Look carefully. In this photo Ava seems to be giving me the thumbs up. This is not, in fact, what is happening. Instead, she’s showing me how she holds her chopsticks. I made these kid-friendly chopsticks by folding up a piece of paper, placing it between regular chopsticks and wrapping all around it with an elastic band. Ava’s been using them since she could pick up a spoon.
So why am I feeding her?
Because she wasn’t so sure about the Burmese salad. Not yet.
Our greatest role as parents is to provide the warm encouragement our children need to experience the world as fully as possible – to help open their minds. So, while it seems like I simply picked up the chopsticks to feed her, I’m actually working on world peace.
True story.
This week I have two summery treats, as well as one that’ll comfort you any time of year. Of these three recipes, 2 recipes have chickpea flour, 2 have coconut milk, and two have lime juice. There’s quite a bit of overlap, although each dish is completely unique. I love that!
What sounds good to you?*
Burmese Ginger Salad (Gin Thoke) [Recipe]
A refreshing slaw, made with napa cabbage, peanut-fried chickpeas, lentils, fresh ginger, green onion, lime and lemon slices, fish sauce, and chickpea flour. Bring this to your next Asian-themed BBQ and watch the smiles pop, pop, pop.
Coconut Chicken Noodle Soup (ohn-no-khao-swe) [Recipe]
Chicken cooked in a quick ginger curry, seasoned with sweet shallots and coconut milk. The best part? Everyone assembles their own bowl, using half a dozen toppings as they like.
Split Coconut Jelly [Recipe]
This is such fun – coconut jelly is opaque on one end and transluscent on the other. This vegan dessert is popular street food all over Myanmar.
*All recipes and meal review will be posted throughout the week.
Golden rock, by Ralf-André Lettau; Ox cart by Stefan Grünig; Bagan, by Hinta
Get your imagination primed; this week’s Global Table is laid between ancient statues dripping with gold, miles of muddy coastlines, and blue skies held up by lush, green tropics. We’re spending a week in Myanmar, a.k.a. Burma.
Inle Lake Monastery, photo by Bild von Stefan Grünig. Thagyamin statue at the Kyauktan Yay-Le Pagoda, photo by Hintha.
Wander with me through the rhythms of daily life in this southeast Asian country, where flat, circular baskets whomp, whomp, whomp to thresh grain; pestles thump, thump, thump to grind ginger, garlic, and lemongrass to a paste; and mallets clang, clang, clang to make knives.
Amid this bustling, concentrated routine, the scents and flavors of Burmese cooking shine bright. Salads are everywhere. If you’re thinking this means lettuce, think again. For the most part, these salads are flavor firecrackers layered with napa cabbage, lentils, chickpeas, fish sauce, and chilies. Variables include fermented tea leaf, pickled ginger [Recipe], and chickpea flour and more.
Outdoor cafe in Yangon, Myanmar. Photo by Magical World
Speaking of chickpeas, there’s a notable Indian influence in Myanmar. Not only are spicy curries, tamarind juice, and flatbreads common (nan pya), but food is typically enjoyed layered with steamed rice.
Unless, that is, noodles show up.
And, boy do they ever – even first thing in the always beautiful morning.
Monk crossing, photo by Scott Anderson.
Rice noodles are popular in brothy, fishy soups, as in the popular staple called m0hingar, while wheat flour noodles are beloved with chicken curry soup, as with ohn-no-kauk-swey [Recipe].
Either way sounds good to me.
Among the throngs of busy street vendors, you will find everything from crispy insects to creamy coconut milk “jelly” set with nothing more than a heap of agar agar [Recipe].
Recently Tulsa was blown over by some pretty mighty winds. Trees scattered their branches – the old, the cracked, and the decrepit littered the neighborhood streets. The next day I walked with Ava while she rode her tricycle. Every few minutes I stooped over to the pavement, gathering small twigs and branches until my hands were full. I would use the firewood in our chimnea.
While I hate to see something good go to waste, I still felt a twinge of shame when the occasional car passed us by.
I was that lady. Picking up sticks for no apparent reason at all. The weird lady.
Ava pedaled happily along, occasionally pointing out another stick for me.
Her simple, unquestioning willingness to help me, her mother, moved me. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought of the jaded years to come.
I silently looked to the sky and said a few words of thanks for the child.
Thank you for not judging me with jaded eyes.
Thank you for helping me with eager hands.
Thank you for smiling with all your heart.
I also asked, ever so quietly, that she would never change.
A few days later, when I cooked Mozambique, I ran across this picture:
Firewood in Mozambique. Photo by Steve Evans.
As a developed society, we have so few resources that we can provide for ourselves, without relying on industry – without pulling out our wallets. Chickens aren’t allowed in the city limits, so I can’t have my own eggs. I certainly can’t have a cow or a goat graze in my yard, for milk or meat. I don’t have time to go fishing or hunting all day.
Bottom line: I have very little control when it comes to providing for my family all by myself.
But I can collect firewood after a windy day.
It’s a small thing. It’s almost silly, really. But this simple act is beautiful. It makes use of the unwanted. The forgotten.
Using the resources in my very own street, rather than purchasing firewood for $4 at the grocery store, makes me feel closer to my community. But, ironically, it makes me feel closer to Mozambique, half a world away.
That afternoon, as I walked next to my smiling child, I felt closer to real life.
The ginger gives a mildly spicy, tickle-your-throat kick that is at once warming and comforting. The milk and sugar round the tea out, making it nearly impossible to put down. I made this with decaf black tea so Ava could try some of mine. I could barely get her to stop guzzling it. She loved this tea.
