24 octobre 2007
Agadir by night (and part 2 of the restaurant guide)
37 °C today; tomorrow I am leaving for a chilly Paris. More info on Agadir restaurants: after dining at a few places, I can confirm that good, fresh fish is to be found at the harbor.
Now I have been told about precarious hygiene conditions and the fact that those restaurants may be cleaned out sometime — they do not fit into the current projects of turning the local coast into a new Riviera or Costa del Sol. Pray that this does not happen. It is not unreasonable to think that the littoral around Taghazout and Mirleft may be soon covered in concrete. Some say that the fish restaurants may be transplanted somewhere else. But they remain the only place where I had fresh fish and really good food. I do not have any special complain about the hygiene, though I admit that the tiny kitchens are very simply equipped and that the fish market does not particularly smell nice. Does any ever?
Last night, at the beautiful new tapas bar at the new marina where we had just sat down, we were told the restaurant was out of fish. Completely out of fish. Not even a fin or a scale, not one squid tentacle to spare. Now the harbor is two hundred yards to the back, the sea is even closer by. Quite a feat. However, the tapas are okay and the Casablanca beer nice and chilled.
The beautiful tapas bar at the new marina: great décor, good tapas, no fish tonight.
The night before, I had ventured at the terrace of a reputable seaside restaurant I will not name here. I was served an abominable greenish fish soup with a hint of kerosene, marble-hard croûtons, mayonnaise mixed with tomato purée masquerading as rouille, and a twenty-minute wait. Then a mixed fish fry was set before me, definitely less good than the one I had had at the harbor. I did not have the heart to photograph my plates, so I shot something else.
The restaurant next door is proud of its specialty: Alsatian-style snails. Elsewhere, as I wrote before, it's cream and mushrooms and sometimes flambé. Honestly, I have not been everywhere, but I think I can already assert that the concept of cuisine du marché has not reached Agadir yet. It should not be difficult to set up, though, with the wonderful products readily available in the region. Just take a stroll through the great souk Alhad to see for yourself.
Late October: olive and pomegranate season.
Back to the beach. At night, it is not deserted. It becomes a quiet, mysterious place. Gadiris go there for after-dinner strolls and sit near the water to listen to the surf and enjoy the cool breeze.
22 octobre 2007
The Ptipois guide of Agadir restaurants, part 1
The harbor restaurants in Agadir : narrow tables, wooden benches or plastic chairs,
waxed tablecloths — pure happiness.
Until the Michelin guide for the Souss comes out (which should be rather soon ; there is California already), here is a report.
Compared to other Moroccan cities, Agadir’s reputation for being a foodie heaven leaves a lot to be desired. Actually, it all depends on what exactly you mean by foodie. And when I hear that sort of judgement, I prefer to see for myself. It is, however, quite possible to see. First and foremost, Agadir is not history-laden like Fes, Essaouira, Tanger, Marrakech, even Rabat or Meknes. All the antique architecture there ever was — and it does not seem to have had much of it anyway — disappeared during the 1961 earthquake, a date which leaves you to imagine the looks of the recontstructed city. This does not mean, far from it, that Agadir is without grace. But this grace should not be sought the way you might seek it in other places ; it certainly does not leap to your eyes.
