Читать книгу Traditional Moroccan Cooking - Madame Guinaudeau - Страница 6

On going into the kitchen of a house in Fez you are struck by the austerity of the room, far removed from the brilliant arsenal and laboratory atmosphere of the modern kitchen. In the semi-darkness, so cool in summer, so mortally damp with the rain in the winter, the cooking utensils are of glazed earthenware or copper. The kanoun, a movable brazier of sun-baked clay, and a few holes in a tiled kitchen stove are the only cooking apparatus. The charcoal which perfumes the brochettes and allows the sauces to simmer gently dirties and blackens the whitewashed walls and is the only form of heating.

No chairs, an old carpet folded and placed on the zellijes serves as a seat for the exuberant black woman, come, according to tradition since the Algerian exodus, from Tetuan, from whence emerge the most highly esteemed cooks. The young servants, babbling little parakeets, bare feet in wooden sandals, bright coloured dresses whirling around as they bustle about, ready to obey at the slightest gesture from the dada, queen and priestess of the kitchen. She is dressed in long multi-coloured robes tucked up in front, draped and knotted at the back, with wide sleeves held in place by a twisted silken cord; a heavy flowered bulk with a face of ebony or bronze beneath the fringed turban. Her arms and ankles are encircled by silver bracelets which tinkle at every gesture. She is complete mistress and queen in her own domain.

In the darkness of the room lit only by the red gleam of copper and charcoal, enlivened by the sound of water dripping from the fountain on to the tiles, the hammering of the pestle and mortar and the voice of the dada scolding the servants, one is saturated with the smell of spices, the pungency of olive oil and smen which rasp the throat; at the same time one is enveloped in the sweetness of sandalwood, mint and roses. In this country where time doesn’t count, isn’t the rusticity of the cooking apparatus the secret of these dishes so patiently prepared? Happy the town where women still have the time and taste to cook well.

In this room where empiric drugs are elaborated and tagines sweetened, where orange blossom is distilled and pepper ground, no gesture is ever made without first saying ‘Bsmillah’ to ask for Allah’s blessing.