What I love least about this dish:
Personally, nothing. But Keith, a.k.a. Mr Picky, left his mug 2/3rds full. While he tried the tea hot, he was also very quiet about this drink, which leads me to think he wasn’t crazy about it. I’m planning to make it for him cold, like I did for Ava. I think he’ll enjoy it 100% more on ice.
Chicken Mozambique with coconut Piri Piri [Recipe]
What I love most about this dish:
This chicken surprised me. I expected a strong, almost overpowering flavor, but instead the marinade proved light and subtle. Think tropical, thanks to the smooth creaminess of coconut milk. The lemon juice and chilies in the piri piri make for a bright, spicy kick. I was nervous about feeding this to Ava but the heat wasn’t bad at all and she loved the skin, requesting pieces of skin every other bite. Keith liked it too, remarking how beautiful the skin was.
What I love least about this dish:
The key to getting the most out of the flavor is to marinate the legs as long as possible. You can also score the skin to help it soak in. Be sure not to brush the chicken too much towards the end of cooking, to maximize crispiness.
This piri piri is fresh, quick and delightful. Honestly, I thought I’d just barely tolerate this sauce, but the lemon juice and garlic really gave it a nice, happy flavor that went beyond plain ol’ burn-your-mouth-off hot sauce. I was also very proud of Ava who ate some of this directly on her rice. While she guzzled some water afterwards, she did not cry or complain one bit. Even Mr Picky enjoyed this (although he would have preferred less lemon juice).
What I love least about this dish:
Not much – if you’d like to put something a little hot and unusual on your Global Table this is a fun way to do it.
Whether the sun is blistering or the snow is falling, Mozambique has the answer for you. Ginger – crazy ginger tea. The beauty of this drink is in the simplicity. There’s no long list of spices, as with Indian Chai (although, goodness do I love and adore a good cup of Chai).
It’s purer than that.
Every mug gently cradles steeped black tea and fresh grated ginger, topped off with creamy milk and sweet spoonfuls of sugar. It’s a little bit spicy and a whole lot of comfort.
Served cold, this tea makes for an incredible poolside sipper. Served hot, this tea will warm your spirit as well as your fingers during a snowy sunset.
This recipe is inspired by the Swahili people of Africa, some of who live in the northern tip of Mozambique. You’ll find similar drinks all in many parts of Africa, where ginger grows easily. Typically, the drink is served hot.
Here is the video that inspired the recipe:
Makes 1 1/2 quarts
Ingredients:
1/4 cup grated ginger (about 3 inches of ginger, unpeeled)
1/4 cup black tea (decaf, if desired)
1 quart water
2 cups milk
1/4 cup sugar (or to taste)
Method:
First thing, gather some water and bring it to a happy bubble.
While it’s heating up, grate the ginger. I used about 1/3 of this root, skin and all.
Sometimes ginger can be a bit hairy and fibrous. No worries. Even hairy ginger is good for tea making.
So go ahead; add the ginger and black tea to the boiling water. Simmer for 3-5 minutes.
Meanwhile, loll around in a boat. Smile at the sunshine. Make some new friends.
Fishermen. Memba Bay, Nampula Province, Mozambique. Photo by Stig Nygaard.
Next, add milk and sugar. Return to a simmer and let bubble gently for a minute or two, until the sugar dissolves.
If found that 1/4 cup of sugar is just right for a moderately sweet, chilled drink. Add a bit less if you’re serving the drink hot because sweetness comes through stronger in hot liquid.
Strain and either serve hot, hot, hot or chilled to the bone.
If hot, pour in a silly mug…
… handmade with love.
I call this one my green man mug, a.k.a. Jeff.
He pretends to be a serious book lover. And in some ways he is. But he’s also really rather silly.
The chilled version is almost impossible to put down.
Real talk: use decaffeinated tea if serving to children!
Enjoy with a lovely view…
Ibo, Mozambique. Photo by Rosino.
And many more “hello’s” than “goodbye’s.”
Happy Stove Top Travels to you!
Swahili Ginger n' Milk Tea
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Whether the sun is blistering or the snow is falling, Mozambique has the answer for you. Ginger – crazy ginger tea. The beauty of this drink is in the simplicity. There’s no long list of spices, as with Indian Chai (although, goodness do I love and adore a good cup of Chai).
It’s purer than that.
Every mug gently cradles steeped black tea and fresh grated ginger, topped off with creamy milk and sweet spoonfuls of sugar. It’s a little bit spicy and a whole lot of comfort.
Whether the sun is blistering or the snow is falling, Mozambique has the answer for you. Ginger – crazy ginger tea. The beauty of this drink is in the simplicity. There’s no long list of spices, as with Indian Chai (although, goodness do I love and adore a good cup of Chai).
It’s purer than that.
Every mug gently cradles steeped black tea and fresh grated ginger, topped off with creamy milk and sweet spoonfuls of sugar. It’s a little bit spicy and a whole lot of comfort.
1/4 cupginger root(grated), about 3 inches unpeeled ginger
1/4cupblack tea(decaf, if desired)
1quartwater
3cupsmilk
1/4cupsugar(or to taste)
Servings: quart
Units:
Instructions
Boil some water. While it's heating up, grate the ginger. I used about 1/3 of a root, skin and all. Don't worry about hairs and fibers, it's good for tea making.
Add ginger and black tea to the boiling water and simmer for 3-5 minutes.
Next, add milk and sugar. Return to a simmer and let bubble gently for a minute or two, until the sugar dissolves.
