The Sands of Time

I have been very, very bad. My last post was over a month ago. I'm sorry. 

The story I am going to tell you is a few weeks old. But it is worth telling. I went with 8 other girls from my program on a wild excursion into the Western desert. Over the course of two days and one night we saw landscapes we had only dreamed of. We walked across earth that used to be submerged under a giant ocean and climbed rocks that used to be  a coral reef providing life support to our earliest ancestors. We journeyed through mountainous valleys that looked as though they had been plucked straight from J.R.R. Tolkien's mind. We watched the source of all life on earth set below a jagged horizon and watched the ascension of our natural satellite into the sky. We courted a desert fox in and out of the shadows. We ate, drank, and were merry. This is the tale of our visit to the White and Black deserts of Egypt.

We departed the concrete jungle of Cairo at the crack of dawn, navigating our way through dense fog in a bus that might very well have been made of cardboard. The ride was bumpy, there was zero visibility, and we were exhausted. Once we transferred to our four wheel drive jeeps and saw our first glimpse of the sprawling desert however, we perked right up. First stop, a majestic sand dune. 

Although paling in comparison to the massive stretch of sand dunes in the desert of Siwa, the next stop was something new entirely. A huge black mountain rising out of the sand came into view and our tour guide informed us that it used to be a giant underwater volcano, the remains of which are now covered in black basalt rock. Hence the name, the black desert. We immediately drew comparisons to Mordor and assigned LOTR characters among our group. I was Aragorn. BAMF.

Our driver was named Romario, in honor of Mario Kart. We maneuvered around sharp rock outcroppings, over curving dunes, and under towering cliffs, bouncing like Mexican jumping beans in the back seat. Screaming and giggling, we yelled Bisura! Bisura! (Faster! Faster!) and Romario obliged, honoring his namesake. 

It is easy to see where the White Desert got its name. Huge chalk outcroppings rise from the ground, whipped and manipulated by the unrelenting wind into strange forms. Set against the blue sky and golden sand, we found familiar shapes in them like you would cumulus clouds on a lazy summer day.

The Chicken and the Mushroom

Bunny

The desert is a place where time and space lose meaning. The vastness and the antiquity of the landscape is too much to comprehend, too much for the small, young human mind to grasp. You know that the spot your feet are touching was once the same spot that the first micro-organisms swam. You know that when taken in the grand scheme of things, you are no bigger than one of the trillions of grains of sand you stand upon. The sun sets, the moon rises, the sun rises, the moon sets; it is a pattern that this desert has seen more times than every human on this earth combined. Each new phase of light reveals new things about the terrain, a new view of the same land. 

At night, away from the scorch and burn of the sun, the desert comes alive. Critters come out of their hiding spots beneath the sand and playful foxes get curious. Our campsite drew the particular attention of one, who we named Shadow Fox because he navigated the night like a pro. Our guides gave him a little cup of water and he stayed to listen to the Bedouin music they sang. As the night grew colder and darker, the heat and light from our small fire grew more inviting and we gathered around to drink tea and watch our dinner roasting.  

This is still technically a food blog, so I feel it is only fitting to tell you about our dinner, which was truly one of the best meals I have had in Egypt. And it was all prepared in the middle of the desert, over a fire and some small camping stoves. Perfectly cooked rice was served next to a warm vegetable stew of potatoes, carrots, zucchini, and onions. Simmered in a hearty tomato sauce, the vegetables were tender without being mushy and seasoned beautifully. 

On top of this delectable plate of rice and veggies, succulent fire-grilled chicken with crispy skin and juicy white meat.  

It was so simple, but so so delicious. 

Winter has come to Alexandria, bringing with it cold weather and wild storms. Hail has been beating against our window on and off for the past 24 hours, the wind is rattling the walls and whistling through the cracks in them, and the rain is pounding the once parched earth. The sea ports have been closed all over Egypt, as the waves continue to crash into the shore. Click here to see a video of the Corniche in Alexandria yesterday. That is what we returned to after a week long cruise down the Nile in southern Egypt, a trip which I am to repeat with my family in less than a week. My fall semester ends in 4 days and my two month break begins. What exactly I will be doing is still up in the air and therefore, so is the future of this blog for the next two months. I will do my best to continue posting, but I cannot guarantee consistent posting until mid-February. At that point I will be returning to school, this time in Cairo, and I will make a very concerted effort to keep this blog updated. Until then, I can only promise to post when I have the chance. Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, and, if I'm not back before then, a very Happy New Year! 

