Moroccans, flaunting conventional wisdom, have decided to take their cuisine in a different direction. They have opted for the use of hands, a fine and dandy , albeit unsanitary, option. However, unlike their smarter Indian friends, they’ve decided to eschew naan or some kind of bread-like staple. Instead, people simply bare fist hot saucy dishes without the benefit of some kind of protection. This might not be so bad if it’s just rice or a piece of sushi but Moroccans decided to go the couscous route. For those who don’t know, couscous is a type of wheat that is incredibly granular and thus really loose. This is served in conjunction with steaming hot meat (let’s stay professional here) piled on top. So as you try to scoop yourself some couscous goodness, you burn your million dollar fingers on the piping out dish all the while little bits of food is falling off the sides. By the time your hand actually makes it to your mouth, you’re left with maybe 25% of what was originally your share, with the remaining 75% becoming the tears of starving African children.
Do I have to re-invent the spoon from leftover chicken bones?
OtherMoroccan dishes don’t make much sense either. For example, they love serving meat on the bone. This would be fine as finger food if it was served individually, but given the Moroccans’ love of sharing, you feel obligated to break off tiny pieces rather than taking the whole thing. So basically there are multiple pairs of hands going over the same piece of chicken, tearing off tiny pieces of meat over and over again.
Just in case this might be too clean, all their meats feature some kind of fruit sauce that you would normally find in a dessert. Apparently, Moroccans have no time for multi-course meals (edit: in the traditional sense). Instead they prefer to lump all their meals into one dish, resulting in the b'stilla royale: puff pastry enclosing shredded chicken and scrambled egg, and topped with powdered sugar and cinnamon. So basically if your local KFC and Cinnabon collided in a tornado, the result is Moroccan food. Either way, I resisted being the guy to ask for a spoon and finished my meal like a champ, sticky fingers and all.