Recipe Notes
If found that 1/4 cup of sugar is just right for a moderately sweet, chilled drink. Add a bit less if you’re serving the drink hot because sweetness comes through stronger in hot liquid.
Welcome to golden, fire-breathing sunshine. This is piri piri, a famous hot sauce in Africa which has hundreds (thousands!) of variations. Today’s rendition comes from Mozambique, where bright lemon juice meets smooth olive oil, tiny hot peppers, and a healthy scoop of red pepper flakes.
Piri Piri has her roots in Portuguese culture, whose influence is still felt today in Mozambique.
Keep in mind that you can make piri piri by mincing a mountain of hot peppers, if you’re brave. In that case you might not even need the red pepper flakes. It’s all about what you feel like. The more peppers, the thicker the sauce, which can be nice (and is, in many ways, more traditional). For today, however, I simply wanted to make a hot sauce that would be edible for my rather mild-eating family, including my toddler … who, I might add, wasn’t nearly as scared of it as I expected.
Which is amazing, considering the face I made when I gave it to her.
Makes 1/4 cup
Ingredients:
1 lemon, juiced (2Tbsp)
2 Tbsp olive oil
Thai bird chili peppers, to taste (I used 2)
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1 tsp red pepper flakes
salt, to taste
Method:
First, juice the lemon, crush the garlic, and either slice your peppers into rings or mince them.
Whisk together with olive oil and salt.
Say hello to my olive oil baby… she’s watching you!
Sorry about that.
Ok. Let’s get serious. The sauce is delicious as-is, but we’re not going to stop here. We’re going one step closer to the sun…
…. by mixing in a happy scoop of fire. Otherwise known as red pepper flakes.
Hello, my pretties.
This makes the most lovely sauce for on top of veggies, rice, or even in a coconut piri piri marinade for Chicken Mozambique.
Yes. We did that.
And it was grand.
Enjoy!
Lemon & Garlic Piri Piri
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Piri Piri has her roots in Portuguese culture, whose influence is still felt today in Mozambique.
Keep in mind that you can make piri piri by mincing a mountain of hot peppers, if you’re brave. In that case you might not even need the red pepper flakes. It’s all about what you feel like. The more peppers, the thicker the sauce, which can be nice (and is, in many ways, more traditional). For today, however, I simply wanted to make a hot sauce that would be edible for my rather mild-eating family, including my toddler … who, I might add, wasn’t nearly as scared of it as I expected.
Piri Piri has her roots in Portuguese culture, whose influence is still felt today in Mozambique.
Keep in mind that you can make piri piri by mincing a mountain of hot peppers, if you’re brave. In that case you might not even need the red pepper flakes. It’s all about what you feel like. The more peppers, the thicker the sauce, which can be nice (and is, in many ways, more traditional). For today, however, I simply wanted to make a hot sauce that would be edible for my rather mild-eating family, including my toddler … who, I might add, wasn’t nearly as scared of it as I expected.
Have you ever had one of those days where no amount of air conditioning cools you down? Where summer heat clings to your skin like extra, unwanted insulation?
Where you don’t even want to hold hands, for fear that one extra degree of heat from another human might make you cry?
Yesterday was one of those days. It. was. hot.
Sometimes washing my face solves the problem. Sometimes I have to soak my feet in cold water. Other times only the cold brine of the ocean will do (unfortunately Oklahoma is in short supply of ocean).
On days like this there is no way I’m turning on the oven. No way I’m turning on the stove. Considering I don’t have a microwave, this leaves me with cold dishes (like that yummy buckwheat & feta salad from Montenegro) and, of course, the good-glorious grill.
And that’s where we are today. Happy Grill Town.
Now, aside from not heating up the house, the best thing about grilling season is cooking up ye ol’ favorites. You know, the ones that you haven’t seen since last summer. That and the blessed lack of dirty pots & pans. The worst thing about grilling season is the seasonal grilling rut. Monotony, also known as “there’s only so many times I can eat BBQ chicken without wanting to run for the hills,” threatens to glaze over my eyes every summer.
That’s why I love cooking the world.
No ruts in sight.
Case in point – this week’s Global Table. If you’re feeling the grilling doldrums, fly with me to Mozambique. These beautiful people know how to grill. Mozambique chicken has a smooth coconut flavor with bright lemon, garlic and hot chili pepper notes. There are many versions but the best recommend a leisurely overnight marinade.
Good things happen while you’re asleep. (And, while we’re talking about sleep, that’s also when bad things work themselves out.)
Mozambique Chicken can be as fire-hot as you’d like (just add more piri piri, to taste). Even those with delicate taste buds can enjoy this chicken recipe by reducing the piri piri to a little splash. The way I prepared the chicken has some heat, but nothing that’ll send in the fire engines.
Even Miss Ava had no trouble eating the chicken.
And, boy, did she chow down.
Serves 4-6
Ingredients:
4-6 whole chicken legs
For the marinade:
2 Tbsp piri piri, for mild (recipe will be posted tomorrow)
1 cup coconut milk
Now, set up your grill in the shade of a great tree.
Next, you’ll want to mix up the piri piri… it’s super quick and mighty beautiful. I’ll have that recipe for you tomorrow.
Yummers.
Toss the chicken with a cup of creamy, luscious coconut milk and as much piri piri as you can stand.
Let marinate all morning, or preferably overnight. Turn the chicken once or twice to ensure it gets all over the chicken.
Tip: if you score the meat, the marinade penetrates the chicken more thoroughly.
Real talk: I forgot to do this and it was still good.
While the chicken marinates overnight, dream a little dream of Mozambique, perhaps dotted with … boats and goats. Goats and boats. That’s too much fun.