The Imam Fainted

This weekend our program took all the students on a little trip to the Red Sea. We stayed in a beach resort and reconnected with the group of people who hadn't all been together since our orientation in the beginning of September. It was a weekend of relaxation and restoration. This coming week we all have midterms and the little break was much needed fuel for the frantic studying that must now commence. We arrived in the afternoon and spent the day on the shores of the sea, soaking up the sun on parts of our body that haven't seen its rays since we arrived. My shoulders, upper arms, legs, and chest reveled in the blazing heat of the daylight they have so long been hidden from. Our friend Jon serenaded us with his guitar and soothing voice. It was glorious. We took the little red train that transported the hotel guests to and from the beach and drank red wine and smoked peach sisha and watched a belly dancing show. Myself and a few of the other girls snuck back onto the beach at two in the morning, shedding our clothes and running naked into the warm waters of the waiting sea. Moses may have parted these waters centuries ago, but that night we were the masters of the waves. We wondered aimlessly until we found our way back to the hotel and met back up with Jon, who played lullabies while the girls cuddled and drifted off to sleep. I sang Suzanne Vega with him and we harmonized on the chorus of songs we couldn't remember the words to. It was a beautiful weekend. 

Train

Jon

Beach

Hibiscus

In continuing with this post's theme of indulgences, I want to tell you about a little eggplant dish I made the other night. It was the first real meal I cooked in the new kitchen and I think it came out well. I was a little nervous about making it, because it is a classic Turkish preparation and one of the girls I live with has spent many summers with her family in Turkey. But I have been wanting to try this dish since I tasted it over the summer and the shining black-purple skins were calling to me when I stepped into the supermarket. 

This dish is called Imam Bayildi, which translates to "The Imam Fainted." Why the imam fainted seems to be up to some debate: some say he was swooning over the luxurious flavor. Others say it was from shock at the extravagant use of expensive ingredients. I'm more inclined to go with the former, both because I like it better and because, and least these days, this is a pretty inexpensive dish to make. In essence, it is eggplant stuffed with onion, garlic and tomato, smothered in olive oil, and baked until the flavors blend together and the eggplant is softer and smoother than butter. I didn't use a recipe, so I'll just walk you through the steps with rough approximations of the amounts and timing of things. The first thing I did was sliced the eggplants in half lengthwise, covered the fleshy side in salt, and laid them out on paper towel (face down) for about half and hour (see picture above). The salt pulls out the bitter juices from the vegetable, leaving a sweeter final product. When this is done, simply rinse the salt off. The next step was to peel the eggplant. Because it will bake for so long, you don't want to take off all the skin or you will have structural integrity problems later. But taking away some of the skin allows the eggplants to soak up more flavor and, more importantly, the maximum amount of olive oil. So, I peeled the skin off in strips, giving the eggplant a striped design. On the fleshy side, you want to make slits lengthwise (not deep enough to poke through the other side) for the purposes of the impending stuffing. 

The stuffing is simple. In a large pan, fry onions and garlic (I used about 3-4 small onions and 3 large cloves of garlic) in olive oil until the onions become translucent. While the onions and garlic are frying, chop tomatoes (about 3-4 small) and parsley and place in a bowl. Add the cooked onion mixture and season with salt and pepper to taste. Add about a tablespoon of sugar and the juice of half a lemon, plus some more olive oil for good measure. 

Flash fry the eggplant halves in olive oil for about 2-3 minutes each, until just browned. Place in a large baking dish and drizzle with olive oil. To stuff, use a spoon and a fork to fill each of the slits with as much of the onion/tomato mixture as possible. Cover the top with the excess. When you are finished, the flesh of the eggplants should be completely obscured by the stuffing. To finish, drizzle with more olive oil (the olive oil is reportedly the expensive ingredient which may have caused the imam's fainting spell) and sprinkle with just a little more sugar (optional). 

