Do you remember my Moroccan mom?
Not all of you got the chance to meet her, so I have to go back to the origins of the story…The premises are that my family is so big, that sometimes it works as a social insurance: no matters how far you go, there will be someone who knows someone who knows someone friend of a relative of mine! It’s reassuring and scary at the same time!
So, when the big social net found out that I was going to Casablanca, one of my aunt called me to say that yes, she had a friend whose mom was living in Casablanca and that I absolutely had to talk to her before going. The friend invited me to her house and made me talk to her mom on the phone, asked all my contact details and ordered me to call her as soon as I were to touch Moroccan soil.
My first day in Casablanca she showed up at the residence with a box of sweets and a bucket of roses and the first thing she told me was “I am your Moroccan mom, if there is something that you need and you don’t call me I will be forever offended!”. She checked my apartment to see if I had everything, then she met my classmates and residence neighbors and she invited us all for couscous in her house. So began this momship and no words can say how incredible woman she is.
Going back to the present, my Moroccan mom came to Italy, to spend the vacations with her daughter’s family. Obviously the rest of the family, hearing my stories about her, was dying to meet her, thus we organized a big reunion, aunts, uncles, cousins and my grandma came for the big Christmas Couscous. My Moroccan mom and her daughter arrived early in the morning with plenty of bags: couscousière, and all the ingredients (I wonder how it feels like to shop all your life in Bourgogne market and all of a sudden going for grocery in an Italian ipermarket, considering how they transform under the Christmas stress of “we have to buy more food as possible or we’ll risk not to explode!”). And so, I SAW IT. I finally underwent the COUSCOUS MAKING EXPERIENCE, under my own eyes, in my own kitchen! Now I know, I know how to cut (not too much skin or the zucchini will become purea), the vegetable cooking order (first the carrots, then the pumpkin, the zucchini and at the very last, the cabbage), the spices, how to taste (everything with your hands, you put the broth and taste it directly from your hand, never from the spoon), how to pod the couscous’ grains and how to cook it (three times, always with your hands, I don’t get how they don’t burn their hands, put the oil on your hand and “massage” it! If the steam oozes from the hedge of the couscousière tie a wet cloth around it), how to make the delicious sauce with onions and raisins…I saw it all. NOW, we have to see if from seeing to making the passage will undergo some losses, WE WILL SEE!!!!
Not all of you got the chance to meet her, so I have to go back to the origins of the story…The premises are that my family is so big, that sometimes it works as a social insurance: no matters how far you go, there will be someone who knows someone who knows someone friend of a relative of mine! It’s reassuring and scary at the same time!
So, when the big social net found out that I was going to Casablanca, one of my aunt called me to say that yes, she had a friend whose mom was living in Casablanca and that I absolutely had to talk to her before going. The friend invited me to her house and made me talk to her mom on the phone, asked all my contact details and ordered me to call her as soon as I were to touch Moroccan soil.
My first day in Casablanca she showed up at the residence with a box of sweets and a bucket of roses and the first thing she told me was “I am your Moroccan mom, if there is something that you need and you don’t call me I will be forever offended!”. She checked my apartment to see if I had everything, then she met my classmates and residence neighbors and she invited us all for couscous in her house. So began this momship and no words can say how incredible woman she is.
Going back to the present, my Moroccan mom came to Italy, to spend the vacations with her daughter’s family. Obviously the rest of the family, hearing my stories about her, was dying to meet her, thus we organized a big reunion, aunts, uncles, cousins and my grandma came for the big Christmas Couscous. My Moroccan mom and her daughter arrived early in the morning with plenty of bags: couscousière, and all the ingredients (I wonder how it feels like to shop all your life in Bourgogne market and all of a sudden going for grocery in an Italian ipermarket, considering how they transform under the Christmas stress of “we have to buy more food as possible or we’ll risk not to explode!”). And so, I SAW IT. I finally underwent the COUSCOUS MAKING EXPERIENCE, under my own eyes, in my own kitchen! Now I know, I know how to cut (not too much skin or the zucchini will become purea), the vegetable cooking order (first the carrots, then the pumpkin, the zucchini and at the very last, the cabbage), the spices, how to taste (everything with your hands, you put the broth and taste it directly from your hand, never from the spoon), how to pod the couscous’ grains and how to cook it (three times, always with your hands, I don’t get how they don’t burn their hands, put the oil on your hand and “massage” it! If the steam oozes from the hedge of the couscousière tie a wet cloth around it), how to make the delicious sauce with onions and raisins…I saw it all. NOW, we have to see if from seeing to making the passage will undergo some losses, WE WILL SEE!!!!
3 comentarios:
besaha, Giulia
Que bonita descripcion!
pero yo no como con palabras, a ver cuando nos haces uno! soy tu asistenta si me necesitas!
yo te cocinare incha allah pronto una comida senegalesa
un beso
Vero
No veo la hora Vero!
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