Writer Alice Morrison has lived in Morocco for 10 years, but she’s never made a pastilla, a North African chicken pie, from scratch. With the help of the women at Amal Association, she learns the art of pastry-making and the role cooking can play in women’s empowerment.
I arrive at the Amal Association cooking center in the leafy Marrakech suburb of Targa to the sound of birdsong and dishes clattering. Young women’s laughter echoes around the garden, where chairs and tables are being set up for guests. Full disclosure: I have lived in Morocco for 10 years and this is going to be my first cooking class.
Founded in 2012 by Nora Belahcen Fitzgerald, the aim was to give disadvantaged women a way to earn their living through cooking. In a country where women make up only 21% of the labor force, it’s never been more important. Amal means ‘hope’ in Arabic, and this association really does give women the opportunity to dream and follow new aspirations.
Nora started by teaching women to bake American staples, like cookies and brownies, which were sold in her family’s language centre in Marrakech. They sold like the proverbial hot cakes and from that simple foundation, Nora has built an organization which trains young women to not only cook, but attend to all the principles of a professional kitchen and catering service. Key learnings to help them find work once their training is over.
At 9.30am, my fellow students—there are 12 of us —and I are ushered into the spacious kitchen by our chefs and trainers for the day: Fatiha and Karima. We put on our orange aprons and stand expectantly by the cooking benches. The group is from all over the world, and we’ve all chosen different dishes. Some have gone for lamb and chicken tagine, others a seven-vegetable couscous, while I’ve opted for the pastilla because it looks really hard to make. And I’m up for a challenge.
Pastilla is a sweet and savoury mille feuille (layered pastry) bundle stuffed with chicken, seafood or pigeon and filled with ground almonds and sauce made from onions, ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, saffron and the juices of the chicken. I’ve eaten hundreds of them throughout my time in Morocco, but have never been ambitious enough to try cooking one. “It’s now or never,” I think to myself.
Fatiha and Karima bustle about the benches showing us what to do. I’m told to combine six different spices including cumin, pepper, cinnamon, turmeric and nutmeg with finely chopped onions and two pieces of chicken. Adding water, I am then in stirring mode. One of the pleasures of Moroccan cooking is that it is very slow, so there is plenty of time to chat with my neighbors and teachers.
Once my sauce has reduced, I peel, boil and grind my almonds. Then it’s time for a tea break. Tea is at the centre of Moroccan life and Ghita invites us all to dress in jellabas (long Moroccan robe) and to sit on the carpet.
First, she pours just one cup of boiling water onto the leaves to settle. “This is the ruh,” she says. “The soul of the tea.” She decants a glass of pure red tea and then adds more water. “Now we have to wash the tea.” She wiggles the teapot ferociously and pours out a dirty black liquid. This is thrown away, then the ‘soul’ is added and topped up with hot water. Finally, in goes the sugar and the mint leaves. I learn that by washing the tea first, it removes the bitterness. Just another tip to take home with me.