Maputo, Mozambique. Photo by Stevie Mann.
The next day, right before you’re so hungry you can’t stand it, start cooking. Grill the chicken over medium heat (about 350F), until cooked through and the juices run clear, about 40 minutes. Preferably, keep the chicken just off the direct heat.
Turn once and baste a couple of times with more of the yummy marinade.
Serve with rice, extra piri piri and a smile.
Enjoy this beautiful pile of chicken with a happy pile of friends.
Be sure to add enough laughter to forget about how hot, hot, hot you feel.
If it works, send Mozambique a note of thanks.
Cheers!
Chicken Mozambique with Coconut Piri Piri
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This week’s Global Table. If you’re feeling the grilling doldrums, fly with me to Mozambique. These beautiful people know how to grill. Mozambique chicken has a smooth coconut flavor with bright lemon, garlic and hot chili pepper notes. There are many versions but the best recommend a leisurely overnight marinade.
Mozambique Chicken can be as fire-hot as you’d like (just add more piri piri, to taste). Even those with delicate taste buds can enjoy this chicken recipe by reducing the piri piri to a little splash. The way I prepared the chicken has some heat, but nothing that’ll send in the fire engines.
This week’s Global Table. If you’re feeling the grilling doldrums, fly with me to Mozambique. These beautiful people know how to grill. Mozambique chicken has a smooth coconut flavor with bright lemon, garlic and hot chili pepper notes. There are many versions but the best recommend a leisurely overnight marinade.
Mozambique Chicken can be as fire-hot as you’d like (just add more piri piri, to taste). Even those with delicate taste buds can enjoy this chicken recipe by reducing the piri piri to a little splash. The way I prepared the chicken has some heat, but nothing that’ll send in the fire engines.
First set up the grill. Then, mix up your piri piri.
Toss the chicken with a cup of creamy coconut milk and as much piri piri as you can stand. Let marinade all morning, or preferably overnight. Turn the chicken once or twice to ensure it gets all over the chicken. (If you score the meat, the marinade penetrates the chicken more thoroughly).
The next day, start cooking. Grill the chicken over medium heat (about 350F), until cooked through and the juiced run clear, about 40 minutes. Preferably, keep the chicken just off the direct heat.
Turn once and baste a couple of times with more marinade.
This is childhood: an overzealous hug and a kitty who has lost the will to struggle.
This is also childhood: faces small enough to fit behind the glass.
Both of these photos come from this week’s lovely Global Table. I themed the menu around all-things-barbecue because steamy Mozambique has all sorts of BBQ goodness going on.
The Piri Piri sauce can go on just about anything – rice, meat, soup, stew, so be brave and whip it up on your next whim. Even better, carry a little to your next potluck in a cute bottle and make the hostess happy. Bring the chicken, too, if you have time.
Then there’s the drink. Seriously. It’s like… creamy buttercups in your mouth. But ginger-hot. Oh goodness. None of this makes sense. Let’s just say it’s grand.
What sounds good to you?
Chicken Mozambique [Recipe] Whole chicken legs marinated overnight in coconut milk and lemon piri piri. This grilled chicken has tropical flair good enough for, say, Memorial Day weekend.
Lemon Piri Piri [Recipe] A quick mix of garlic, lemon juice, olive oil and, oh yeah, lots of hot, hot peppers. If the weather doesn’t get you into a bathing suit, I have a feeling this recipe will.
Swahili Ginger n’ Milk Tea [Recipe] Sip on black tea (decaf, if young people are involved) brewed with freshly grated ginger, milk, and a few spoonfuls of sugar. This is grand hot or cold. Be warned – if you make it cold, you’ll need a double batch. So addicting.
*All recipes will be posted over the next few days.
Traditional Shangaan Dancing. Photo by JJ van Zyl.
I love a little eye candy in the morning. This week I searched Pinterest for Mozambique and found the most beautiful photos; sparkling clear waters, titanic mountain rainges, lovely ladies and adorable children. Page after page filled with the beautiful and the rugged, the charming and, yes, the unexpeted bits of the Southeast African country.
Welcome to my new favorite hobby – looking up countries I know next-to-nothing about on Pinterest. In fact, the less I know about a country, the more fun it is. Have you tried this?
The obsession means I now have pinboards for every continent, global themed parties, changing the world, and more.
Hello, fun!
A hut in Nivali, Nampula province, Mozambique, and one of the characteristic "inselbergs" spread around in the landscape. Photo by Stig Nygaard.
Once I settled into the photos of Mozambique, I realized that, while there is an over proportion of beautiful resort scenery, there are also plenty of photos of daily life. Women carrying water on their heads, children lounging in the hot, hot shade, food at the market.
And speaking of food… the food of Mozambique is as beautiful as her landscape. You might find anything from chicken [Recipe] in a coconut milk & piri piri sauce (a.k.a. hot pepper sauce [Recipe]), to green bean soup made with a simple mash of potatoes, tomatoes, and onion.
In general many of today’s popular dishes reflect the Portuguese influence from old colonial times. Of course, location plays a big role in what’s for dinner as well; with a long meandering coastline, Mozambique happily serves up all manner of fried and boiled seafood (especially prawns). This might be served with millet porridge, bread, or rice. Corn also grows well and can make it’s way into porridge or simply enjoyed grilled.
For dessert, fresh fruit like papaya is very common, as are puddings and custards. Tea steeped with ginger and milk makes for a comforting sipper, as well [Recipe].
By the end of the week we’ll be spreading our Global Table (and Pinterest) with a little food love from Mozambique.