What leaps to your eyes is that Agadir is blessed with a lovely beach and a fantastic climate. An equation that produces hotels by the dozen. French people do know about it from advertising in the Paris métro, or in the press, or from travel agencies. Indeed the coast is festooned with hotels from North to South. Comfortable, sometimes beautifully architectured places (with the odd young-gifted-architect syndrome, like this gorgeous Accor complex whose rooms have no balconies). Slightly more popular near the city center, to the North. Slightly posher to the South, where new building projects are breeding like bunnies. But only ever so slightly : the comfort level is rather constant all along the beach. What about the food, then ? That is another question. We are in all-inclusive territory, tout compris, and the catering is designed for the tourists. Especially, it seems, for the many Germans that come here. Not that I mean to hurt our German friends, but the imprint of German package tourism on local food habits, whether in the Mediterranean or in Morocco, is generally disastrous. If you do not believe me, just go to a touristy Dodecanesian island like Kos in high Summer and try to find a truly Greek roasted lamb, tender, browned, tasty and crispy. Sure, you may encounter a sign reading ARNI STI SOUVLAS and sigh with relief. But what will be served to you is a plateful of boiled, tasteless, skinless, boneless, stringy meat and a few green leaden bullets called frozen peas, all of that covered in a white gooey sauce. The owner of the taverna, when questioned, will tell you with a sorry look that tourists will not accept anything else. I hear that the all-inclusive system, invented by Americans, also was a serious threat to local cooking styles all through the Carribean as early as the 1950s. Here, in Agadir, the problem is mostly contained in hotels and even there, the situation is not so dire. When you have gone through centuries of unique gastronomic traditions with an ancestral art of spicing and herbing, you would have to try very hard to serve totally bad food. The béchamel syndrome can be regrettable, but there are ways to avoid it. Also, there are lots of French visitors, who are not so keen on flour sauces. But the presence of French tourists is not necessarily a good sign : French people, indeed — so much for the myth —, are just as ready to eat crap as anyone else, and certainly more than some.
Concerning restaurants, the well-known phenomenon of quality going down as status goes up can be witnessed here, as it can be in other places with a strong tradition of good, cheap home food or street food. To be fair, there are good places, for instance terrific côtes de bœuf at the Casino restaurant. Apart from that, the neo-riyad style is the rage : lovely neo-Moroccan decoration, lounge music in the background, stylish waiters, stylish clientele, overcooked defrosted fish served with a cream and mushroom sauce. There is also a more traditional type of restaurant, the one that still used to exist in France back in the 60s and 70s : waiters in white jackets and bow tie serving the same overcooked defrosted fish served with a cream and mushroom sauce — but flambé at your table, mind you.
Last category : holes in the wall. Hope returns. Bars and cafés on the seafront, grillades restaurants (kefta, brochettes, lamb chops, French fries), open-air brick ovens topped with a dozen small tajines, slightly chipped but quite operational and ready to serve ; roast chicken joints, pastry shops, popular restaurants where Gadiris eat nicely for a few dirhams. Those who claim Agadir to be a gastronomic desert never mention those places. To be fair, the presence of words like « gastronomic desert » in their vocabulary is a proof that they are not likely to pay attention to them. Unless it is for a TV show, with Tony Bourdain eating goat testicles to make the girls back home faint from the extatic thrill of the Forbidden.
Since I arrived, four days ago, I have felt attracted to a place beyond the new marina, the harbor restaurants. I had read somewhere that this was the place for fish tajines. When someone confirmed that to me, that was all I needed to hop into a petit taxi and get there.
Who says seaport says fishing, who says fishing says fish, and who says fish says cats. A quick test : what do the cats look like ? Stressed and skinny or happy and contented ? This kitty’s serene and healthy look brings me the answer, as does this other little guy below, taking a nap.
All the photo equipment I’ve brought along is my little Revio Konica, an old camera with a terrific sensor. It will suffice for today. I will bring the Nikon another time, if it’s worth it.
The restaurant area, attached to the fish market, is made of quite a few shacks and taverns with plastic chairs or long benches placed by narrow tables. Each table is connected to a tiny kitchen where you may order more or less the same stuff : fried fish, squid and shrimp or grilled fish like sardines. Some of the kitchens specialize in individual fish tajines. I am quite interested by the tajine but it will be for another time : today, I want what the gentlemen sitting behind me are having : a mixed fry.
Yesterday, I asked : where in Agadir can you be served fresh, unfrozen fish, decently cooked, whole and not filleted, with plenty of crispy and tasty bits ? I got my answer today : two small Dover sole, two small hake, a good handful of deep-fried shrimp and a few squid rings. Everything is very fresh and crispy.
I had forgotten how good fried hake could be ; it had been so long. Not an easy fish to find in Northern countries. The shrimp are delicious, eaten whole, head and all. The squid is firm and tender, the sole is perfect.
Let me bring your attention to the table décor, which may not have the neo-riad touch but sure puts you in a happy mood.