Cover the dish with tinfoil and bake in a 375 degree oven for 45 minutes to an hour, occasionally basting it with the juices at the bottom of the pan. These juices (from the stuffing and eggplants, as well as the olive oil) should be bubbling with a warm carmel color by the end. The eggplant itself will be very soft. I finished it off with one last drizzle of olive oil and served it with Turkish butter rice (prepared by my friend). 

 A few notes about this dish: although based on a classic preparation, I claim no expertise in Turkish cooking nor any loyalty to its traditions. This dish is usually prepared with long narrow eggplants and served cold, by itself, as a mezze. I made it with fat, round specimens and served it hot over steaming rice as the main course. My friend of Turkish heritage praised it (although she doesn't much like eggplant) and my other friends raved about it. I found it to be a simple-to-prepare dish with a delicious outcome. 

Although not an Egyptian (or even Arab) dish, I thought I would share it with you all. You can google the name of the dish and find many more specific recipes, for those of you who don't feel comfortable guesstimating.  I'd love to hear about your thoughts, experiences if you try to make it, or favorite eggplant preparations. I have a week of midterms coming up and then I depart for Sweden for my November break. Although I will try to update during that time, I make no guarantees. Hope those of you in more temperate climates are surviving the colder weather. I know it's going to be a hard adjustment for me! 

Going Native

So sorry it's been so long since my last post! But, good news, during this hiatus myself and four of the other girls in the program moved into a fantastic new apartment in the best neighborhood in Alex! I promise to post some pictures of the new place and of the many meals that are going to be made in the (huge) kitchen, but today I want to tell you about a different kitchen. An Egyptian kitchen. The kitchen of my friend Mona's mother-in-law. Mona was the lovely woman I met in Siwa, the brilliant artist from Alexandria. Last weekend she gave me a call and invited me to lunch at her house in the neighborhood of Semouha. Mona lives with her husband Mustafa's mother, who is a very sweet, kind, elderly lady who has traveled in the United Staes (she's been to the Mall of America!) and Canada and speaks good English. She is generous and welcoming but above all she is an extremely excellent cook.  

Mona's Mother-in-Law

In America, lunch can be sort of a throw-away meal. Children are taught from a young age that "breakfast is the most important meal of the day" and classic American values preach the importance of family "dinner." School lunches are notoriously inedible and the lunch period in schools is growing shorter and shorter with each consecutive budget cut. In middle school, my lunch break was 15 minutes to eat and 15 minutes to run around outside. From this rushed experience, I came away with two things: 1. Eat fast. 2. Lunch isn't important. I'm pretty sure the Egyptians would beg to differ. With regards to my first lesson, nothing in Egypt happens fast. You know the joke "Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow"? I'm pretty sure that is the national motto of this country. Meals (along with most things) are taken leisurely. The day doesn't usually start until about 10 am. A result of this long, drawn out day is that lunch, the meal to refuel in the middle, is taken very seriously. Often eaten around 3:00 in the afternoon, it seems to be widely considered the most important and significant meal of the day. If you don't believe me, take a look at the spread prepared for lunch at Mona's house:

A whole chicken, potatoes, shaved beef, minced meat with phyllo, rice, salad, bulgar soup, pickled vegetables, and for desert, a sweet potato confection.

There was enough food to feed the Egyptian army. And in Egypt, it is customary to not only try everything, but to eat a lot of it. In the time it took me to blink, Mona and her mother-in-law had loaded my plate to the brim.

Despite my protest, this was only my first helping

The chicken was beautifully cooked with crispy, golden skin encasing juicy, tender meat. Mona's mother-in-law said she prepares it first by boiling it (creating the stock which she later uses as a base for her delicious bulgar soup) and then pops it in the oven for 10 or 15 minutes to crisp up. Voila!

Bulgar Soup

Accompanying the chicken were thin slices of deliciously seasoned meat, soft potatoes in a warm tomato stew, flaky phyllo dough layered with ground beef and onions, an enormous bowl of rice, and a number of small side dishes.

