The Fabric

Moroccan cooking is built on patience. The defining dishes are the tagine and the tanjia — clay pots that sit over charcoal for hours, turning lamb shoulder, chicken thighs, or beef cheeks into meat you can lift with a piece of bread. Saffron, cumin, preserved lemon, olives, prunes, and almonds do the heavy lifting. The best houses in Morocco refuse to rush any of it; tagines here are ordered early or pre-ordered the day before.

Alongside the slow pot you will find couscous, the Friday lunch of almost every household, steamed three times over broth until each grain stands separately under a canopy of seven vegetables. Pastilla, a Fassi specialty, wraps tissue-thin warqa pastry around pigeon or chicken with almonds, sugar, and cinnamon, finished with a dusting of powdered sugar that startles first-time eaters. Harira, the tomato and lentil soup poured into bowls at sunset during Ramadan, lives on menus year-round.

Bread is never optional. Khobz rounds arrive at every table and replace the fork for about half the meal. A pot of mint tea, poured from a height into small glasses three times over, is the universal closer. If the menu reads honest — tagine of the day, couscous on Friday, seasonal preserved lemons — you are in a real Moroccan kitchen, not a tourist adaptation. Ask what the house is proud of and order that.