And this is probably the only place in the world where someone thought of naming their restaurant « Titanic ». Nice idea — all around, there is indeed all the rusted iron that you can shake a stick at.
For dessert, a little mint tea with its large sugar cubes.
Sitting at your table, wiping your hands with perfectly nonabsorbent paper, you end up with very greasy fingers. No forks or knives, I forgot to mention that. As usual, the remedy grows next to the disease : a couple of handwash fountains are just a few steps away.
You can choose the color of your soap. A luxury that not even the Raffles hotel in Singapore will offer you.
The handwasher pours a little water on your hands, singing a chant. You rub your hands with soap (I picked the green one), then he rinses them, still chanting, and hands you a towel. For a few seconds, you are centuries back.
Next : fish tajine.
09 octobre 2007
The nam prik pao alert, or Pim's recipe
Everything happens, even a false terror alert with positive consequences. For instance the one that took place in Soho, London, last week. It gave a few more people a notion of what nam prik pao is. This gross mistake has caused the average gastronomic culture in the British Isles — and certainly in France, in other European countries and in the USA too — to take a big leap forward. The news, so it seems, went around the world in no time.
Let me recall the facts: on October 3, 2007, in the kitchen of the Thai Cottage restaurant, the chef is preparing a nam prik pao, an operation that involves toasting dried red chillies in a dry wok — a serious toasting since the chillies should exhale some smoke. And indeed the acrid smoke emanating from the wok, spreading around in the neighborhood, leads some to believe there is a chemical attack. Area is evacuated, emergency team runs in, and the search ends up with the discovery of an innocent vessel.
Said the chef, "I can understand why people who weren't Thai would not know what it was, but it doesn't smell like chemicals. I'm a bit confused." So am I. The news spread like a chilli cloud, but it was in the small foodie world that it had the most hilarious effect. Being scared of toasted chilli — how stupid can you get? I got about a dozen e-mails from friends and colleages in that style.
However, if that silly event has a chance to improve the general knowledge of Thai cooking techniques, it's all the better. At least it shed a special light onto the incriminated chilli paste. What is this mysterious recipe that requires hot chillies to be burned, when their natural hotness is already more than most people can take? What is the principle of this Siamese alchemy? Who are you, nam prik pao? For sure, to prove so traumatizing, that must be a hellish, supremely fiery condiment. Or is it? We will see that later.
As for me, I am interested in this phoney terror alert for two main reasons:
1. A Thai restaurant where nam prik pao is made on the premises is an address worth noting, particularly in Europe. Honest versions of the condiment may be bought in jars for a moderate price, all the more a reason to praise the chef for performing such a fastidious preparation in his own kitchen. "Thai Cottage" will be written down in my little notebook in the perspective of my next trip to London.
2. As, naturally, Chez Pim was literally bombed with e-mails and questions, the alert had a miraculous side effect: at last, Pim gave her nam prik pao recipe! A lot of people had been waiting for this, rolling on the floor crying, wishing, dreaming. As she writes, the recipe was no secret but it was tricky proportioning to an average kitchen, since she always made huge quantities of it (the Thai Cottage chef was actually toasting 9 pounds of chillies that day).
So this is how, giving thanks for the antiterror paranoia — for once, the concept of "civilization clash" has some sort of a meaning: Thai chillies meet British nostrils and it goes boom! —, I tried my first nam prik pao recipe the day before yesterday. Carefully reading Pim's recipe, I realize it can be done. Count two, three hours. Fortunately, finding the ingredients will not be an issue, since large Asian supermarkets like Tang Frères have everything necessary, including the prik chi faa hang chillies recommended by Pim.
So what is nam prik pao? It may be described as a chilli jam. It belongs to the large Asian family of oil-based chilli pastes, but it stands apart because of its versatility. Its complex flavor makes it almost universal. It is not so hot as it is claimed to be: taste is its primary quality. It is simultaneously sour, sweet, burnt, garlicky, chocolatey, caramelly, earthy, marine, aromatic, with hot and slightly bitter final notes, and a pleasant funkiness that gives it special depth. You may have encountered it through tom yam gung, a prawn and lemongrass clear soup on which a teaspoonful of nam prik pao is often added before serving. In fact it is so good that you could add it to everything. (Pim has it on toast for breakfast.)
