make mine Moroccan: part one

When I went to Fes the weekend before last I was under no illusion that I'd be getting to know the place particularly well. Four days is not the right time for cultural immersion and I pretty much let myself off the hook by remaining totally ignorant prior to landing. Thankfully, I got lucky. And the instigator was food.



I booked a class with local chef, Lahcen Beqqi, via the joint I stayed in, Dar Roumana (it is beyond beautiful and owned by a fantastic couple, if you don't mind splashing out a bit). When Lahcen arrived with a shopping basket at 9.30 on my first morning I was a little dazed after getting in late the night before. We headed straight into the throng of the souk, with stalls containing every kind of produce imagineable in the theatrical old-city setting of the medina. Here I got the first inkling of a very practical bent in the Moroccan kitchen: no part of plant or animal goes to waste. It can leave a vegetarian feeling a little squeamish.



We filled Lahcen's basket as he chatted about food and culture and gently pushed me out of gobsmacked bystander status. To his eternal credit, Lahcen wants you to get amongst it, talk to stall holders and buy ingredients for yourself.

Once we'd sampled dates, seen live chickens lose their heads, marvelled at some genital produce at the camel stall and filled the basket with fresh, tasty goodness, it was time to head to Lahcen's kitchen. There, I met his charming accomplices, the two Fatimas ('Fatima cous cous' and 'Fatima tagine') and enjoyed a mint tea and the breathtaking rooftop view of the medina before getting my apron on.



Over the next few hours we made four delicious dishes and I got some brilliant cooking tips. But Lahcen's classes are not really about equipping students with fancy techniques. Food is history, family, country, music and friendship, and it was conversation along these lines that was most enriching. If he had his way, the classes would be part of a broader cultural experience, the full Morocco story. He is already developing his business, Fes Cooking, in this direction, pushing you to engage as much as you allow yourself. In hindsight, I would have gone a little better prepared, with small change for the souk and some arabic so I could talk more to stallholders and the Fatimas in the kitchen. But, you know, as long as you are open to whatever interaction might come your way, there is no doubt you will have a wonderful day. And I did. Followed by the next day and the next and the next. I loved every minute of my Fes jaunt.



Recipes start tomorrow, beginning with Zaalouk...

France: they hate vegetarians Part 2

After spending a week in drizzly Paris, we high-tailed it out of there in style with first class train seats to the picturesque, but touristy, seaside town of La Rochelle.
In terms of eating out, we experienced more of the same disappointment. But it's hard to be grumpy when the sun is shining. After perusing a popular strip of restaurants looking at each menu board - not a single one had a vegetarian dish on it - we asked a man setting up tables outside a tapas place if he knew of any restaurants that might be vegetarian friendly. His reply was "not in this town".
After some wandering around, we found a cute little restaurant near the market serving simple fare such as galettes, tarts and salads. Holding a menu and being able to choose a range of things from it was quite a refreshing change.

We decided to stop off at the market the next day and gather some provisions for a day trip to Ile d'aix.






What greeted us was every food lover's fantasy: a bustling market full of fresh seasonal produce. The stallholders were friendly, chirpy and above all, helpful. Considering that the only greenery that we had laid eyes upon was the mould on cheese that was given to us at Aux Lyonnais, oh, and the 'salad' (a.k.a bowl of dandelion leaves), we went a little crazy and by the time our tasting and buying frenzy was over, our shopping bag was full delicious goodies which included:



from the fruit and veg stall:
raspberries
strawberries fragrant and sweeeeeeeeet
cherry tomatoes on the vine
butter lettuce
radishes
flat white peaches the shape of a Breton beret and possibly my favourite fruit. Fleshy, juicy and sweet - and very, very ergonomic.





from the cheese man:
2-year-old Comte cheese an outstanding cheese. It has an Emmental vibe with a waxy texture and a hint of sweetness and nuttiness. I hadn't tried one this old before.
a small wheel of goat's cheese mild with a delicate soft texture and a very slight sour edge.



from the baker:
brioche buttery, crumbly and soft
paprika and Parmesan biscuits like a cross between a Carr's cheesy melt cracker and a scone. Full of buttery cheesy goodness
grainy baguette





We took the boat to Ile d'Aix, via Fort Boyard, and hired bikes to find a nice beach to sit on and chow down on our very successful market haul.



SIMPLE BAGUETTE

Back in London it's easy to write off bought sandwiches as a lunchtime option because, well...they're horrible. Nasty preservative-packed stale bread buttered within an inch of its life bracketing some sort of filling which is unrecognisable because of all the sandwich filler they have slapped on it.
Remember the good old lettuce, tomato and cheese combination? Sounds boring - but with quality ingredients it's a taste sensation. Wherever you are - picnic, work or Ile d'Aix, it's dead simple and takes two seconds to prepare.

What you need
Swiss army knife
Baguette
Comte
cherry tomatoes
lettuce

The do
Split the baguette lengthways. Fill with lettuce, halved cherry tomatoes and Comte. Grind some black pepper if you have it.
Tip If you are making this for later, lay the lettuce and cheese on the outer layers so the tomato doesn't touch the bread and make it soggy.

Today at Borough: Cooked Cheese heaven

I'll generally take melting dairy gooeyness any way it comes. But on a Saturday morning in SE1 there's only two that matter; and you'll find them both at the same Borough Market stall, in the Green Market right by Southwark Cathedral. They are the mouth watering raclette and its partner in cheesiness, a toasted sandwich boasting an international fan base. (There are a couple of posts about the stall's history here at Ripe London -- just scroll down).



Raclette is both the name of a type of cheese and its signature dish -- a plate piled with seasoned crushed potatoes and mini dill gherkins, then smothered with a thick layer of melted cheese. Traditionally, the fromage is heated in a metal contraption containing a grill with supports for two halves of a cheese wheel. These can be swung in turn to position them under a naked flame. Once the cheese is bubbling and crusty, it is scraped over your taters. (In French, racler means 'to scrape', hence raclette.)



It's bloody delicious and the smell of the larva-like cheese wafting across Borough's Green Market is so seductive you'll want to mainline the stuff by the time you actually sight it. Which is traumatising because there's often a long queue and then that painfully difficult decision -- raclette or sanga?

Next week, sandwich.

What does it cost to eat in London?

Saturday is magic in my little world and not just for extra sleep. No matter the hangover or weather, we womble down to the end of the street round midday with our shopping baskets to buy pretty much all our weekly groceries at Borough Market.

It is an incredible place, a food mecca with so many varieties of mushroom it can goggle your brain. We knee through the crowds to pretty much the same stalls every Saturday -- geeky mr tofu, crazy stilton woman, giddy mushroom dip girl, old-skool one-pound-a-bowl man, the droopy eyed French cheesemongers and an eccentric veggie farmer who mans his stall with cute'n'earthy young lasses.

After gawking at strangely arranged dead animals, scoffing a million cheese samples and stopping at the wine bar to read the papers, we roll home with our bags and bellies full. It's as enjoyable as shopping can get, our haul is cheap and it keeps us fed for ages... at least this is my standard line. It's probably a lie. I don't budget, I just make it up -- backed by a slightly pathalogical habit of convincing myself that everything I buy really cost at least 10% less.



So this week I'm taking notes on every pound and penny two of us spend on food. I don't anticipate any dinners at The Ritz, just day to day gob stuffing. Most painfully, booze is included. Results on the weekend. Argh.


I know it's wrong but I can't help looking.