Make Mine a Moroccan Mint Tea

A three hour shopping mission through winding mazes of souks in Marrakech can do real damage to pale winter skin and Michael Kors sandals. As my shopping high began to melt from the hot North African sun, I realized what I really needed a cold iced tea to take my attention away from the annoying orange grit rubbing between my toes and tingeing my new sandals.

My husband and I looked for the first café in sight to sit and regain our strength and will to walk back to the hotel. As we sat and tried to order an iced tea, we learned there was no such thing as iced tea, but the waiter recommended hot Moroccan Mint Tea. Ugh. Hot tea was just what we needed on a 105˚ day.

But alas! When in Rome (or Marrakech) do as the Romans do. At first sip, the warm earthy, herbal concoction actually started working its magic. The aromatics of the mint, health properties of the green tea and the sugar were just the right elixir to stir our spirits.

To Moroccans, Mint Tea is a symbol of hospitality and friendship. After experiencing various modes of travel throughout Morocco, it’s no surprise this drink is a given in a spirit of benevolence. In the Moroccan countryside, a seemingly simple trip to a friend’s house in a nearby town is usually made by either mule, horse drawn cart or an unconditioned car from the 1970’s.

A dark brew of Green tea is the actual base of the famous Mint tea. The show begins as the hot tea is poured from high above the tea cup from an hand-hammered sliver teapot with extra-long spout. The height and drama of the pour ensure a frothy cap to the tea which Moroccans prefer.As the hot liquid fills the glass, fresh sprigs of mint infuse the tea with their fragrance and liquid.

In the Moroccan version of hot tea, tea cups are replaced with jeweled toned glasses, about four inches high, adorned with elaborate and ancient gold leaf designs. Cone or cubes of brown natural sugar are served on the side to add for your desired sweetness.

As a person who doesn't actually like mint, I like this tea! As we finish our second serving of mint tea, I realize I am feeling refreshed. I am not noticing my burnt shoulders as much and feel ready to trek my way back into the souks. Perhaps now that I am refreshed, I can find that perfect shade of orange slippers!

MOROCCAN MINT TEA

6 fresh mint sprigs plus extra for garnish

3 teaspoons green or black tea

3 tablespoons sugar

4 cups water
Boil water and combine mint and loose tea and sugar in the teapot. Let steep, stirring once or twice, for 3 minutes. Pour tea through a tea strainer into tea cups to serve. Garnish with remianing 4 sprigs of mint.

Morocco: First Meal in Marrakesh

Ok....so it was on a whim. Blame it on a glimpse of a "cheesy" tourist poster promoting Morrocco that hung in a Madrid travel agency window. Tim and I were already vacationing in Spain, a well studied trip, much like our other vacations. Hours spent on the web, in book stores and libraries to study what to do, what to see and what to learn about the basic customs of the country we were about to visit. But enter....the "wild hair" moment. Yes, I did it. I admit it was my idea to go to Morrocco last minute. My husband Tim was the usual willing accomplice. Within an hour, our plans to Catalonia were nixed and we were set on a Royal Air Morac flight with other sun seeking Europeans the next day.

As we entered our "five star" hotel, aka, the little Beirut Bed and Breakfast, we soon realized, the star system was a bit skewed in Africa. As I drew the curtains in hopes to reveal the bustling markets of Marrakesh or maybe even a skyline traced with the roofs of Riads, at first look at the hulled out empty buildings, dust devils swirling in the red-dusted abandoned roads, we quickly re-named our hotel a "little Beirut". Use your own imagination.

Can I redeem myself at this point? Of course, food can do this, the true great redeemer. But I did remember that some of the tour books I peaked at in the Madrid airport said dinners and nightlife didn't start till about 10pm or so, but goodness, at 7:30 we are starving. And if the scenery outside our window was any indication of how the hotel restaurant food would taste, I was ready to explore the city.

Heading the call of our grinding stomachs and promise of pigeon pie, we piled into a Marrakesh cab. We tell him to drop us off at the infamous Djemmaa el-Fna market square. RIght off the bat, we see a gorgeous restaurant entrance, luring our growling guts to the exotic tastes inside. As we enter the front foyer, it's dark, there's no host, noo music, no life at all. We find stairs to our left. What the heck. We climb them hoping to find the thriving Marrakesh nightlife we heard about.

So now we are on the roof of this Riad restaurant. We finally see something familiar. A bar lit by flickering votive candles. Thank, goodness, we didn't just walk into someones house! A local, possibly a line cook, bar -back or "busser" blandly greets us and says to sit. We sit. Alone. Not one other guest. At this point, my heart starts to pound. The heavy-duty quite starts to really unravel my nerves. Then, from the looming minuet in the distance a haunting, chilling chant from the Imam starts pouring out to all those who know, it's the last prayer for the night.

Who were we to know...I just wanted some really good lamb tagine. So after a few minutes of holding my husband's hand so tightly, it turned white, the chanting stopped and the feeling we were intruding on someones private religious ceremony started to ease.

Then it happened. People started to arrive. Party by party, dining guests filled the rooftop restaurant, their smiling faces revealed by the flickering candles on the tables. Good news, my hunger comes back. Fear has subsided and the usually sounds of glass wines clinking and forks hitting porcelain soothe the hair standing on the back of my neck.

So now comes the lesson. You leave for a third world country, not originally on your travel itinerary and no one at home knows where you are. This is when you realize you really should have spent the $14 on that tour book and the $20 on a phone call to your mother. I will say though, this was one of the best meals in my life. Fear must heighten the sense of taste! The cinnamon spiked tagines and slow roasted vegetable made every cultural mistake well worth the panic!