What follows is my version of Pim's recipe. Her instructions are extremely accurate and you may follow them blindly.
Pleast note that the quantities she gives will yield three glassfuls, about 1 pint. Which is perfect for your personal use (nam prik pao keeps almost for ever in a closet), but if you wish to give some around to friends, that is not enough. For a gift-friendly quantity, double the proportions at least.
75 g dried red chillies of the prik chi faa hang variety. Don't panic: I bought mine at Tang Frères in a 100 g Cock Brand plastic bag. Large dark red, smooth-skinned chillies, about 2-3 inches long.
100 g garlic (two large heads, peeled)
150 g shallots (5 medium-sized or 4 large shallots, peeled)
25 cl (1 cup) peanut oil
100 g palm sugar, chopped if of the hard type
2 tbsp Thai shrimp paste
About 1/3 cup tamarind paste
About 3 tbsp fish sauce (I use Tiparos)
1/4 cup water
The first thing you have to do is to toast the chillies in a dry wok, like the chef at Thai Cottage before the cops kicked the door open. I won't describe this process since Pim has done so very well on her blog. Chillies, however, should not be completely burnt but only blackened in patches, and there should be only a little smoke. A little smoke, as you will realize, goes a long way. Its acridity is no joke. While not bad enough to call the cops, it is serious enough to make you (as I did) wrap the lower part of your face in a tightly knotted towel, which makes chilli roasting somewhat akin to robbing banks in the Wild West. Stir continuously with a wooden spatula until the chillies look right (cough cough!). The heat should cause some to bloat like puffer fish. Do not lean over the wok to watch the process. Keep your face and eyes away.
Take the wok off the heat, transfer the contents to a large bowl and let them cool in a corner. Clean the wok.
While the chillies are cooling, finely slice your garlic and shallots separately. I use a mandolin (watch your fingertips!), slicing the remaining stubs with a knife. You may also use a knife for this entire stage. Do not mix the garlic and shallots. Heat the oil in the wok and fry the sliced garlic in it, stirring from time to time, until lightly golden. Do not let the garlic brown, which gives it a bitter taste. Be careful, this happens in no time. Remove the garlic with a slotted spoon and set aside on absorbent paper.
Repeat the same process with the shallots, and then again do not let them brown. They should have a nice golden color. Set them aside on absorbent paper also, leaving as much oil in the wok as possible.
It is now time to take care of the cooled chillies. Slit them lengthwise with a sharp knife and remove seeds and placenta. Put the chillies in a food processor and blend to a powder. Keep this powder in a small bowl.
Process the shallots and the garlic, blending them to a powder, or rather to a thick, oily and — mmmmmmm — fragrant paste.
Shape the shrimp paste into a flat ball and fry it in the oil until slightly browned and fragrant. Crush it with your spatula, adding the powdered chilli (I used all of it, plus a little Korean powdered chilli pepper which I thought had a similar smell), and mix well, crushing the shrimp paste and mixing it with the chilli. Keep the heat low, you have done enough chilli burning as it is.
Add the tamarind, the garlic and shallot paste, the palm sugar and the fish sauce. Mix briskly to get a smooth paste. The sugar palm helps that by melting, and so does the small quantity of water that you add at that point. When the paste is smooth and bubbling gently, taste it; as in many Thai dishes, the taste balance has to be corrected at that near-final point. You should experience a harmony of sweet, salty, sour, funky (sorry I can't find a better term), then the smoky, hot and chocolatey tastes as final notes. If the paste needs salt, add fish sauce. If it needs sourness, add more tamarind. Boil on low heat until jammy but not too thick, as it thickens when cold.
See the result above: a dark, gooey jam with brownish red hues, covered with a thick layer of bright red oil. The smell is bewitching, appetizing, it seems to encompass everything that is nice in cooking. Not you are ready for glorious breakfast toast (Pim-style), tom yam kung, soups, rice and noodle dishes, wok stir-fries, and some pretty incandescent fried eggs — etc.
Spoon into jars, close, wipe clean, store: you're rich.