recipe.

Quick blow-dry and recipe share.

Success. Now where's the translator??

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A spice shakedown

You've got to give it to them, the shopkeepers in the souk (moroccan market) are honest. If you were to drop your wallet, overpay or forget your shopping bag, chances are you'll hear the Arabic tune of a Moroccan store owner yelling and whistling his heart out in an effort to return the possessions of yet another heat affected tourist.

It was decided that I was to be sent to the spice shop, Steve Brown as my wingman and Moroccan Moment Documenter (cameraman), to learn about the spices that shape this nation. Four mint teas and an hour later I was sent stumbling home, pockets lighter feeling like something went desperately wrong. There was no lying, no cheating, no tricks but did I really need 6 grams of Saffron and a soccer ball sized bag of the finest spices in North Africa?

How did he do it? Where was my wingman when I needed him most?

This dangerous substance is know as Moroccan Whiskey. Drink too much and you may make some bad decisions.

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Pack a clean shirt

La Mamounia is a hotel etched deep into the history of Marrakech and made more the famous with it's long list of influential guests including the legendary visits of Winston Churchill. I think every article you'll ever read about La Mamounia probably opens with a line similar to that, I probably could have 'cut and paste' instead of spending the last 30 mins trying to challenge my (dis)abilities of literature.

Lets get straight to the kitchen where all the action happens. We meet Rachid Agouray, the executive chef at Le Morocain, La Mamounia's Morocaan restaurant (re-read the end of that sentence if French is not your first language). Chef Agouray, born and bred in Marrakech, tells us of his long running relationship with La Mamounia, 25 years now, and of his travels and time overseas training and running world class kitchens and of his love for infusing traditional and modern Moroccan cuisine, I'm getting the feeling that this chef may have just the right balance of spice for any international palette.

He can't understand a word of what I'm saying (Chef Agouray does speak English but apparently I don't..), but he still smiles warmly, nods and devotes his full attention to me before looking to Sophia and probably asking in French "what the **** was he on about??". Straight away I can tell that Chef Agouray is a good bloke.

As we walk through the kitchens, cameras rolling, Sophia works her usual magic easily talking to Chef Agouray and translating the French and Arabic to camera. We've all begun to realise how much of a natural she is in front of camera. I walk behind snapping pictures, trying to smoothly enter the conversation with intelligent questions and banging my head on every low extractor fan or ceiling bulkhead until I see the B'stella pastries (warqa) being made, here's my chance for some camera time!

If you've ever seen this done before it's amazing. They grab a ball of the dough, flick it round in their hands like a yo-yo and then lightly dab it across a hot plate before flaking off an ultra thin pastry in the shape of a pancake, easy! Before heading out into the beautiful light drench tiled courtyard to shoot the finished dishes and recipes Chef Agouray has supplied us for our book, he takes me to the sink and kindly helps me wash the splatters of dough from my best shirt.

Chef Rachid Agouray.

Just like a yo-yo.

Then dab it on the hot plate. Rachid inspects my first attempt.

One dirty shirt, one clean one.

A grand hotel with a grand entrance.

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Trigger Happy

Day one of the food shoot in the Palmeraie on the outskirts of Marrakech. Riad Jnane Tamsna offers a peaceful luxurious stay for its guests but it was the seasonal and constantly evolving menu that caught our eye on a previous visit.

We sat nervously waiting for a chef to appear, as we were 30 minutes late (taxi fare negotiation is always a major time drainer) there was a good chance we may have missed our window and would be chef-less for the day. We really didn't have anything planned except for the recipes we wanted to shoot and we'd never even met the chef that had been promised to us for the next 2 days. A few moments later and in strolled our chef, introduced herself as Bahija, listed the recipes she was going to prepare for us and finally asked "what language would you like me to present them in? English, French, Arabic or Spanish?".

"Ummmm....... let's start with English and we might throw a few other languages in along the way, you good with that Bahija?". This girl needs her own TV show! With a room full of cameras and strangers, Bahija calmly presented to camera not only the steps involved in each of her dishes, but also the origin and history of each. Jane's pen scribbled furiously noting every detail of each recipe and Soph filled in the cultural and language gaps while Steve and I battled each other for all the best angles.

 Lost in a poetic mix of languages and aromas it was easy to forget that we were there to work.

Yeah, Yeah, work it Steve.

Hand-held, tripod, weird cyborg neck brace.

"We won't miss a thing if we split up".

Jane and Soph double trouble the recipes.

Bahija is amused by our accents.

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