Cheers!
P.S. I’m curious to know… how do you use Pinterest to satisfy your wanderlust?
Maps and flag of Mozambique courtesy of CIA World Factbook. Photo of Moputo by Andrew Moir.
As I set our Moroccan Global Table I know something is wrong. I know because I’m doing it on purpose.
The table sits outside, under a tree, covered by dappled shade and a soft cotton cloth. I tuck the benches right up to the table, so Ava can eat without a giant void between her and the table.
I look at the clock; Ava’s friend Isabel, her sister Emma, and her parents will be here any minute.
After a moment of hesitation, I make my decision and quickly place seven dinner plates on the tablecloth. This is where I go wrong. This is what I should not be doing. To make matters worse, I continue by placing seven sets of silverware on the table and seven cups. The table is loaded to the brim.
If I were living the traditional Moroccan way I would not be using all these dishes. We would tear off pieces of bread and use it to scoop up the lamb from the communal tagine, straight into our mouths. In fact, Moroccan water vendors carry a strand of shiny metal cups around their neck, sell a cup of water and then take back the cup for the next customer. There’s all kinds of sharing going on in Morocco.
The timer goes off. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeep. As I lift up the conical lid, the scent of saffron and cinnamon fills my home and drifts out the window, over the table. Perfect.
Once dinner begins we all eat with our own silverware, on our own plates, and our own glasses. We still laugh, we still feel community – but the real experience of “digging in” is missing.
Our hands are tools. Give humans a pile of food and we can pick it apart – no silverware required. Even soup is no obstacle, with the right determination. I’ve seen it all over the world. When we don’t use our hands enough (whether for eating, building, sewing, gardening, or painting), we lose that connection to what we can do on our own.
This week I desperately wanted to eat the tagine with our hands. We’ve eaten like this for other Global Tables, but things are changing around here.
When it comes to toddlers, consistency is key. Ava now knows that every Thursday she’ll be trying new food from around the world. She knows it’ll be fun, a bit unusual, and there’ll be a video camera. But what she can’t yet figure out is why sometimes she’s allowed to eat with her hands and sometimes she’s not.
This can create quite a bit of confusion at dinnertime. When she was a baby, occasionally eating with her hands worked because… well, .. she occasionally ate with her hands. And when she’s a little older, no doubt, eating with her hands once in a while will work again. But at two years old, it’s hard to enforce eating with a fork 6 days a week, only to undermine myself on the remaining day.
It confuses her and it confuses me. And it would have confused our friends and their kids. Oh the chaos. I can picture it now (which is why I put out those plates and silverware).
I’m curious and looking for advice. How does your family handle eating with your hands? What about family style, from one shared plate (think pizza, ice cream, popcorn)? Do you do it at all? Why or why not?
Moroccan Lamb Tagine with Sweet Honey Figs [Recipe]
What I love most about this dish:
Oh sweet goodness – this is cinnamon and spice and everything nice. The meat on this tagine is so tender, we literally didn’t need our knives – we simply just pulled a little on the meat and it fell apart. I adore how the honey figs and chestnuts complemented the meat. But the best complement of all? Everyone had thirds. Even Ava, despite the fact that all she wanted to do was play, play, play.
What I love least about this dish:
There’s nothing difficult about it, except the desire to keep peeking under the tagine lid. Try not to do this much, or you lose all the heat. One other note – chestnuts can get expensive and are by no means required for this dish to be amazing.
There is something so incredible about adding sugar, orange juice and cinnamon to carrots. It’s like having carrot cake, but for a salad (and not as sweet). I could not believe how much of this Ava’s little friend ate – two entire glasses. In fact, everyone seemed to like it, even the girl’s mom who has a slight allergy to carrots (I found this out after dinner). And even Mr Picky (see the collage of his tasting experience). I like that the flavors can easily sit overnight, making this salad an obvious option for a travel-themed potluck or party.
What I love least about this dish:
Not much. Next time I make it, I want to grate the carrots even finer, to make the salad more traditional. While you can easily eat this a couple of days after you make it, the color dulls somewhat the longer it sits.
Every. single. thing. Seriously. This tastes like fresh baked bread, but with the buttery honey spiked with orange blossom water? Forget it. This is how I plan to spend the next several Saturday mornings. I served these after dinner, way after the kids were long since full, yet they all wen to town on these as if they didn’t have dinner thirty minutes earlier. I also made these for breakfast on a weeknight (by mixing the batter up the night before and refrigerating it). Easy peasy!
What I love least about this dish:
Like any pancake, there is always a bit of time spent fiddling with the temperature gauge. I lucked out and had no trouble figuring out how hot to set the stove – it’ll be a lot like your pancake setting. Don’t worry though – if you mess up the first 1 or 2 figuring out the right temperature. You’ll eventually get the hang of it. The key is to raise the temperature if holes don’t form and lower it if the bottom burns before the top dries out.
Pretty, pretty, pretty. Say hello to the juiciest carrot salad in the world. Inspired by the cuisine of Morocco, the salad blends shredded carrots with fresh squeezed orange juice (loads of pulp!), cinnamon, sugar, and orange blossom water.
It’s all kinds of crazy and… it works.
I felt that, hot on the heels of our Mongolian Carrot salad, it’d be fun to make a variation from Morocco.
And I’m so glad I took the risk. This is one wild salad.
So take a deep breath, and breathe in the orange blossom goodness.
NOTES: While it won’t be quite as good, if you decide to use orange juice instead of squeezing your own, please get the extra pulp kind. Those little bursts of pulp really make this salad special. Also, try shredding your carrots even finer, as this easier to eat the traditional way (in a tea glass with small spoon). You may purchase similar glasses at your local Middle Eastern market.
