The Maghreb is the culturally distinct region of North Africa (Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco) fronting on the Mediterranean Sea. HG loves the food from this part of the world and enjoys its splendors whenever possible. There’s a good article on Maghreb food in Paris by Jay Cheshes (SAVEUR–Nov. 12, 2012). Cheshes mentions two great street foods: Casse-croute (Tunisian tuna and vegetable sandwich) and Mahjouba (Algerian crepes rolled around grilled vegetables). Why do working class Parisians have all the luck? Why can’t we Americans have these treats instead of hamburgers? Cheaper and healthier. In a recent post, HG mentioned the excellent (at a very modest price) chicken and preserved lemon tagine with couscous HG enjoyed at Restaurant Jour et Nuit on Paris’s gritty Boulevard de la Chapelle. Close to that place is Dar el Houma (mentioned by Cheshy) which specializes in chicken tagines atop Maghreb noodles. Sounds pleasing. Also in the area is Les Trois Freres which in addition to couscous, does a mean steak et frites. Makes HG want to hustle back to Paris. Sadly, Maghreb food has not really proliferated in the United States. Surprising, since dumbed-down Mexican, Italian and Chinese food is available everywhere. Couscous has gained a foothold in American kitchens, but has not really infiltrated US restaurants. In all of HG’s many years in New York, HG remembers only one good couscous joint. This was a place in the West Greenwich Village where a jolly Israeli guy dished out maximum couscous dinners at minimal prices. Long closed. Sad.
BSK and Beautiful Granddaughter Sofia were off taking advantage of the Paris sales day so HG ventured into gritty Arab/African Paris, the neighborhood around the Barbes-Rochechouart metro station. This is where the metro emerges from the underground and becomes elevated (very reminiscent of New York’s IRT on Jerome Avenue in The Bronx). Beneath the elevated metro tracks is a raucous, messy, colorful, lively, ludicrously inexpensive market. Enter and leave Paris behind. You are in Algiers or Tunis or Morocco or Lagos — a mad jumble of all of them. This is where Paris’s large working class immigrant population finds bargains in food, clothing and probably anything else legal or illegal that one could want. Much noisy haggling. HG left the market and poked into some the food shops on Rue Chapelle. Good looking chickens gently roasting on rotisseries; sheep heads treated the same way appeared appetizing (except for the very human white teeth smiling through the flames). Lots of lush dates, figs and olives. Freshly made Arab flat bread. Spices, rice and couscous galore. Made HG ravenous. Small restaurant, Jour et Nuit, looked promising. Peered inside. Lots of fat and jolly Arabs having a good time. Good vibes. No English spoken but HG greeted with warm smiles and seated at comfortable table. Ordered a sizzling, bubbling tagine of chicken with preserved lemons (plus tangy green olives and potatoes) and a side dish of couscous with copious rich broth and vegetables. Big crock of fiery harissa on the table. Wondrous food. Better than anything HG/BSK ever ate in visits to Morocco (including meals at posh hotel La Mamounia in Marrakech). Restaurant owner identified himself as Algerian and the food as Algerian home cooking (that’s what HG gathered with much sign language and clumsy French). Before leaving, HG had a glass of best ever mint tea . The bill? Cheap, cheap. Don’t be frightened by the bustle of the neighborhood and the ominous looks of some of the residents. Get to Jour et Nuit when in Paris and enjoy.
Long apres lunch stroll through the Barbes neighborhood, Pigalle and the lower slopes of Montmartre. Reminded HG of Brooklyn where edgy neighborhoods are becoming the haunts of hipsters and the upwardly mobile young. Dinner with BSK at warm and welcoming Bourgogne Sud on Rue de Clichy. Complimentary glass of white wine and sausage from the Macon region on the table. HG/BSK enjoyed the lush and meaty escargots followed by grilled scallops with crisp roasted potatoes and green salad. Drank very good Moulin a Vent red. Wine poached pears with vanilla ice cream for dessert. This wasn’t haute cuisine, just a meal of down home goodness. After dishes were cleared, hostess brought a big bottle of marc de bourgogne and brandy glasses. Left the bottle on the table. A volonte: Drink as much as you want. HG did not drink as much of the lovely beverage as HG wanted. BSK was a moderating influence. But, more than enough. Did manage to walk back to apartment without staggering.
