An advantage of visiting a place more than once is that you’re no longer hostage to its sensations, or to its beauty. The second, third, tenth times around you might avoid being bowled over by the aromas and flavors, tingly with the aura of the landscape; you’re likely have your wits about you, and that means you can make reasonable decisions about where to go, how to eat, and what to leave with. I found myself in this delightful situation in Tunis. I’d been just enough times to know exactly what I wanted to eat, where I wanted to visit, and I had designs to package loads of good stuff to take home with me.
I’d waited seven years to taste the real deal again, during which time I made many attempts to replicate, imitate, reconstruct. Sometimes I came up longer than short, but it was never quite right. Lablebi, oh miracle dish of Tunisia, comforting stew of myriad spices. Cheap, quick, filling, and perfect for a cold and blustery winter day in the capital city of Tunis. Guided in my culinary endeavors by good friend (and veteran edibles guide) Zied, we aimed to be Champions of Lablebi, consuming full portions of this hearty, filling stew. We started with the requisite bowls of bread, tearing the chunks into smaller pieces, or crumbs, depending on personal preference (the smaller the pieces, the thicker the resulting stew, or so say the Experts). Bowls properly filled with bread crumbs, we handed them over to the Professionals Behind the Counter, who ladled steaming chickpea stew into each. They topped each bowl with mounds of spices: cumin, harissa, and others that should probably remain the secrets of Those Who Know. And then a few adroit tosses; just enough, not too much. And …
Sure, this is about the sweets: the chewy, the crispy, the honey-soaked, the ones you buy from your guy, the one to whom you trust your most saccharine indulgences. But this is also an ode to them: The Sweetsmen.
There are people who claim value in high art: ballet, opera, the finest works of most-lauded authors. I agree, I do agree, that’s all important. But if you ask me about poetry in motion, about where to find the art of life manifested, I’ll point you towards the markets, the wilds of a city, like the souk of downtown Tunis. You only know a place once you’ve learned its rugged streets, its funky corners, the beauty it hides in small bites and in plain sight. You know a place once you’ve engaged its most forthright ambassadors, its most plenipotentiary negotiators: market vendors. You know a place when you’ve breathed it in, whatever olfactory sensations that affords you! You come to know a place through the rhythm of footsteps on its pavement, when the many aspects of culture, climate and locale culminate to produce a throbbing, artful chaos. Greetings knock about as people slip past each other effortlessly, and the sacred in the ordinary is evident, and unremarkable, and breathtaking, all at once.
There were idealists, it’s true. There were dreamers, thinkers, and activists. They came together at El Manar Tunis University, and they waited patiently, as proper anarchists are meant to do. They came from all over the globe, intent on sharing, learning, and shaking things up. They had causes, they had passion, and they had creativity and spunk. Most of all, they had community; they created community, as experts would. They exchanged, and persuaded, and laid plans, and made friends. They walked together, they walked in unison. And they showed love. . . . World Social Forum, 2015 Tunis, Tunisia
My first meal on a recent trip to one of my favorite places on the planet: Tunisia. We were 3 happy diners in an elegant ocean-front dining room with salt-licked windows facing wild winter waves. The waiter presented a platter of whole, raw fish for our selection, and I let my friends, locals, do the choosing. then we sat back and enjoyed sweet and slow jazz music, Tunisian wine, and I savored my first tastes of culinary delights I had waited all of 7 years to enjoy again: heavenly harissa, glorious olives, tuna-stuffed briks with slippery egg yolks. And then, 3 red and grilled fish appeared before me, like a perfect painting. the light, the energy, the music, the company: all transpired for a transcendent first meal, not to be forgotten. . . . All my love to Dorra and Zied. Restaurant La Belle Plage La Corniche, Bizerte, Tunisia