Ingredients:
2 lb carrots, grated
2 cups fresh squeezed orange juice (all the pulp – about 9 oranges, juiced)
2 tsp cinnamon, plus extra for garnishing (if desired)
1/4 cup sugar, or more to taste
orange blossom water
Method:
It really doesn’t matter what they look like – carrots are carrots are carrots.
Peel a mountain of them and shred finely.
I used my food processor, but the grater-feed has rather large holes. In Morocco, this salad would be almost pulverized and soupy. You can use the fine side of a box grater or pulse the shredded carrots a few times in the processor to make it finer than I did if you’d like to be more authentic.
Next, juice the oranges. All that pulp makes the salad juicy and fresh. Make sure you keep it all.
Oh, goodness, this is like liquid sunshine.Carrots and oranges. It’s such a great idea!
But then comes the cinnamon and sugar. Oh boy.
And that little blast of orange blossom water.
While you can totally enjoy this salad without the orange blossom water, this is what makes the salad taste floral, perfumy… and totally Moroccan.
Now we’re talking perfection.
Vivid, juicy perfection.
Enjoy and share with friends, friends of friends, and not yet friends.
Be well!
P.S. Ahem.
Moroccan Carrot & Juicy Orange Salad
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Pretty, pretty, pretty. Say hello to the juiciest carrot salad in the world. Inspired by the cuisine of Morocco, the salad blends shredded carrots with fresh squeezed orange juice (loads of pulp!), cinnamon, sugar, and orange blossom water.
It’s all kinds of crazy and… it works.
I felt that, hot on the heels of our Mongolian Carrot salad, it’d be fun to make a variation from Morocco.
And I’m so glad I took the risk. This is one wild salad.
So take a deep breath, and breathe in the orange blossom goodness.
Pretty, pretty, pretty. Say hello to the juiciest carrot salad in the world. Inspired by the cuisine of Morocco, the salad blends shredded carrots with fresh squeezed orange juice (loads of pulp!), cinnamon, sugar, and orange blossom water.
It’s all kinds of crazy and… it works.
I felt that, hot on the heels of our Mongolian Carrot salad, it’d be fun to make a variation from Morocco.
And I’m so glad I took the risk. This is one wild salad.
So take a deep breath, and breathe in the orange blossom goodness.
2tspground cinnamon, plus extra for garnishing (if desired)
1/4cupsugar, or more to taste
orange blossom water
Servings: people
Units:
Instructions
Peel a mountain of carrots and shred finely.
I used my food processor, but the grater-feed has rather large holes. In Morocco, this salad would be almost pulverized and soupy. You can use the fine side of a box grater or pulse the shredded carrots a few times in the processor to make it finer than I did if you’d like to be more authentic.
Next, juice the oranges. All that pulp makes the salad juicy and fresh. Make sure you keep it all. Stir in the sugar, cinnamon, and orange blossom water. Once in serving vessel, dust with more cinnamon.
Recipe Notes
NOTES: While it won’t be quite as good, if you decide to use orange juice instead of squeezing your own, please get the extra pulp kind. Those little bursts of pulp really make this salad special. Also, try shredding your carrots even finer, as this easier to eat the traditional way (in a tea glass with small spoon). You may purchase similar glasses at your local Middle Eastern market.
Oh, goodness. Where do I even begin? Do you see that honey dripping off the edge of the crater cakes? Each drop is perfumed with the haunting aroma of orange blossom water and butter.
Hello. I mean, really.
I’m pretty sure I can just pack up and go home now. My job is done. Talk about good-glorious-eats!
But, for those few who aren’t yet sure if this Moroccan treat – officially called Beghrir – is right for their breakfast table, let me continue.
These semolina pancakes aren’t really pancakes. They are fried on one side only. The other side is utterly soft and yeasty, and pocked with thousands of holes. The bottom is crispy, while the top is light and airy. They’re like a crumpet’s long lost cousin.
The holes are perfect for catching pools of orange blossom honey sauce, by the way. While some like them almost as thin as crepes and as large as a dinner plate, you can also make them smaller and a bit on the thicker side, as I did. The choice is yours.
For those of you who are lucky if they can see in the morning, let alone measure out ingredients, feel free to mix this batter up the night before and refrigerate overnight. In the morning, all you’ll have to do is roll out of bed and start frying.
Makes 3 cups batter (Serves 4)
Ingredients:
3/4 cup semolina
3/4 cup flour
1 tsp active dry yeast
1 tsp sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 egg
1 cup warm milk
1/2 cup water, to thin or more as needed
vegetable oil, for cooking
For the sauce:
1/4 cup honey
1 Tbsp butter
1 tsp orange blossom water
Method:
This is a dump-and-go recipe, meaning all you have to do is dump everything together and whisk.
There are two ways to do this. (And no matter how you do it, do it in an orange Moroccan sky.
Lighthouse of Rabat, Morocco, photo by Rosino. Merzouga, Photo by Nomadz
Make the beghrir in a bowl:
First, with a bowl. Dump everything together, whisk, cover and let sit at room temperature 1-2 hours, or overnight in the refrigerator.
Easy peasy, although you might struggle to get the lumps out.
To make the beghrir in a blender.
Add wet ingredients first, then dry. Blend until combined, scraping as needed. Cover and let sit for 1-2 hours, or overnight in the refrigerator.
Just look at this bubbly double batch (risen in a warm kitchen for 2 hours)! Crazy town…
Special notes:
You need to add enough water that the batter is pourable, but not as runny as a crepe.
