Foodbuzz 24×24: Parisian North African Market Adventures

I love my local market in the 15th arrondissement. I go once or twice a week to pick up my day-to-day groceries; my cheese guy knows my order by heart, and my fruit and vegetables vendor is always trying to set me up with the guy in front of or behind me in the line, regardless of the age difference or the fact that he has met the Country Boy on the rare occasion that he can pull himself out of bed early enough to accompany me. It’s my market; it’s familiar and comfortable. I’d never go in pajamas — that’s completely unacceptable in France — but I still feel like the several meters of sidewalk just around the corner from me is an extension of my own apartment.

Which is why I felt the need to try something different this Saturday.

In the four years I’ve lived in Paris, I’ve had apartments in three different arrondissements, which means three different local markets. I’ve gotten to know each, some better than others, getting to know each one’s individual quirks… but never in all my time here have I met a market so different than the one at Barbès.

Like my first market in the 15th, right behind the Eiffel Tower, it’s located underneath a métro overpass. There, however, the similarities end. When I exited the métro just after noon yesterday, accompanied by the Shoe Fiend, Professor Snark and her husband, we were overwhelmed immediately by women selling a variety of goods, from canned beans to packs of diapers to pairs of shoes, brandishing them at us as we slid past them and headed, instead, into the Goutte d’Or neighborhood to get our bearings before plunging into the market itself.

When I decided I wanted Foodbuzz to help us experience this area of Paris, I had decided on a North African meal; my knowledge, however, of cuisine from this region was limited, and so, armed with what little I had found on the Internet before heading north, we found our way into a halal butcher shop: Boucherie Hamdane Tej (47, boulevard de la Chapelle).

It was teeming with people, and I admit to being a bit shy. We wandered in, quite obviously the only white people in the entire store, which wouldn’t have worried me had it not been for the fact that the majority of the people in the shop weren’t speaking French at all. Still, no one was unfriendly, and when I asked if we might browse the small dry goods section at the back, we were waved through with a smile.

It was here, as we browsed tubs of harissa and peanut paste, bags of almond flour and dried figs, that ideas for the meal started to come together. I grabbed two bags of Israeli couscous, less for their authenticity than for the fact that I had never seen or tried it before, as well as a small container of what looked like freshly made harissa, a bag of Ras el Hanout and a jar of a stewed tomato and green pepper salad. I carried my spoils towards the front, where the same man who had grinned at us earlier loaded them into a bag.

“I’m going to buy meat too,” I ventured in French. He grinned even harder, and a butcher stepped forward.

The meat window was definitely overwhelming and, as Professor Snark noted, lacking greatly in labels. I decided to do what I do at my local market and ask an expert, who was more than happy to help.

“I want to make a sort of stew,” I told him. “What do you recommend?”

“Beef,” he said decisively, reaching for what looked to me like a whole side of cow. “Definitely beef.” He was sure of himself but waited a moment until I nodded before rolling up his sleeves.

“With bone or without?”

“With.” I felt as though I had passed a test as he dropped the huge thunk of beautifully marbled beef down on his cutting board. People were all around me; there was no line to speak of, but he looked so intensely between me and his sharp knife that I felt like the only person in the store. He asked how much meat I wanted and, as I’ve grown accustomed to doing here in France, I answered, not with a weight but with how many people I intended to feed.

“1 kilo 200,” he said, before weighing out 1800 grams. I didn’t have time to tell him before the receipt had printed out and I accepted the huge parcel: what the Shoe Fiend quite rightly said would pay for a couple of chicken breasts in our central Paris supermarkets was handed over for the beef: a little more than 11 euros. It was easy, then, to add two different kinds of semolina bread — one with pure semolina and one with a bit of flour — to the bag. The men behind the counter, only half of whom appeared to be working, suggested that we try both and compare. They laughed along with us as we asked which was better, wrapped them carefully in tin foil, and foisted them on the cashier when one too many aggressive grandmothers pushed in front of me to pay.

Encouraged, we continued to our next stop: a bakery filled with delicious sweets and pastries. Les Délices de Micha (45, boulevard de la Chapelle) was even more overwhelming than the butcher, if only because of how difficult it was to choose just a few of the small bites for the dessert we were planning to follow up our meal. To help us make a decision, Professor Snark bought a few things to try on the spot, including this almond baklava.

After quite a bit of hemming and hawing, I managed to put together a box of several different pastries in triplicate to taste, along with two zoolbia, a sort of funnel cake soaked in a honey syrup. The box itself served as a very useful weapon as we finally made it to the actual Barbès market.

The market is definitely the most crowded I’ve ever seen, and when we first entered, I was afraid we wouldn’t even be able to approach the stands, selling mostly the same things I see at my local market. However, as we moved further along the corridor made by the stands, the crowd began to disperse, and I started to work up the courage to buy things.

Like at the butcher’s and unlike my local market, there were no discernible lines in front of each stand. Instead, it was with a Darwinian mindset that I ignored the old ladies pulling their caddies directly over my toes and used the pointed edge of my cardboard pastry box to walk up to the first stand I saw selling good looking dates. Eye contact was all it took for the man behind the stand to grab a bag and begin shoveling dates into it, until I signaled that it was enough and passed the two-euro coin over the mountain of sticky dried fruit. Proud of my efforts, I continued on to a stand selling sweet potatoes, where a plastic bag was handed to me so that I could select the three I wanted and pass them back to be weighed.

