Writer Alice Morrison has lived in Morocco for 10 years, but she’s never made a pastilla, a North African chicken pie, from scratch. With the help of the women at Amal Association, she learns the art of pastry-making and the role cooking can play in women’s empowerment.
I arrive at the Amal Association cooking center in the leafy Marrakech suburb of Targa to the sound of birdsong and dishes clattering. Young women’s laughter echoes around the garden, where chairs and tables are being set up for guests. Full disclosure: I have lived in Morocco for 10 years and this is going to be my first cooking class.
Founded in 2012 by Nora Belahcen Fitzgerald, the aim was to give disadvantaged women a way to earn their living through cooking. In a country where women make up only 21 percent of the labor force, it’s never been more important. Amal means ‘hope’ in Arabic, and this association really does give women the opportunity to dream and follow new aspirations.
Nora started by teaching women to bake American staples, like cookies and brownies, which were sold in her family’s language centre in Marrakech. They sold like the proverbial hot cakes and from that simple foundation, Nora has built an organization which trains young women to not only cook, but attend to all the principles of a professional kitchen and catering service. Key learnings to help them find work once their training is over.
To date, Nora and her team have trained over 300 women (35 trainees just this year) and there are now three Amal centres in Marrakech, including their latest venture—a centre dedicated to supporting the deaf community.
“Our goal has been to create a safe and loving space where women can learn, grow and thrive,” Nora says. “There is a deep alchemy of outward and inward transformation that happens at Amal whereby the women learn a professional skillset and get good jobs afterwards, but also come to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that they deserve to take up space in the world.”
Amal is supported by The Intrepid Foundation—a charitable arm of Intrepid Travel that’s funded by donations from everyday travelers—to continue seeing women through Amal’s nine-month culinary training program. The most impressive part? Amal’s graduating trainees have an 80 percent employment success rate placing its graduates in local restaurants, hotels and catering concerns.
Nora met Fatiha when she was working in a riad earning just USD$20 a month. Soon after training, Fatiha was able to earn six and then 10 times that through cooking.
At 9.30am, my fellow students—there are 12 of us—and I are ushered into the spacious kitchen by our chefs and trainers for the day: Fatiha and Karima. We put on our orange aprons and stand expectantly by the cooking benches. The group is from all over the world, and we’ve all chosen different dishes. Some have gone for lamb and chicken tagine, others a seven-vegetable couscous, while I’ve opted for the pastilla because it looks really hard to make. And I’m up for a challenge.
Pastilla is a sweet and savoury mille feuille (layered pastry) bundle stuffed with chicken, seafood or pigeon and filled with ground almonds and sauce made from onions, ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, saffron and the juices of the chicken. I’ve eaten hundreds of them throughout my time in Morocco, but have never been ambitious enough to try cooking one. “It’s now or never,” I think to myself.
I also have a great feeling about Fatiha, who has been with Amal since the beginning and has all the authority of a founder. She is being helped by one of the new trainees, a young woman named Bouchra, who never takes her eyes off Fatiha—soaking up the learning like a sponge.
Ghita, Amal’s cooking manager, tells us that Nora met Fatiha when she was working in a riad—traditional-style Moroccan house converted into a hotel—earning just USD$20 a month. Soon after training, Fatiha was able to earn six and then 10 times that through cooking. “It’s transformational,” says Ghita.
Fatiha and Karima bustle about the benches showing us what to do. I’m told to combine six different spices including cumin, pepper, cinnamon, turmeric and nutmeg with finely chopped onions and two pieces of chicken. Adding water, I am then in stirring mode. One of the pleasures of Moroccan cooking is that it is very slow, so there is plenty of time to chat with my neighbors and teachers.
Once my sauce has reduced, I peel, boil and grind my almonds. Then it’s time for a tea break. Tea is at the centre of Moroccan life and Ghita invites us all to dress in jellabas (long Moroccan robe) and to sit on the carpet.
First, she pours just one cup of boiling water onto the leaves to settle. “This is the ruh,” she says. “The soul of the tea.” She decants a glass of pure red tea and then adds more water. “Now we have to wash the tea.” She wiggles the teapot ferociously and pours out a dirty black liquid. This is thrown away, then the ‘soul’ is added and topped up with hot water. Finally, in goes the sugar and the mint leaves. I learn that by washing the tea first, it removes the bitterness. Just another tip to take home with me.
Fatiha, meanwhile, has been setting up an iron griddle. “It’s time for you to work,” she tells me. We’re making the fine pastry sheets from scratch. To do so, Fatiha shows me how to splat a handful of the water and flour dough mixture onto the burning hot griddle. Then she smooths it into a perfect circle and peels it off once cooked through.
I catch Bouchra looking at me anxiously, as if with little hope of my success. “Be careful,” she says. “Don’t burn your hands. It’s so hot.” I splat, smooth and peel as instructed, and although my pastry sheet is a little wonky, I’m proud of myself. And blow on my scorched fingertips when no-one is looking.
My chicken pastilla is a thing of beauty. We all sit together outside and share our dishes in a communal meal. A little calico cat comes and begs for leftovers. It is an hour of pure happiness.
We work like busy bees. The tagine team are navigating the bellows over charcoal, the couscous creators are fluffing their grains, and I am layering my hard-earned pastry sheets.
First a layer of ground almonds plus two teaspoons of sugar, next a layer of sauce plus two teaspoons of sugar, and finally the shredded chicken alongside (you guessed it) two teaspoons of icing sugar. We bundle it all up and decorate with cinnamon… and more sugar.
My chicken pastilla is a thing of beauty. We all sit together outside and share our dishes in a communal meal. The birds are still singing in the palm trees, and we can hear the girls chattering in the kitchen. A little calico cat comes and begs for leftovers. It’s an hour of pure happiness.
When I get home to the Atlas Mountains that night, I get concrete proof of Amal’s success. I go downstairs to my neighbors to show off my pastilla pictures and Miriam, who is 26 years old and the chef at her father’s gite (traditional guesthouse), lights up when she sees my orange apron.
“You’ve been to Amal?” she exclaims. “Amal changed my life. I trained there. I learned everything about cooking and being professional there. It was amazing.” She glows with the memory.
How your donation can help
Donations made through The Intrepid Foundation will allow the Amal Association to continue providing culinary skills training to help women in Morocco improve their employment opportunities and livelihoods. You can donate here.
****
Adventure.com strives to be a low-emissions travel publication. We are powered by, but editorially independent of, Intrepid Travel, the world’s largest travel B Corp, who help ensure Adventure.com maintains high standards of sustainability in our work and activities. You can visit our sustainability page or read our Contributor Impact Guidelines for more information.
Alice Morrison is a Scottish adventurer based in Morocco and has written four books about her adventures. The presenter of the BBC2 series 'Morocco to Timbuktu', she has cycled from Cairo to Cape Town, run round Everest, and completed the Marathon des Sables, the toughest footrace on Earth. She has also crossed Morocco and the Sahara on foot with 6 camels and walked the length of Jordan. She speaks Arabic and French, and is learning Tachelhit.
