Sweet Moroccan Mint

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.