Home in Morocco
Olives and preserved lemons in an Asilah market.
Our journey to Morocco began on the ferry from Spain. In one fell swoop we sensed that we were in a different world from Europe, where we had just been traveling, and yet both of us shared a sense of homecoming. My husband Allan has been to Asilah, a medieval seaside town with a population of 15,000, several times and I, once before. We were going to Asilah for the Asilah Cultural Festival, now in its 33rd year. Allan’s photographs were to be exhibited as part of the Festival.
We were met at the port by a representative from the Asilah Foundation. What a beautiful site it was! Whitewashed walls, art throughout the city, people peacefully walking up and down the windy streets and posters of Allan’s photographs everywhere. Allan went straight to work on the show and I went to the public oven that I had written about several years ago. At that time there were two ovens, but today there is only one. The baker was making a bread with the texture of quiche made from oil, chickpeas, flour, water and salt. Not my favorite flavor, but I’m going to ask Paula Wolfert about it.
We were invited to our friend Mohamed Benaissa’s for dinner at 9:30. When we arrived he was munching dried chickpeas (I love them!) at a low table in one of the rooms. Mohamed, the former foreign minister of Morocco, is also the mayor of Asilah and as such is the head of the foundation putting on the Festival. His home, in the old city, is a series of small sitting rooms surrounding an open courtyard. Works of art line the walls, including several pieces by our friend Carol Goldberg. As Mohamed is on a diet, our meal started with a vegetable soup, similar to the one in “Quiches, Kugels and Couscous: My Search for Jewish Cooking in France”, followed by phyllo triangles filled with eggplant and carrots…absolutely delicious. As Mohamed’s wife Leilah wasn’t there, he had no patience for small talk. We discussed bigger, more political ideas over sumptuous plates of roast chicken and vegetables with fruit for dessert. Everything was ceremoniously served on huge platters, including the obligatory tea.
On the way back to the hotel at midnight we passed hundreds of people walking on the promenade outside of the old city near the sea. Pushcart vendors were roasting nuts and others were steaming tiny snails that the buyer sucked while drinking at nearby tables. It was Thursday night and the next day was Friday, the day of rest; even the children were playing in parks late into the night.
At that hour I couldn’t help but reflect on the colors, flavors and hospitality of Asilah and how very much they lent themselves to a true sense of comfort- however far away Asilah was from where I generally call home.