is in the many variations of harira and chorba prepared in Morocco and other parts of the Maghreb, where they are traditionally eaten at sundown each day during Ramadan. In this particular recipe, I have based the ingredient list and cooking instructions on the Hispanic culinary traditions documented in Arroyo Hondo, New Mexico, by Cleofas Jaramillo in 1939, then elaborated on them through attention to Paula Wolfert’s records on the various types of harira in Morocco. Following Wolfert, I suggest that the garbanzos be soaked and then peeled, a step not done in all places where such a stew has diffused, but one that allows for a softer texture. In a pair of harira recipes, she illustrates two different thickeners, a mixture of semolina flour and water in one and beaten eggs in the other. To enhance this rich culinary melting pot, I have used mastic here in the same role, a soup ingredient included in the medical dietary recommendations known as Yin-shan cheng-yao by Hu Szu-hui, published in the early 1300s. Look for mastic, sometimes labeled gum mastic, in food shops specializing in Greek, Turkish, or Middle Eastern ingredients or online.
Serve with a flat bread, such as Lebanese or Jordanian za’atar bread, focaccia, or even a whole wheat tortilla. A small salad of romaine lettuce hearts, watercress, or purslane leaves tossed with dried mint, lemon juice, and olive oil complements this stew, as well. Serves 4.
| ⅓ | cup dried garbanzo beans | |
| 1½ | cups water | |
| 1 | teaspoon fresh lemon juice | |
| ¼ | cup olive oil or smen (Moroccan fermented salted butter) | |
| 1 | pound boneless lamb from the shoulder, cut into 1-inch cubes | |
| 1 | large white onion, finely chopped | |
| 4 | plum tomatoes, finely chopped | |
| 1 | teaspoon finely crushed mastic | |
| Salt and white or black pepper | ||
| ½ | cup fresh cilantro leaves, minced | |
| 1 | teaspoon freshly ground cassia cinnamon | |
| ½ | teaspoon peeled and minced fresh ginger | |
| ½ | teaspoon peeled and minced fresh turmeric | |
| ½ | teaspoon freshly ground cumin seeds | |
| ¼ | teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg | |
| Pinch of saffron threads | ||
| 2 | lemons, cut into wedges |
In a bowl, cover the garbanzo beans with the water and stir in the lemon juice. Allow to soak for 8 to 24 hours in a warm spot or, if preferred, in the refrigerator. Drain, rinse, and then rub the beans between your fingertips to release their skins. Set the beans aside.
In a heavy pot, heat the olive oil over medium-low heat. Add the lamb and brown the meat on all sides. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the lamb to a plate. Add the onion to the oil remaining in the pan and sauté over medium-low heat until translucent, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the tomatoes and cook, stirring occasionally, for a couple minutes to release their juices.
Return the lamb to the pan, add the garbanzos and mastic, season with salt and pepper, and stir well. Add water to a depth of 2 to 3 inches, raise the heat to medium-high, and bring the mixture to a boil. Lower the heat to a gentle simmer and cook uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the beans are nearly tender, about 45 minutes. Add water as needed to cook the beans properly and to maintain a good stew consistency.
Add the cilantro, cinnamon, ginger, turmeric, cumin, nutmeg, and saffron, stir well, and continue to simmer until the garbanzos are tender, about 20 minutes longer.
Ladle the stew into individual bowls and serve. Pass the lemon wedges at the table for guests to squeeze into their bowls as desired.
Buell, Paul D., and Eugene N. Anderson, eds. A Soup for the Qan: Chinese Dietary Medicine of the Mongol Era as Seen in Hu Szu-hui’s Yin-Shan Cheng-yao. London and New York: Keegan Paul International, 2000.
Jaramillo, Cleofas M. New Mexico Tasty Recipes. Layton, UT: Gibbs Smith, 2008, p. 2.
Wolfert, Paula. Couscous and Other Good Food from Morocco. New York: Harper & Row, 1973, pp. 58–61.
CHAPTER 1
Aromas Emanating from the Driest of Places
I am tracking a scent across the desert. I meander up a slope between boulders of limestone almost too hot to touch, dodging dwarfed trees and bushy shrubs, all with spiny branches twisted and punctuated with greasy but fragrant leaflets. A few spindly milkweeds with toxic sap cling to the cliff face beside me.
As I stop for a moment to catch my breath, I let my eyes scan the arid terrain rolling high to the south of me, up the mountain plateau called Jabal Samhan. I am witness to a stark and largely unpopulated landscape. It is not totally barren, yet most of the world’s farmers and city dwellers would declare it empty. By that, they might mean that it is marginally arable, barely habitable, or is incapable of offering much of value to humankind today.
But they are wrong if they presume that this landscape lacks any value to our common heritage. Over millennia, something of exceptional value came out of this arid landscape that, when combined with other forces, changed the course of human history. The question is whether we value what grows in and is harvested from this landscape in any profound way today.
I have come here on a pilgrimage to seek an answer to that question. I have climbed into the Dhofar highlands, a plateau that sits some two thousand feet above the Arabian Sea. It is home to a scatter of seminomadic herding and foraging Jabbali tribes known as the people of the Shahri, the ones who “make mountain talk.”
I hear no kind of talk at this moment. All is quiet. There is no wind. I gulp down hot air. My nostrils flare and I pick up a distinctive fragrance, subtle but inviting.
The smell prompts me to remember that ancient Greek geographers called this odoriferous country Eudaimôn Arabia, or “Arabia, the Blessed.” One of them, Herodotus, noted that “the whole country exhales an odor that is marvelously sweet.”1 Later this land came to be known to the wider world as Arabia Felix, a vortex of happiness amid much hardship and struggle. At first, it offered nothing more than a few fragrant desert plants and animal substances that were known collectively to the Greeks as aromatikos. Such aromatic substances have long been perceived by many cultures as having the capacity to generate a sense of happiness, healing, well-being, and harmony within the world.
As I make my way up the switchbacks of a goat trail, I wonder how long the “happy” slopes of Jabal Samhan have baked in the torrid sun. My feet kick up dust in the wake of my walking. It has not rained here for weeks. This is a land of heat and drought.
Scientists who call themselves chemical ecologists suggest that the aridity that results from these two conditions has helped rather than hindered the evolution of aromatic plants, which they define as those having compounds containing benzene rings.2 Over millennia, the deserts of the Arabian Peninsula developed into prime habitat for the most powerfully aromatic plants in the world. What these desert plants lacked in productivity, they often made up in fragrance, flavor, and mythic potency.
Perhaps that is because the leaves of many of them exude aromatic oils that help them resist heat, drought, and damage from herbivores. Such aromatic but highly volatile, fleeting chemicals are more concentrated in the floras of arid climes than anywhere else.
Although much of the Dhofar region has limited agricultural potential and an uneven distribution of useful wild plants, Arabia Felix could aptly be called the birthplace of the global trade in aromatics. Like Aladdin’s magic ring, when properly rubbed, this landscape opens up to reveal a psychotropic world of incenses, culinary spices, perfumes, and curative herbs to delight and refresh the weary.
Despite its scarcity of vegetation, Arabia Felix is full of highly pungent scents and flavors. It has wild crocuses akin to saffron, barks reminiscent of cinnamon,
