By Matt Curmi
Even before I began my career as a chef, I had long been an avid fan of cooking outdoors. Perhaps this has something to do with growing up on a boat and off grid, or maybe it just taps into our simpler origins; either way, when I began cooking professionally in kitchens, the concept of cooking outside became even more appealing — and dare I say, more satisfying. Preparing food on a makeshift bench and cooking over hot embers, versus polished stainless steel and that steady blue gas flame, was an eye opening inspiration.
Over the years I have become more in touch with this type of food preparation. Recently, however, this was accelerated after I travelled through the country of Morocco with one thought in the front of my mind: How do Moroccans cook, and how well have traditional methods been preserved? Exploring the answer to this question was more than fulfilling.
Almost all of the meals I experienced in Morocco were cooked over either a wood or charcoal fire. This wasn’t just the case for their famous street-food culture, but was also observed in sit-down restaurants, riyadh, and homes.
Walking the narrow alley ways of the Souk Markets in Marrakesh, hearing the busy sounds of vendors hocking their wares, seeing images of bright, colorful spices, and smelling the inescapable aroma of open flame cooking over charcoal and wood is intoxicating. A lot of this street-food is cooked on skewers and served with khobz (bread) for a simply prepared staple that you can never tire of.
I spent a day at the Amal non profit cooking school where I was more than inspired by preparing meat and vegetables for the tagine (a traditional cone shaped ceramic cooking vessel). The tagines were then gently placed over a charcoal fire to reach peak deliciousness; no exaggeration here, it was indeed delicious! With my two young daughters acting as sous chefs, the tagine is a regular part of our weekly meal plan to this day.
I was also lucky enough to experience a meal prepared by a local Berber family in Bab Ourika Valley, high in the Atlas mountains. I was amazed to walk into a pristine family home to find fresh bread baking in a stone oven while yet another tagine full of meat, vegetables, and cous cous simmered away over hot coals. The bread was served with honey and fresh butter from the same cow I greeted on my way in.
My most notable restaurant experience involved selecting the most promising cuts of meat hanging on display. I then carried the carefully wrapped brown paper package next door to a restaurant where the proprietor handed it off to a young man working on the charcoal grill street side. Twenty minutes later my family and I were getting stuck into the most delicious meat skewer’s with all the fixings, harissa (chili paste), a selection of grilled vegetables and, of course, plenty of fresh khobz.
After my return home, I diligently set about building an adequate fire pit in my back yard. This fire pit is designed with one thing in mind: How do I best cook like the Moroccans while forgoing the conveniences of a modern kitchen? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a well-equipped kitchen more than most, but like I said, there’s something more natural, raw, and instinctual about cooking on an open fire that brings us closer to our heritage.
