Max’s Kitchen: Live and Active Cultures

This Poem Contains the Word ‘Nigger’

So here I stand-still. Building the will to swallow truth served
By the father of fables. He is tiger’s apprentice; a back alley anthropologist who’s called nigger.
He is black, black as hunger. Black as lungs, eyes, skies, the love between the thighs-black as light.
I know the new world prophet. Nigga black as angels. He spins stories in the recording studio of his neighbor’s
Hood life liturgy. The preacher’s beat-blessing: box the lost melodies.
He sings jabali to the ancestor rhythms of mortar and pestle, djembe and water-tells tales of glock wars and worries of fatherhood, because his fairy tales
Were orphans.
The nigger is keeper of myth, peddling preserves of the tar baby and bald ass nansi. Of the nappy headed ho carving tracks in the footsteps of the drinking gourd.
A rabbit ears poet paying rent-to-own in caste-iron system of selling, and being home-celled.
And the last of the ghosts of prose, with flows that spit vicious,
Literature of Fitzgerald’s young money, Thoreau’s moment of clarity, and Baldwin’s America, though dumb-it-downed, a bard under the radar-nigga’s face pearly-white lies pleasure, but his soul hides deeper treasure.
The nigger is not chained by age, but enframed as a page in the books that he secretly reads. But nigga’s voice isn’t there.
So to share his colored wealth, he mixes word:
A pop-a-cap culture chef brewing a recipe for enlightenment.
Stewing, simmering in the night: mint-spiced to make the truth easier to swallow for when we build the courage
To eat.

And speaking of eating…only 3 more days of fasting. Last night was Laylat al-Qadr, the 27th of Ramadan. This night, called the night of decree, night of power, night of destiny, refers to the evening when the prophet Mohammed is believed to have received the Qu’ran. A night of great energy, Muslims dress up and briefly dance through the streets in a beeline for the mosque. There, manyy stay up all night praying, offering, and doing charitible acts. Others visit relatives, revel in the streets and color each other with henna. Though not allowed in the mosque itself, I was privileged enough to see the festival in the medina. The brilliant colors, lights, aromas, sounds and foods of the medina normally do not even compare to the mardi gras festivities of last night. Chrildren and adults alike paraded about in new jilabas, stopping on their way to the mosque to get food, take pictures, and scope members of the opposite sex. Spontaneous altars sprouted everywhere and the air was thick with the fumes of incense. Taken up in the excitement, I sat down at a cafe to practice anthropology. I ordered Cahua (coffee) but declined the 1/4 cup of sugar and heavy cream that is the norm here. Sipping my coffee, I noticed a young couple enjoying what looked to be bread and…could it be? Amlou. I asked the waiter and he confirmed, that yes, my suspicions were correct. Immediately, I ordered a serving and sat, waiting impatiently for my prize. I had been on a quest to find this delicous almond, honey argan oil dip since my arrival. Sweet and nutty, this simple dip may as well be called ambrosia. It has so much complexity from the argan oil, but is not overwhelmed by the burnt-pumpkin seed peanut butter taste of it. As I sat enjoying my first (and eventually second) helping of this simple staple. I had one of those weird contended moments that makes all right with the world. And then the amlou was gone and I returned to feeling like a sock in the underwear drawer.

Amlou:

1 cup almonds, roasted
1/2 cup argan oil
1/4 cup honey

-Grind almonds in food processor until smooth, about 4 minutes. Then, slowly pour in the oil and honey and serve.

So it’s finally happened; I’ve been struck by the lightning that is abroad sickness. Overseas, it’s inevitable that the native bugs with be enticed by the exotic american body, taking up a residence at their convenience. I thought that after two weeks native, I would be immune; suffice it to say, this was merely wishful thinking. During my war against invaders of my body, I could think of nothing but how to settle my stomach. All of the support of my kind fellow students would do nothing to smother the fire in my body. Water, ginger, medication… they only seemed to make the enemy forces stronger. Dehydrated, crippled and senile, I reach, in the throes of death, for my last resort, a ubiquitous Moroccan foodstuff known as acir, or juice. In this country, juice is made by blending fruit, vegetables and/or nuts along with milk and a sweetener like honey for a pleasing concoction not unlike a light, refreshing blend of milkshake and essence of fruit. But I digress…the second this sweet nectar touched my lips, I immediately began to feel better. After downing half a glass, my constitution improved to the point where I stopped hallucination. After the whole glass, I felt like I had slept for a week. Truly, this medicine from the moroccan kitchen saved my life-at least that’s how it felt at the time. So without further ado, I present my variation of of this refreshing brew.