Either way you make this, the flavor is wonderful, like freshly risen bread dough.
To cook:
If you refrigerated your batter overnight, let sit at room temperature for 15-30 minutes. Meanwhile, wash your face and comb your hair. When ready, lade the batter into a hot, oiled nonstick pan. It should form a nice circle without the need for swirling.
Play around with the heat to make it cook perfectly (mine was set to medium/medium-high). The pancake is done with the top side is dried out and the bottom is…
… golden brown and just a bit crispy.
If it burns before the top dries out, lower the heat. If holes don’t form, raise the heat.
Talk about addicting!
As you cook the pancakes set some butter, honey and orange blossom water to melt together on the stove.
When you’re done cooking,
Stack them up,
And drizzle with the crazy, happy honey mixture.
Oh, glistening goodness.
This is what life is all about.
Happy breakfast to you and yours, from my Moroccon Global Table to you!
These semolina pancakes aren’t really pancakes. They are fried on one side only. The other side is utterly soft and yeasty, and pocked with thousands of holes. The bottom is crispy, while the top is light and airy. They’re like a crumpet’s long lost cousin.
The holes are perfect for catching pools of orange blossom honey sauce, by the way. While some like them almost as thin as crepes and as large as a dinner plate, you can also make them smaller and a bit on the thicker side, as I did. The choice is yours.
For those of you who are lucky if they can see in the morning, let alone measure out ingredients, feel free to mix this batter up the night before and refrigerate overnight. In the morning, all you’ll have to do is roll out of bed and start frying.
These semolina pancakes aren’t really pancakes. They are fried on one side only. The other side is utterly soft and yeasty, and pocked with thousands of holes. The bottom is crispy, while the top is light and airy. They’re like a crumpet’s long lost cousin.
The holes are perfect for catching pools of orange blossom honey sauce, by the way. While some like them almost as thin as crepes and as large as a dinner plate, you can also make them smaller and a bit on the thicker side, as I did. The choice is yours.
For those of you who are lucky if they can see in the morning, let alone measure out ingredients, feel free to mix this batter up the night before and refrigerate overnight. In the morning, all you’ll have to do is roll out of bed and start frying.
First, with a bowl. Dump everything together, whisk, cover and let sit at room temperature 1-2 hours, or overnight in the refrigerator.
Easy peasy, although you might struggle to get the lumps out.
Option 2: Make the beghrir in a blender.
Add wet ingredients first, then dry. Blend until combined, scraping as needed. Cover and let sit for 1-2 hours, or overnight in the refrigerator.
Special notes:
You need to add enough water that the batter is pourable, but not as runny as a crepe.
Either way you make this, the flavor is wonderful, like freshly risen bread dough.
To cook:
If you refrigerated your batter overnight, let sit at room temperature for 15-30 minutes. Meanwhile, wash your face and comb your hair. When ready, lade the batter into a hot, oiled nonstick pan. It should form a nice circle without the need for swirling.
Play around with the heat to make it cook perfectly (mine was set to medium/medium-high). The pancake is done with the top side is dried out and the bottom is golden brown and just a bit crispy.
If it burns before the top dries out, lower the heat. If holes don’t form, raise the heat.
As you cook the pancakes set some butter, honey and orange blossom water to melt together on the stove. Pour over cooked pancakes like a syrup.
Today I’m taking you to a special place where family and friends gather around the dinner table with happy hearts. Silverware is optional, but bread is not. Settle into this sacred space, where tagine of lamb meets chestnuts, figs, cinnamon, honey, and orange blossom water. Pause for a moment to celebrate this crazy wonderful combination, to feel the hot air blow through your hair, then dig in and scoop up the glory with a handful of bread. When you’re done, cozy up to an evening of conversation so good you wish you could bottle it.
Tagines are Moroccan party food – each nibble is filled with glorious, cheerful flavor; a festive bite of beauty; a deep, dark bowl of goodness, glimmering like the Moroccan night sky.
To be honest, there was a time when the word “tagine” sent shivers down my spine. The very word sounded terribly exotic which, in my mind, translated to “extraordinarily difficult to make.”
If I only knew how wrong I was.
Bouregreg Valley, Morocco. Photo by Nomadz.
I’ve since learned that many Moroccan tagines, such as this lamb tagine, are simply braised meats slow cooked with a bouquet of spices, topped with sweet, dried fruit. While there are more complicated versions (and even ones with preserved lemons and olives, instead of the sweet note I’ve chosen to take on), the most common recipes don’t even call for browning the meat.
Talk about doable.
I mean, really. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s cook meat low and slow. And, if there’s one thing Mr Picky loves, it’s slow cooked meat.
It’s like this meal was written in the stars.
My recipe is a combination of several recipes. To start with, I browsed Paula Wolfert‘s recipe books. This woman is a powerhouse of all things Mediterranean and is aptly described by Maroc Mama as the Julia Child of Moroccan cooking. I also looked through Claudia Roden’s Arabesque. With the help of these ladies, as well as tidbits from half a dozen other cookbooks, I culled together the best of the best, of the best.
The result?
A tender tagine good enough for Sunday dinner, but easy enough for every day.
The highly fragrant lamb, dried figs and sweet chestnuts makes for pure love when combined with the honey and cinnamon. Amazingly, this tagine still tastes majorly savory, thanks to the saffron, ginger, and garlic.
It’s all kinds of good.
