My favorite.
The thing I fall for, crave, desire to eat in Morocco.

I love the tajin, the beans; lubja, the pasteija, the rfisa, the msimmon in the morning with amlou; sweet almond butter, the tea so sweet it hurts your teeth with nana; mint, or shiba; absinth, or even louisa; thyme. The filling soups; bayssar is my favorite, simple and thick lentil goo, but also harira, rich and thick tomato stew with pasta and parsley. The sweet, juicy strawberries, tangerines, oranges, cheap by the kilo on the streets. The hundred varieties of olives, the grilled chicken with fries and spicy ketchuo, oh and the mixed intestines and fried liver with onions eaten in a sandwitch.

In Morocco it feels like I only wait for my next opportunity to cook, to eat, to get hosted. Almost carnal.

But what I crave the most is a simple meal prepared for me by my first host in Casablanca, easy and cheap: two eggs, scrambled loosely with a pinch of salt and cumin. Served on a plate, add oil, more, more cumin, fresh and fragrant. Break your fresh hobbs and dip it in the oil, pinch the eggs with the bread between your fingers, occasionally alter with a black olive, strong. Small sips of hot tea, served best with sunshine peeking thourgh the window

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(This story told in pictures.)