Paired with the meal was Mona's homemade pomegranate juice. It's fresh, sweet, tangy, vibrant, and utterly delicious. 

Luckily, I remembered to stop gulping it down long enough to take a picture!

Because this was clearly just not enough food, the meal was followed up with sweet potatoes, covered in a creamy béchamel sauce and baked in a pan so that the top caramelized. It is a testament to how delicious it was that I managed to eat the whole piece almost immediately after our feast. 

Mona's mother-in-law has promised to teach how to make everything and I, in turn, promise to teach you. For now, enjoy the visual feast of her cooking and the tantalizing promise of more to come. Very soon I will post about the first big meal I prepared in our apartment. It is an eggplant dish inspired by a classic Turkish preparation. There are also big plans for my first foray into jam making: an attempt at pomegranate jam! Stay tuned!

Souk Midan

Today was a really good day. In the afternoon our Amiyaa teacher (Egyptian Colloquial Arabic) decided to have class outside of the classroom. This is the same teacher I wrote about in my last post, the one who took me to get my key copied. As my classmates and I sat patiently waiting for class to begin, she swept in with a wave of infectious energy. "Yalla, yalla binat!" she called to us (Let's go, let's go girls!). We left the cold, totalitarian rooms of the language center and set out in the direction of the sea. Upon arriving on the Corniche, the long highway which runs alongside the Mediterranean from one end of Alexandria to the other, we were greeted by the fresh salt air in our hair and the ocean breeze reminding us that, despite the 101 degree day we had yesterday, the relief of winter weather is on its way. Our teacher walked to the side of the road and hailed a crowded minibus, something I have seen countless Egyptians do but have always been too intimidated to try myself. These minibuses, or microbuses, are really just old Volkswagon-style vans that can seat about 12 people, cost about 5 cents, and go most places along the Corniche and throughout Alexandria. To catch one, you stand on the side of the road and call out your destination to the driver as they speed by. If they have room and are heading in that direction, they slow down (but rarely come to a complete stop) to allow you to jump in. They are crowded, hot, and a little overwhelming, but they are very, really, and truly Egyptian.

Our adventure was only just beginning. Calling to the driver to pull over, we were deposited on the side of the road right across from a small ice cream shop. We sat with our teacher, Rawhia, and ate Egyptian ice cream and spoke Egyptian Arabic. I felt more connected to the culture than I have for a long time. Egyptian ice cream is closer to gelato than American ice cream in that it seems to feature more ice than cream. But Egyptian ice cream has a unique texture, a kind of chewiness that creates a whole new sensation in the mouth. Your teeth and tongue meet a sort of resistance as they try to melt the sticky sweet substance. It's not bad, but it takes some getting used to and I still think I prefer American ice cream. But then again, so do most Egyptians; they seem to have a strange obsession with Baskin Robbins.

My wonderful teacher, Rawhia

After our sweet treat, Rawhia took us to the Abu al-Abbas al-Mursi mosque, which was one of the most beautiful mosques I have ever seen. An imposing figure in the skyline, it is intricately decorated both inside and out. Towering minarets and arching domes make it look like something straight out of the time of the Prophet. It was breathtaking architecture and design, but the religious emotion it is meant to instill was a bit lost on me. After the mosque we took a stroll down the street and stopped for some mango juice. It wasn't nearly as good as El Qobesi, but it was still pretty damn good. When my friend inquired about the possibility of purchasing a mango, tempted I'm sure by the pile of ripe fruit calling us in front of the juice shop, my teacher asked if we wanted to go to the biggest souk, or market, in Alexandria, that happened to be just around the corner. We replied with an enthusiastic affirmative. I was excited that I would have something new to share with you all that finally related to food again!

The energy and experience of an Egyptian souk is hard to describe and even harder to capture in pictures. But I will do my best:

The first sensation that hits you as you step onto the uneven, potholed street that is occupied by the souk is, admittedly, not a very pleasant one. The pungent smell of fish hits you full on in the face. Now, I love seafood. I love it raw, fried, grilled, baked, and just about any way you can think prepare it. But I have never overcome my urge to gag when I am confronted by a strong whiff of newly dead fish. 