NOTES: While a ceramic tagine is ideal for slow, moist cooking, you can also make a great tagine in a heavy bottomed French oven. If you use a ceramic tagine, be sure to soak it overnight in water to keep it from cracking. Also, never heat it over medium heat. You can eat tagine with a fork, if you’d like, or you can scoop it up the traditional way – with flatbread or even French bread. Orange blossom water is available at Middle Eastern markets.
Ingredients:
For the meat tagine:
1 red onion, sliced in half moons
2 Tbsp vegetable oil
4 lb lamb, cut in large chunks (I used a boneless leg of lamb)
7 ounces of dried figs
1 cup of jarred, roasted chestnuts
2 Tbsp Butter
1/3 cup honey
1/3 cup water
1 tsp orange blossom water, optional
parsley, for garnish
Method:
First, put on a little Moroccan music. Then, layer the bottom of a tagine with sliced onion and vegetable oil. Gently heat over medium and cook to soften the onions.
Meanwhile, gather your spices. Saffron lends the most haunting flavor to the tagine, while ginger and garlic give it kick. And cinnamon makes everything better.
Cut the lamb in large chunks and toss with spice mixture.
Add to tagine and cook until tender (I cooked mine at a gentle simmer from 1:00pm-5pm and it was outrageously good. You can cook yours for just 2 hours and still have good results).
Meanwhile, take a little stroll. On a camel, if you’d like.
Sahara in Morocco. Photo by Bachmont.
A note on water:
I found that I didn’t need to add any water to my tagine, as the meat and the onion released quite a bit of juices and the tagine could barely hold them all. That being said, most recipes recommend adding 1/2 cup of water. If yours seems dry, just drizzle a bit of water down through the hole in the top of the tagine. This way the cold water will cause the steam to condense and drip back down over the meat.
While the meat is cooking, filling your home with the scent of “good,” get to work on the special honey fig and chestnut garnish.
In a small pot, toss the figs with butter, water, honey, and orange blossom water. Simmer for 15-20 minutes, until caramelized. Remove from heat and stir in the chestnuts.
They become ooey, gooey and absolutely irresistible. In fact, I recommend making some extra so you can sneak a few, guilt-free. That’s what I did!
Set the rest aside and add to the tagine in the last five minutes of cooking.
Some people like to roll the figs in sesame seeds, but I couldn’t wait to eat!
Garnish with torn parsley for a little blast of color.
Step back a moment and enjoy that beauty… wow.
It’s just like a sparkling Moroccan night, but in your very own kitchen.
Jemaa el-Fnaa at night. Photo by Procsilas
We ate outside while listening to the chirping birds. I’ve never had such tender meat; there was no need for knives.
There’s something about eating tagine outside with friends that makes me feel like I’m on vacation.
Like anything is possible.
I wish the same for you.
Wishing you all the beauty of a easy, breezy day.
Happy stove top travels!
Moroccan Lamb Tagine with Sweet Honey Figs
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Rating: 4
You:
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Today I’m taking you to a special place where family and friends gather around the dinner table with happy hearts. Silverware is optional, but bread is not. Settle into this sacred space, where tagine of lamb meets chestnuts, figs, cinnamon, honey, and orange blossom water. Pause for a moment to celebrate this crazy wonderful combination, to feel the hot air blow through your hair, then dig in and scoop up the glory with a handful of bread. When you’re done, cozy up to an evening of conversation so good you wish you could bottle it.
Tagines are Moroccan party food – each nibble is filled with glorious, cheerful flavor; a festive bite of beauty; a deep, dark bowl of goodness, glimmering like the Moroccan night sky.
Today I’m taking you to a special place where family and friends gather around the dinner table with happy hearts. Silverware is optional, but bread is not. Settle into this sacred space, where tagine of lamb meets chestnuts, figs, cinnamon, honey, and orange blossom water. Pause for a moment to celebrate this crazy wonderful combination, to feel the hot air blow through your hair, then dig in and scoop up the glory with a handful of bread. When you’re done, cozy up to an evening of conversation so good you wish you could bottle it.
Tagines are Moroccan party food – each nibble is filled with glorious, cheerful flavor; a festive bite of beauty; a deep, dark bowl of goodness, glimmering like the Moroccan night sky.
Layer the bottom of a tagine with sliced onion and vegetable oil. Gently heat over medium and cook to soften the onions.
Meanwhile, gather your spices. Saffron lends the most haunting flavor to the tagine, while ginger and garlic give it kick. And cinnamon makes everything better. Cut the lamb in large chunks and toss with spice mixture. Add to tagine and cook until tender (I cooked mine at a gentle simmer from 1:00pm-5pm and it was outrageously good. You can cook yours for just 2 hours and still have good results).
Then, get to work on the special honey fig and chestnut garnish.
In a small pot, toss the figs with butter, water, honey, and orange blossom water. Simmer for 15-20 minutes, until caramelized. Remove from heat and stir in the chestnuts. Add to the tagine in the last five minutes of cooking.
Recipe Notes
While a ceramic tagine is ideal for slow, moist cooking, you can also make a great tagine in a heavy bottomed French oven. If you use a ceramic tagine, be sure to soak it overnight in water to keep it from cracking. Also, never heat it over medium heat. You can eat tagine with a fork, if you’d like, or you can scoop it up the traditional way – with flatbread or even French bread. Orange blossom water is available at Middle Eastern markets.
I found that I didn’t need to add any water to my tagine, as the meat and the onion released quite a bit of juices and the tagine could barely hold them all. That being said, most recipes recommend adding 1/2 cup of water. If yours seems dry, just drizzle a bit of water down through the hole in the top of the tagine. This way the cold water will cause the steam to condense and drip back down over the meat.
