Ramadan evenings
We Never Knew
Where to Begin
Ramadan was a magnificent month. Every evening, when it was almost time to break the fast, the table seemed to fill with everything at once.
There were so many things in front of us that sometimes we did not even know where to begin.
I remember that abundance with a smile. Not because every dish was complicated, but because the whole table felt alive.
Where I liked to start
Always
the Dates
I liked to begin with dates.
At the time, my favourites were the ones that sat somewhere between dry and soft — half-dry, half-tender.
Medjool could give me that pleasure. So could Algerian Deglet Nour.
Today my taste has changed because I have discovered many more varieties, but that first texture still belongs to my Ramadan memories.
A little darker, please
My Chebakia
Had to Be Bronzed
I loved chebakia sweet, sticky and generous.
But I always asked my mother to cook mine a little longer. I wanted it darker. Crispier. Properly bronzed.
I liked the way it broke in the mouth instead of staying too soft.
At the time, I only cared that it tasted good. Today, after learning much more about honey, I smile when I think about what we casually called “honey” back then.
The bottom of the bowl
I Wanted
More Chickpeas
I loved harira, but what I especially wanted were the chickpeas.
I wanted plenty of them sitting at the bottom of the bowl, waiting until the end.
Sometimes I even dipped a date into the harira.
Strange to some people, perhaps. To me, it tasted wonderful.
The table was full,
but my heart always returned to the same taste.
The real favourite
Nothing Came
Between Me and This
I liked msemen too. But if I am honest, that was not the thing I waited for most.
Give me a hot matlou3, cooked on the fire on a plate, not baked in the oven.
While it was still hot, I liked to press it with my fingers, opening little pockets in the bread.
Then came the smen. A lot of smen.
And then honey. A lot of honey. Enough for the bread to become completely soaked.
And even when it was already soaked, I would dip it again.
A smell that stayed
Not Everyone
Loved Smen
Many people do not like smen. Some of my cousins never liked it at all.
I grew up with it. I loved the smell, especially when it was traditional.
Even now, that smell brings me back to my grandmother and to bit lkhzine, the storage room, where we would sometimes go and ask her for smen.
That is why this combination means more to me than bread, fat and honey.
One smell can open a room that no longer exists around you.
And always tea
The Last Part
of the Combination
The matlou3 was hot. The smen was fragrant. The honey ran into every opening I had made with my fingers.
Beside it, I wanted my glass of tea.
That was enough to make me happy.
What Ramadan taught me
Hunger.
Abundance. Gratitude.
Ramadan made the evening table feel abundant, but the memory that stayed with me was not the quantity alone.
It was the waiting. The first date. The bowl of harira. The chebakia cooked the way I liked it. The hot bread. The smell of smen. The tea.
Looking back, I remember all of it as rizq — provision received after a day of fasting.
The moments around it
Dates. Harira.
Honey. Tea.
My Ramadan table
Some people waited for the main dish.
I waited for hot matlou3 with smen and honey.