We made a quick stop at the side of the market after I overheard a woman saying, quite loudly, “His hand was in my pocket!” Luckily, our valuables and food were still among us, and so we soldiered on.

Professor Snark’s husband pointed out these olives, which I purchased for apéro as my menu came to be clearer and clearer in my mind. Soon after, we had finished, and so we walked back up to the métro entrance just as the sunlight gave way to a fine mist.

We reached my apartment in the 15th a bit after 2, and while everyone settled onto the couch and the Country Boy began to fill glasses, I started putting together the first three dishes for apéro.

First came two different kinds of olives: black ones that were slightly wrinkled and soaking in a flavorful black oil and green ones in a combination of herbs, spices and pieces of preserved lemon. In the kitchen, I combined a can of chickpeas, a tablespoon of my Ras el Hanout and a bit of salt and oil and stuck it under the broiler. In a few minutes, we had toasty roasted chickpeas, which disappeared at an alarming pace. Luckily, there was more happening in the kitchen.

I decided to make two dishes to go with my Israeli couscous and immediately started on the meat. I salted it and heated up some oil in a heavy pot, searing it on all sides. I added some minced garlic and spices, then covered the entire thing with hot water. In another pan, I caramelized onions with honey and tomatoes and went in to see what my guests were up to.

Professor Snark’s husband and I had never met before, but we quickly bonded over stories of cooking in apartment kitchens and setting off our smoke alarms. I especially appreciated his tale of indoor grilling using ghee and a flaming hot grill pan in his New York City kitchen, so much as to henceforth refer to him on this blog as Bobby Flay 2.0.

Back in the kitchen, my second dish was coming together: sweet potatoes, chickpeas, dates and spices. Around four, we finally sat down to a meal that would replace both lunch and dinner and encroach a bit on this morning’s breakfast.

I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly and easily everything came together. In the future, I’d love to make the meat dish the night before, if only because of how much I love stews the next day, but as it was, we had quite a fun time sitting on the floor around my coffee table, gnawing on bones and philosophizing about techniques for eating way too much and still having room for dessert.

TCB brewed a pot of coffee and we tucked into our dessert selection.

And then the three of us girls snuggled up on the couch under a blanket, and we all watched a Disney movie. Because really, there’s no better ending to an afternoon of shopping, cooking and eating than Tangled.

Moroccan Spiced Beef

2 Tbsp. vegetable oil or ghee
1800 grams (about 4 pounds) bone-in stew meat
salt
5 cloves garlic, minced
1 Tbsp. turmeric
1 Tbsp. ras el hanout
1 Tbsp. Quatre Épices (two parts cinnamon, 1 part ginger, 1/2 part each cloves and nutmeg)

Bring a liter and a half of water to a simmer. Meanwhile, heat a large, heavy pot with a lid over high heat. Add the vegetable oil. Salt the meat and brown it on all sides, being careful not to crowd the pan. (I did this in three batches). Add the garlic and spices to the pan and fry about a minute, until fragrant. Add all of the beef back to the pan and slowly add the water. Cover and reduce heat to low. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about an hour and a half.

When the beef is cooked through and tender, remove it from the pot and keep warm. Increase the heat to high and simmer the broth, uncovered, until reduced by about half. Salt to taste and add the beef back to the pot. Serve with harissa and Spiced Caramelized Onions with Tomato.

Spiced Caramelized Onions with Tomato

3 large yellow onions
3 Tbsp. butter
5 Tbsp. honey
1 Tbsp. salt
1 Tbsp. Quatre Épices
4 whole tomatoes, canned or fresh, skins and seeds removed

Thinly slice the onions and place in a heavy-bottomed skillet with the butter. Cook over low heat until the butter has melted. Add the honey, salt and spice. Continue to cook on low, stirring occasionally, until the honey begins to caramelize and color. When the onions begin to stick to the bottom of the pan, add a bit of water and stir to loosen the browned bits. Continue cooking the onions like this, stirring occasionally, until they have reduced to half their size and are sweet and caramelized, about an hour.

Crush the tomatoes (I do this with my fingers; the more civilized among you may use a fork) and add to the onions, along with more salt if needed. Continue cooking, adding water as needed, until the tomatoes have reduced into the onions and the entire concoction has a jammy texture, about another half hour.

Sweet Potatoes and Chickpeas with Dates

1 Tbsp. vegetable oil
1/2 onion, minced
salt, to taste
3 sweet potatoes, cut into 1/4 inch chunks
2 Tbsp. ras el hanout
1 small can (250 g.) chickpeas
1 cup chopped dates
4 whole tomatoes, canned or fresh, skins and seeds removed

Heat the vegetable oil over medium heat in a deep skillet with a lid. Add the onion and salt and sauté until the onion is slightly browned and soft, about 10 minutes. Add the sweet potatoes and spice. Add water just to cover. Cover with a lid and cook, stirring occasionally, until the sweet potatoes are tender, about 20 minutes.

Remove the lid and add the chickpeas, dates and tomatoes. Stir to combine. Continue to cook about 15 minutes more, until the sauce has reduced.