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“We look up to see if it is day or night.
If stars burn cool and moon does shine,
We take to smoke divine and wine.
If breath of sun does belch its heat,
we boil coffee and prepare to eat.”
― Roman Payne

“POEM FOR SOUKAÏNA��
****
To tell of my new Moroccan Love,
Ô, I court her everyday.
But just as a pearl in the mud is a pearl,
So is my Love just an Arab girl��
in that I offer her constant, loving woos,
but she’ll ask me in return that I give her flooze*.
That’s when I kiss her and shrug, and I say, “Someday.��
And she gives me her love free anyway.
* * *
Ô, my Love is a child of the souks.
In Casablanca born.
A gypsy thief, “Soukaïna�� named.
We met in the souks of Marrakech,
It was here my heart she tamed.
Ô, she came at nineteen to Marrakech,
In search of wild fun.
And she lived in Marrakech seven years,
Before my heart she won.”
― Roman Payne

“We will be making pancakes. Oh, not for now, of course. But for later, we have crêpes aux mille trous, and harira soup, with lemons and dates. At Ramadan, everyone fasts, but we think about food all the time; we buy food, we prepare food, we offer food to our neighbors, we even dream of food- that is, if this wind allows us to sleep. I will bring some Moroccan sweets; some macaroons, and gazelle's horns, and almond meringues, and chebakia.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“She shook her hair in the cool breeze and inhaled, the scents of lavender and rose and jasmine sweet in the lucent air. They passed fields where delicately scented rosa centifolia bushes grew. "How was the rose crop this year?"
"Excellent. We had a mild spring and a generous rainfall. Twenty to twenty-five blossoms on every branch. Our rose was indeed the 'queen of the flowers' this year, to quote the Greek poet Sappho." He lifted his chin and peered at her down his nose. "Our rose de mai is expensive, Danieeele, but far superior to others."
Laughter bubbled in her throat. "Your Gallic pride is showing, Philippe."
He expressed a puff of air between pursed lips. "Bulgaria? Morocco? You can't tell me their roses are better than mine."
"Just different," she said with patience. "Moroccan roses have a rich perfume, and Bulgaria's Valley of the Roses produces lovely damascena roses scented with a brilliant tinge of pear.”
― Jan Moran, Scent of Triumph

“Verder zou ik haar bijbrengen dat het niet manhaftig was om te pesten, om baldadig, cynisch en uitlokkend te zijn, zaken waar je aanzien mee verwierf in de Marokkaanse hiphopcultuur op 'zwarte' scholen. Dat dat niet van bravoure maar van dieptriestheid getuigde. Ik zou haar vertellen dat ze niet kansarm was, dat ze het niet moest toelaten dat iemand haar dat in de schoenen schuift.”
― Lale Gül, Ik ga leven

“I lift up the lid and inhale the aromas of what looks like a flaky pot pie, dusted with powdered sugar, the top scored in a crosshatch pattern. And holy moly, mother of the gods, I'm embraced by heavenly scents. Spicy. Sweet. Savory. Delicious. I commandeer a fork, take a bite, chew, and then swallow. Three layers of flavors infused with chicken, egg, and almonds melt on my tongue, the finish topped off with whispers of orange blossom, saffron, ginger, cumin, and turmeric. "This is absolutely incredible. What is this delight?"
"Bastilla," he says with a proud smile. "It's a typical recipe from Morocco, where I'm originally from, usually made with pigeon, but this one is made with chicken. My mother's recipe. It's also called pastilla.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“Authentic Moroccan heritage has a strong immunity to foreign cultures, so that it accepts openness without being affected by any external culture. We must sustain and consolidate this immunity in order to preserve our identity as Moroccans.”
― Mohammed Tijani Nassiri

“Pulling out a stick of lilac chalk, Dina added "besotted briouats" to the list, followed by "rosy-cheeked ghriba." The briouats--- melt-in-your-mouth filo pastry filled with honey and almonds--- were heavenly, even without the spell that made you feel like you'd been kissed on the forehead by a loved one. The ghriba, decadently soft sugar cookies with rosewater essence and lemon zest, were laced with a spell to warm up the fingers and toes.”
― Nadia El-Fassi, Best Hex Ever

“For spring and summer, Dina baked delicate and light pastries fragranced with rosewater, meskouta orange bundt cake, and delicate raspberry macarons. When strawberries were in season in early June, she made airy fraisier cake. For autumn and winter, Dina worked with heavier ingredients: thick, dark chocolate, cinnamon, cardamom, gingerbread, and pumpkin. As the days grew colder and the light dimmed earlier and earlier, people started to crave that feeling of warmth and comfort. And Dina would give that to them, even if only for a short while. One special bake for this season was a ginger and persimmon cake, yellowed with saffron strands, which Dina had bought on her last trip to Morocco, and fresh vanilla pods, their sweet scent so potent that it wafted across the café.
This was in addition to all the regular pastries and cakes she had on offer, which were all recipes her mother had taught her to bake. The cake made with dark honey from the Atlas mountains was an all-time customer favorite. Dina had imbibed it with a very specific spell, a childhood memory of a time that she must have fallen asleep on a car ride home, and although she was a little too big to be carried, she remembered her father lifting her into his arms, her mother closing the car door softly so as not to wake her, then carrying her upstairs and tucking her into bed.
When she'd been fashioning the spell for the first time, it had occurred to Dina that one day your parents put you down and they never picked you up again, and so she'd made the honey cake to recreate that feeling of childhood comfort. That sensation of someone taking the utmost care of you, holding you close, was a feeling that many in the rushing city of London didn't experience often.
Sometimes she wondered if she was really in the business of café ownership, or if she was more of a fairy godmother in disguise. Undeniably, the magical pastries were great at keeping customers coming back for more, so that was a bonus on the businesswoman side of things.”
― Nadia El-Fassi, Best Hex Ever

“As Dina walked down the hall, the floorboards seamlessly transformed into blue and white tiles beneath her feet. She found herself standing in the heart of the house: a riad with a bubbling mosaic fountain, vines twisting up the walls and, above her, fuchsias blooming in terra-cotta pots and miniature date trees coiling around the pillars. It was more of a garden than a room, really. The ceiling was open to the night sky, burnished stars in an inky darkness.
It wasn't the real sky of course, but the house's magic was powerful. Dina could even hear crickets chirping in the distance and the cinnamon scent of the earth in Khemisset, where her mother had grown up. She exhaled deeply, the feeling of being home sinking into her bones.”
― Nadia El-Fassi, Best Hex Ever