North African

A hot and peppery Tunisian omelet.

A dish of Tunisian origin that is eaten in most Middle Eastern countries, it makes an ideal snack meal. There are many versions. I like this one, called “nablia,” which is a specialty of Nabeul.

This Egyptian feast-day soup which is eaten seventy days after Ramadan is made of the leftover meat and bones of a sacrificial lamb. It is the custom to slay a lamb in the name of God, and to distribute the meat among the poor. The family of the donor must eat some of the lamb in order to benefit from the sacrifice, and this soup is a good way of doing so.

Another Moroccan soup, this one too makes a good meal to serve at a party.

This is the much-loved national soup of Morocco. During the holy month of Ramadan, when Muslims fast between sunrise and sunset, the smell permeates the streets as every household prepares its own version to be eaten when the sound of the cannon signals the breaking of the fast at sunset. It is eaten with dates and honeyed cakes. A particular feature is the way it is given what is described in Morocco as a “velvety” touch by stirring in a yeasty batter or simply flour mixed with water.

This is one of my favorite soups from Egypt.

For this spicy and aromatic Tunisian soup, use any firm white fish, like cod or haddock, and serve it as a main course.

This soup is popular in Egypt, where sick and convalescing people are encouraged to eat it to regain their health. It is plain but delicate in flavor, and highly nutritious, made with the same large fava beans as ta’amia (page 61), sold without their skins (they are a pale cream without their brown skins).

This tangy, aromatic soup was a family favorite in Egypt. The strong taste of lemon is the main feature. It was usually served over rice.

With this fresh-tasting and aromatic Egyptian soup, it is best to cook the rice separately and add it just before serving, as it gets bloated and soft if it stands in the soup.

In Greece it is made whenever chickens are boiled. In Egypt we called it beid ab lamouna and shorba bel tarbeyah. The stock can be prepared in advance, but the rest must be done at the last minute.

This delicate and beautiful soup is made with the large orange pumpkins that are sold cut up in large slices. Ask to taste a bit from an open one, as the taste varies. You will know if it is not very good.

Melokheya is Egypt’s most popular national dish. It is an ancient peasant soup which is believed to be portrayed in pharaonic tomb paintings. It seemed to us as children that the fellahin (peasants) wore the same clothes, used the same tools, and repeated the same movements as did the figures working the land in pharaonic tomb paintings. Every peasant, however poor, had a little patch of ground for his own use, and in summer this was reserved exclusively for the cultivation of the deep-green melokheya leaf (Corchorus olitorius—in English, Jew’s mallow). The women prepared the soup daily in large pots which they carried to the fields on their heads for the men to eat at midday. When the work was done and the men came home, they ate it again at dusk. For many years, when we were relatively new in England, the leaves were very hard to find, and we hankered desperately for the soup. Some relatives of mine in Milan tried to grow the plant (it looks a bit like spinach) in the garden of their apartment building. After weeks of effort—getting the seeds (the same seeds were found in pharaonic tombs), planting them, watering, nurturing, harvesting—they invited a group of compatriots to eat the soup. The triumphant cook was horrified to find that the leaves she thought she had so lovingly raised were only local weeds. The melokheya had failed to grow. Everybody from Egypt adores melokheya, which has a mucilaginous, glutinous quality imparted by the leaves. But be warned: it is an acquired taste. There are various ways of eating it in several stages, and each is something of a ritual. The soup may be eaten first with plain rice (that is how I like it—pure and simple), or with fried or toasted Arab bread; then with portions of the chicken or meat which was used for making the stock. Or you can serve it all together in many layers on the plate. In either case, it represents an entire meal. The layers may start with pieces of toasted bread at the bottom of the plate, but usually begin with rice, topped with a piece of chicken or meat, over which the soup is poured. Recently the Lebanese custom of sprinkling chopped onion steeped in vinegar on top has been adopted by some Egyptians. In Egypt they use chicken, rabbit, goose, duck, or meat stock to make the soup. Many years ago I was employed in England to make the soup using a famous brand of bouillon cube for a television advertisement. Years later, when I went back to Cairo for the first time, I spied it being shown on television in a crowded café between episodes of “Dallas.” You are not likely to find fresh melokheya, but dried and frozen varieties are available from Middle Eastern stores. The frozen one is best. A lot of garlic is used in a sauce called takleya which goes in at the end, but it does not seem like too much when you eat.

This very popular Tunisian soup is eaten for breakfast. In poor families it serves as a meal during the day. Little cafés in popular areas serve it in the morning to people going off to work.

Lentil soup is an Egyptian favorite. You can buy it in the street from vendors. When I went back once during the fasting month of Ramadan, I was wandering through a long market street and stopped in a tiny café. There was only one table and I was the only customer, and all they had to offer was lentil soup. They must have been Copts. They served me in great style, offering me all kinds of extra garnishes—scallions, lemons, toasted pita croutons—rushing out to buy each one, after each new demand, from the stalls outside, then preparing them in front of me at the table. There is no harm in making the soup in advance—even a day before.

In Lebanon the turnovers with meat are the most prestigious, but we in Egypt always made cheese ones. No tea party was ever right without them. The recipe for the dough has been passed down in my family for generations as “1 coffee cup of oil, 1 coffee cup of melted butter, 1 coffee cup of warm water, 1 teaspoon of salt, and work in as much flour as it takes.” We baked the pies, but it was also common to fry them in oil.

This rich Tunisian pie makes an interesting main dish.

These Tunisian fried parcels in a crisp casing of ouarka (see page 125) are ubiquitous appetizers in North African restaurants. You can use fillo to make them, although it is not quite the same. They should be served immediately, as soon as they come out of the frying oil.

These individual Moroccan pies are made with the paper-thin pancake-type pastry called ouarka (page 125), but fillo can be used. They are deliciously spicy and herby, with masses of parsley and cilantro. Serve them as a first or as a main course.

Variously pronounced bstilla, pastilla, and bisteeya, it is one of the great dishes of Morocco, described as “food for the gods.” Vast quantities are made in huge trays for weddings and grand occasions. The version with pigeons is the most prestigious. Moroccans say the dish was brought back by the Moors from Andalusia after the Reconquista, but in Andalusia, at El Molino, the center of gastronomic research outside Granada, where they serve it as a historic dish, they say it was brought to Spain from Morocco. In a thirteenth-century Andalusian culinary manuscript in Arabic (see Lucie Bolens, appendix) there is a recipe for a pigeon omelet which is almost identical to the filling for bstilla. The preparation of the pastry called ouarka requires much skill and experience (see page 125). You can buy it vacuum-packed in French supermarkets, so perhaps we will be able to find it in America soon. Store-bought sheets of fillo make an excellent alternative. There are two famous versions. The one of Fez is the most surprising, with its sweet-and-savory combination, but you must also try the sharp lemony one of Tétouan, which is given as a variation. The cooked birds are not deboned in Morocco—the bones are left in the pie—but it is much more pleasant to eat the pie without them.