Fatima was plump and timid, dressed
in a brightly colored jilaba and mismatched headscarf. She did not speak English, nor we Arabic, but
her smile was the glowy kind that only the kindest souls possess and she communicated
by gesturing at the tray in her hand.
She was asking if we’d like a cup of tea. Desperate for caffeine, we nodded enthusiastically
and smiled back at her. She set tiny, hand-painted
glasses on the tray, lifted an old, worn, silver teapot high into the air and
poured with expert precision while the foot-long reach of tea miraculously
landed in the cup beneath a layer of bubbly foam.
Over the course of the next three
months, we would see this ritual performed time and again, but this was our
first and she had us captivated. The tea
was deliciously sweet. That first time
all I tasted was the sugar, which chased away the jet lag as it coursed through
my veins. We had been warned off
drinking the tap water here in Morocco, but we had also been warned against
declining an offer of tea. The
ceremonial serving of sweet mint tea holds the essence of the Moroccan culture
of hospitality.
Gunpowder green tea arrived in
Morocco in the 1800’s from Europe. Since
then, the Moroccans have made it their own using generous amounts of mint and
sugar, flavors that differentiate it from other Middle Eastern teas. The gunpowder green is rinsed with boiling
water, re-boiled with a handful of mint sprigs, and three spoons of sugar for
every spoon of tea. Once the tea boils,
three to five cups are poured then dumped back into the pot to stir the flavors
before it is poured and served from high above the little glass, resulting in a
layer of foam.
Day drinking is a significant part
of café culture in Morocco. Men sit
outside cafes all turned to face the busy streets, sipping the sweet tincture
they call, Berber whiskey. This would be
unnerving to passerby if it was indeed whiskey.
As it is, the men are good natured and hospitable, albeit wired.
This continuous overdose of caffeine
and sugar among Moroccans and tourists alike may explain the stimulating energy
of the Marrakech medina. The tea has its
place in negotiations, meetings, hotel hospitality, and social
interactions. I have had mint tea in
Berber tents in the middle of the Sahara Desert, with vendors in the medinas of
Marrakech and Fez, in little shops on the road over the Atlas Mountains. I even sipped the brew while negotiating
camels for my hand in marriage, though my sense of irony didn’t translate and I
was forced to part from my fiancé for the first and final time.
I have never had sweet Moroccan mint
tea outside of Morocco. I think it would
lose its charm. Indeed the ritual, the people,
the sounds, the bright colors, and spicy smells of the country are all part of
the taste and tea itself.