Moroccan avocado-banana juice

1 avocado, scooped and cut into bite-sized chunks
1 large banana, peeled and diced into bite-sized pieces
1/2 tablespoon lemon juice
1/2 cup plain yoghurt or skim milk
2 tablespoons honey or like sweetener

-Blend ingredients in food processor or blender until very smooth. Serve chilled with a garnish of fresh mint.

Moroccan carrot-orange juice

2 large carrots, peeled, cut into 1 inch pieces and microwaved for 3-4 minutes and left to cool
1 large orange, peeled
1/2 cup plain yoghurt
1 tablespoon honey or like sweetener
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

-Blend ingredients until smooth. Serve cool.

Every evening, at 6:53, pious moroccans (and naive students) gather around the table in anticipation of ftour. The has been spent fasting, studying and praying (and often, sleeping until 3-4), and anxious locals are ready to break their ramadan fast. The table is lined from one edge to another with everything from Cebakiah (a sesame-honey cookie) and dates to eggs, flatbreads (melloui, msemen, beghir) Sellou (toasted sesame seeds, almonds, flour and sugar), warm honey and american portions of mint tea (Not to worry, many of these recipes and more are on the way). I reach past these amouse bouche to the crowning achievement of the Moroccan ftour, a huge soup bowl filled with the heavenly soup known as harira. This magically-spiced blend of beans, grains, tomatoes, and varying local additions is the ideal way to reexperience food. Spicy, thick, hearty, earthy..the flavors blend in the mouth to slowly massage away the gnawing pain of hunger. If not for this stew, I would not last one day of fasting.

Sound divine? Well hold your horses, you’ll find my attempt of the recipe below.

Haute Harira

Estimated Time-about 2 1/2 hours, mostly unattended
Servings-8

1 tablespoon olive oil
2 onions, diced
1 cup chopped celery
1 lb of lamb, cut into 1/2 inch cubes, seasoned with salt, pepper and vinegar (optional but traditional)
3/4 cup dry lentils, washed
3/4 cup dry chickpeas, washed
Juice of 1 lemon
1 28 oz can tomato puree
3-4 cups of stock (use more for thinner soup)
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2-2 tsp of piment port or other chili powder, according to taste
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/4 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 cup brown rice, cooked
1/2 cup chopped parsley
~salt
~freshly ground black pepper
2 eggs, beaten lightly (optional)

-Saute onions, celery and lamb if you are using over medium heat. When onions are transparent, about 5-6 minutes, add beans and continue to saute until vegetables are the color of cider, another 2 minutes.
-Reduce heat to low, deglaze with lemon juice (pour in juice and scrape off the bits stuck to the bottom of the pan with a spoon or whisk) add tomato, stock and spices and cook, covered for 2 hours.
-5 minutes before serving, add rice, parsley, seasoning and more lemon juice or chili to taste. Optionally, slowly pour the eggs in a constant stream while whisking. This will thicken and enrich the soup, and is traditional, but far from necessary.
-Serve along with rustic bread and mint tea. Enjoy!

Location: Rabat
Greetings from Morocco! I must say, this country is gorgeous; rustic, earthy, and very, very colorful. It’s ramadan now, and every night the city comes alive with infite sights, sounds and smells. Venders are selling figs, dates, prickly pears, fresh orange juice, nuts, beans, pastry, goat-smoked for hours-, smelts, pineapple, mango, fresh goat cheese, raisins, flour, copious amounts of mint tea, chiles, spices…and the air is saturated with the smell of it all. I’ve been fasting the past few days, and plan to continue through the mardi gras month that is ramadan. Though it makes me daydream of 17 pound wheels of cheese, I suspect the food-already incredibly delicious-tastes better because of the prohibition. Last night I had an incredible salad with preserved lemons (a staple in morocco), argan oil (another staple), chopped tomatoes, onions, peppers and greens, coupled with a tagine (a stew cooked in a cone shaped ceramic vessel) of olives, green beans, potatoes, more preserved lemons and cheese, and a dessert of creme caramel (the french influence on the country no doubt.)
Tonight’s dinner consisted of a bean stew w/ tomatoes that tasted like pureed minestrone, a tagine (surprise) of zucchini , beans and olives, and a dessert of frozen vanilla yogurt…I’ll post up some rabat-inspired recipes soon, but right now I have to digest (literally and physically) all that the city has to offer