Tuna

And Souk Midan? Filled with 'em.

Sardines

Oh yeah, did I mention there were some not-even-quite-dead-yet ones too?

Still breathing, albeit laboriously

But the souk is not just fish stands and before too long your nose adjusts to the smell of fish and begins picking up the other colorful fragrances of the crowded market. And crowded it is! A narrow street to begin with, the midan is lined on both sides by table after table, cart after cart, kiosk after kiosk of an incredible array of goods. All for prices that would allow the Little Matchgirl to live like a queen. That tuna pictured above? That little plaque says 10. It means 10 Egyptian pounds. Which means roughly 2 American dollars. Per kilo. Plus, the Little Matchgirl would have a hard time freezing to death in Egypt. Too bad Hans Christian Anderson wasn't Egyptian; how different her fate might have been.

The colors of the souk are vivid enough to blind you. Everywhere you look piles of vibrant fruits and vegetables create huge splotches of color along the street.

The fruits and vegetables aren't just colorful. They're fresh, fragrant, and sometimes they look so succulent you can't resist buying them. These pomegranates were practically singing a siren song to me:

Less than $1 per kilo

But fear not, oh carnivores among you. The pescatarians and vegetarians are not the only diets catered to at this fabulous souk. Huge cuts of meat can be seen hanging from meat hooks that look straight out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. 

The meat has its own contribution to the colors and scents of the market place. The blood red intestines of a cow,  ornamented by hibiscus flowers and a smoking bowl of fragrant incense, 

the ivory white-pink gleam of a plucked chicken, surrounded by the flashy yellow of lemons, the eye catching green of raw okra, the startling orange of dried apricots and fresh persimmons,

and, of course, the extensive offerings of pigs feet, something that still looks like something out of an ancient sacrificial ritual to my American eyes.

There are huge grain sacks filled to the brim with wheats, barleys, pastas, and spices tempting me to plunge my hand in to feel that tickling sensation of thousands of little particles rubbing against my palms. 

I'm also tempted to buy these grains and spices and even more so when I walk next door to see the possibilities they can offer when paired with butter, sugar, water, yeast, sesame seeds, and an assortment of fillings. 

Further proof of the power of these grains is presented when a man passes right beside me carrying a huge tray piled with small baskets of hot, sweet, deep fried dough balls sprinkled with powdered sugar (a common Egyptian street food). 

Another man carries his wares; swathed in ropes supporting his heavy contraption, he is a walking, talking juice stand. But Americans, and other foreign visitors, without "community immunity" must be careful with these kinds of offerings. 

All five of your senses reach a state of heightened stimulation in this environment. Your nose is bombarded by the scent of animal carcasses, fruit fragrance, and the thickly sweet smoke of incense. Your eyes explore a kaleidoscope of colors. The air is loud with the hustle and bustle of people, the calls and shouts of the shop owners and street vendors, and, at certain parts of the day, the amplified call to prayer that rings out all over the city. The possibilities of flavors for your mouth to explore are endless. And you feel the presence of hundreds of Egyptians crowding you, the touch of the smooth pomegranates as you search for the perfect one, and occasionally the soft brush of a stray cat at your ankles.  

Returning to my dorms after this adventure, exhausted and exhilarated by the excursion, I was met with some very good news. Our program directors have heard our complaints about our living situation and, after much campaigning and protesting on our parts, Dr. Mohammad (our resident director here in Egypt) is coming to Alexandria tomorrow to discuss alternative housing options for the remainder of the semester. I don't know for sure what this means yet, but we are all hoping to move out of the dorms and into apartments in the near future. This is an exciting prospect for many reasons, but for all of you the biggest reason is that this would mean we would be cooking our own meals. I had originally thought my second semester of blogging would be devoted to my own exploits in the Egyptian kitchen, but it looks like I might get a head start. Good thing too, I'm not sure I have the will power to stay away from Souk Midan and to keep my hands off the fresh fish and meats, ripe fruits and vegetables, and scrumptious baked goods. Who knows, maybe I'll even tackle the pig's feet. Not likely though.