The Nomad

Passport & Plate - Saharan chickpea stew

ctnelson — Wed, 4 Mar 2015 07:50:05 GMT

Ingredients
1 tbsp cumin seeds
1 tbsp coriander seeds
1 tbsp sweet paprika
2 tsp cardamom seeds
1 tsp black peppercorns
½ tsp grated nutmeg
1 tbsp olive oil
1 onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, crushed
400g tin chopped tomatoes
200ml vegetable or chicken stock
400g tin chickpeas, drained
200g dried green lentils
Juice and finely grated zest of ½ lemon
A handful of picked coriander

How to prepare this recipe
1 Using a pestle and mortar, bash all of the spice ingredients together until combined.
2 Heat the oil in a large saucepan over a medium heat, add the onion and saute, stirring, for 5 minutes or until soften but not coloured. Add the garlic and spice mix and cook for another minute.
3 Tip in the tomatoes, chickpeas and lentils, then pour over the stock. Pop the lid on and bring it to the boil, then turn down the heat slightly and leave to simmer for 15-20 minutes, stirring now and then, or until thickened and fragrant.
4 Take the pan off the heat, stir in the lemon zest and juice, then divide the stew between bowls. Scatter over the coriander, and serve. If you like, this is great with couscous, or bread for mopping up the leftovers.

The story behind this recipe
Trust in Allah, but tie your camel. A proverb so apt, yet learned too late, because I read it well after my camels had run away and I was stranded in the Sahara desert. With me that morning was my travel companion, two nomads and a week’s worth of supplies, stacked beside a dune. I wondered how we’d ever get back to Marrakech, the sensual, throbbing city we had travelled from. We were so far from anything.

The four of us split up and searched, squinting into the golden distance, hoping to spot a sand-coloured beast in a sea of sand. It was hot and tiring but secretly I felt the thrill of bona fide adventure. At sundown our worn out search party regrouped, unsuccessful, and built a fire. Night falls quickly in the desert and with it the temperature drops. I huddled beside the fire, watching the dried twigs crackle and snap in the flames. Our weary young cameleer, Mohammad, fell asleep, wrapped in his djellaba.

Mbarek poked the embers with a stick, scraping them flat, then lifted a pot from the shadows behind him and sat it on the white hot ash. From various bags he snatched handfuls of spices and tossed them into the pot. That scent will always stay with me; cumin, coriander, nutmeg and a medley of other aromas I couldn’t put my finger on. It smelled like the Morocco I had always imagined and was just getting to know; the heady scent of the Marrakech souks and the sizzling plates of the Djemaa el Fna night market. Here, the smell was even more intoxicating.

Mbarek’s stew revived us that night and the bowls of warming spices lifted our spirits. Quiet reflection turned to chatter and laughter. After, my friend produced a pack of dates and the four of us shared them, lying back on the cool sand, taking in the stars and telling stories. A big white moon peeked over the horizon, creeping slowly upwards; the soft glow casting moon shadows. We may have lost our camels, but from it we found new friendships and incredible memories. And I'll never forget that stew.

Photos: Profile

ctnelson — Tue, 3 Mar 2015 08:29:00 GMT

Profile

Passport & Plate - Saharan chickpea stew

ctnelson — Tue, 3 Mar 2015 08:12:58 GMT

The story behind this recipe
Trust in Allah, but tie your camel. A proverb so apt, yet learned too late, because I read it well after my camels had run away and I was stranded in the Sahara desert. With me that morning was my travel companion, two nomads and a week’s worth of supplies, stacked up beside a dune. I wondered how we’d get back to Marrakech, the sensual, throbbing city that felt a whole world away from where I now stood.

The four of us head off in different directions, squinting into the golden distance, attempting to single out sand-coloured beasts in a sea of sand, with undulations and shadows leading to false alarms. We were overheated and overwhelmed. At sundown our weary search party regrouped, unsuccessful, and built a fire to keep warm. Night falls quickly in the desert and with it the temperature drops. I pulled on several layers of clothing on and sat beside the fire, watching the dried twigs crackle and snap in the flames.

Our guide, Mbarek poked the embers with a stick, scraping them flat. He lifted a pot from the shadows behind him and sat it on the white hot ash. From various bags he snatched handfuls of spices and tossed them into the pot. That scent will always stay with me; cinnamon, cumin, ginger and a medley of other aromas I couldn’t put my finger on. It smelled like the Morocco I had always imagined and was just getting to know; the heady scent of the Marrakech souks and the sizzling plates of the Djemaa el Fna night market. Here, in the middle of nowhere, the smell was even more intoxicating.

Mbarek’s stew revived us that night. The hot steaming bowls of warming spices made us forget our worries. After, my friend produced a pack of dates and the four of us shared them, lying back on the cool sand and taking in the stars. A big white moon peeked up over the horizon; visibly creeping slowly but steadily upwards; the soft glow cast faint moon shadows across the sands. I’ll never know what happened to those camels, but Allah, I’ll never forget that stew.