The medina never fails to surprise. Walking among the stalls laden with everything from persimmon (now in season, along with pomegranates, cherimoyas and of course, citrus), to walnuts (now abundant), to kettle-cooked popcorn, it seems that food jumps out from every shadow. I can’t go a block without seeing something utterly and completely foreign, and I love it. Just yesterday, I came across a vendor–a mountainous, wind-chiseled beast of a man–peddling the most delicate little fruits I had ever seen. Akin to pygmy lychee nuts in appearance, they were stringed like jewelery on sturdy blades of grass, forming bracelets and necklaces smelling of something between a strawberry and pineapple. Being in an adventurous mood, I bought a anklet-sized bunch (for the equivalent of 30 cents!), and immediately began working my way down the line, my munching much like the 70’s game “worm”.
Immediately, I was greeted by an explosion of flavor, as the soft shell gave way and to reveal the fruit inside. It was juicy, with pulp similar in both color and texture to a ripe mango. But the taste was unlike anything I had ever imagined. The outer husk, edible, reminded me of raspberry seeds, and echoed forth a texture that gave a satisfying crunch to complement the juicy inside. The bright orange pulp was pleasingly floral, with hints of peach and passionfruit. I thought this is what tropical fruit would taste like if it grew in meadows and forests (if only! Then i could have them every day at home, foraging frick park and pirating them by the bushel). And they were perfectly bite sized; not even the hershey’s company (or ferran adria) could engineer a better foodstuff. I asked the merchant the obvious question, and he responded with a name I soon forgot; however, the taste of this experience will linger on my tongue for a good long while. Here, street food is my king, bard and muse, and it is a rare gift to find a country that can offer such unparalleled culinary adventures.
Despite this and other stories I’ve collected, often, when thrust in this chaos of fruit and nuts, bread and dairy, it’s so easy to shrink from the unfamiliar. And unfortunately, I’ve found myself doing just that. After 2 1/2 months in this country, I am embarrassed to say, I haven’t, as of last week, yet tried Harcha. Neither have you? Well, then, let me introduce this incredible edible.
It is early morning, and the streets are deserted. On my way to class, I pass stray dogs picking at scraps of the evening, filling their bellies with leftovers from the previous night’s glut. The air is chilly, and I marvel that I can finally see my breath in the air. I am alone in the medina. But wait, from tiny crevices peppered through the sidewalk, I can hear voices, raucous laughter, the radio. I try to ignore it, late already, but as soon as the sounds of one party fades, another takes it’s place, like the bleeding of streetlights. Finally, my curiousity gets the better of me, and I peek into what from the street looks like an abandoned alleyway. Immediately, I am greeted with the warmth of bodies, the smell of grains baking, and a smoking griddle. A sober pub, opened at sunrise, is the first thing that jumps to mind. I immediately backtrack to the other oases of early-risers, and I am greeted by the same sight.
Everywhere, in undiscovered crevices and squeezes in the medina, I find spontaneous country clubs of men (brings up the issue of gender and public/private space, but that’s another issue…or another post). These are the morning taverns of morocco, and they have but one thing on their menus: Harcha (and, of course, mint tea). Now, I’ll admit that I’ve seen Harcha before, huge pancakes of semolina baked daily on the griddle, but until that morning, I hadn’t been tempted to try them.
This morning, though was different. Perhaps the fault of the cold air or the changing weather, I laid down 2 DH and asked for a wedge. Though moroccans take it as a breakfast staple with dabbles of butter, oil, cheese or jam, I decided to go the purist route. I bit in, and the taste like sweet couscous flooded my mouth, but with a texture more like cornbread than anything else. The slight char on the outside was just delightful, but like perfect toast, the interior was soft and fluffy. I became a believer, and since last week, I’ve eaten a wedge every morning, the perfect beginning to a long day. Just recently, I found a similar snack, made with bulgar (tabloullie) instead of semolina. I’m not sure which I prefer, the sweet original or nutty alternative, suffice it to say I’m not going back to plain khobz. Who knows, eventually I may not just bang elbows with the locals, but be confused for one of them.
you’ll find recipes below.
Plain Harcha
Now, this recipe is exceedingly easy. The only hard part is turning the cakes over halfway. In morocco, they cook pancakes that measure 1/2 meter, but to make flipping easier, I suggest one starts small (perhaps cakes that are fist-sized). Have fun, and start with a small batch, lest you eat more than you bargain for (and I assure you, whatever you make will be eaten. Forget leftovers, this is a food that never sees day 2).
1 cup of fine semolina flour (found at any grocery store nowadays)
1/2 cup coarse semolina flour (Or use wheat bran, cereal, or all fine flour)
1/4-1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon honey
up to 1/4 cup of butter (or flavorful oil), if desired (more traditional, better texture, but fattier)
~Water (For a richer harcha, you could use milk/yoghurt to replace some or all of the water. Again, more traditional, but water saves calories)
In a large bowl, stir together the ingredients. If you are using butter, work it in (keep pinching it and mixing with flour), with your fingertips until mixture resembles coarse meal/is more or less uniform. Add water, and mix slowly, until the mixture resembles wet sand. You should be able to work and knead without the dough falling apart. compress it into a ball to check consistency. Now you can go 1 of two ways.
1) Pat mixture into a small saucepan (round sided for easy turning), oiled and placed over medium heat, pressing down until compact. Aim for a uniform, about 1/2 inch thickness. Now, cook 5-7 minutes (until bottom is browned to your desire…check it a spatula), and either flip and repeat the process or place under the broiler until top is browned and crispy, rotating every 30-45 seconds. Alternatively, you can use a hollowed out can of tuna or similar sized round and pack it full of dough. Cook the same way (this method is pretty cook because it makes flipping exceedingly easy), Serve and enjoy. This method allows for wedges of the harcha to be cut from the big round.
2 (the prettier option): Either shape the dough into balls and flatten them until 1/2 inch thick or roll dough out with a rolling pin, until about 1/2 inch thick. Using cookie cutters or a knife, cut dough into desired shaped/pieces. Cook on a griddle, grill or in a saucepan over medium heat, about 3-4 minutes per side until browned. Flip and repeat. Serve and enjoy. This method allows for fun, single serving harcha.
(Alternatively, for each of these methods, if you want a firmer, crispier interior [6 toast instead of 4 toast], cook harcha over low heat and increase cooking time by 3-4 minutes per side)
Alternatively, you could substitute bulgar (fine ground, mixed with 1/2 cup rough ground, whole wheat flour, ground cereal or wheat bran), for the semolina, and cook the same way, without honey or butter. Just as good, and fewer calories to boot!
