The Third World Stomach
One of the phrases we've been tossing around the most at the Real World Rabat house is the term "third world stomach." Basically, eating and drinking here in Morocco requires a certain amount of gastronomical fortitude. You have to get used to local Moroccan water, with its little specks of who knows what, local yogurt, and numerous other types of food.
One of the worst we've encountered was a type of Moroccan milk. The first time couscous was served in the apartment by the Moroccan AIESECers, it was accompanied by a milk that the described as "skimmmed." After a sip or two of the interesting-smelling milk, I inquired a little bit more fully - it tasted like a mix of yogurt and milk. Turns out, I wasn't quite right, it had previously been milk - milk that had been left out for a few days at normal temperatures.
Another part of Moroccan cuisine involves the level of cleanliness that goes into some preparations. Last week, my stomach was feeling kind of off - as it does all the time - so I decided it'd be a good idea to just get a basic pain rond with some cheese and meat, no fixins. Kamal took me to a local street vendor that sold fresh bread etc, and I picked out some meat and some cheese, expecting to put it together myself. To my surprise, the glove-less (and moderately greasy) street seller took the bread in his hands, broke it in half, ripped out all the bread in the middle, and then proceeded to roughly stuff my cheese and meat into the center. Giving me a smile that was a few teeth too little, I smiled back and quickly grabbed my sandwich.
Relatively speaking, I've probably had less stomach problems than some of the other members, nothing that a little Imodium and Tums couldn't help with. As a side note, I've been popping Tums EX like it's my job. However, there has yet to be a time that my stomach hasn't been... kind of off. Several of the Americans have gotten really sick to their stomach, and at least one has had food poisoning.
We've learned to avoid anything actively made on the street (except for Jus d'Orange), such as the chicken stir-fried on what could be called hibachis in the middle of the medina. Also, "fresh" yogurt that isn't factory-sealed is definitely off-limits.
Part of the problem has come from this kind of macho complex us American guys have picked up here. It almost becomes a battle over who can/will eat what. That first night that the sour milk was served, Ryan took it upon himself to take down 4 glasses, shot-style, of the aged liquid. This has even extended to meat, with the size of your cojones being based on what you'll eat( pigeon anyone?) and which parts of the animal you'll eat. The butcher's shops are a sight in and of themselves, with whole carcasses hanging out in the sun, and every animal from cow to sheep to rabbit being actively on display. With whole sheeps' heads being common here, we shall see what happens next...
One of the worst we've encountered was a type of Moroccan milk. The first time couscous was served in the apartment by the Moroccan AIESECers, it was accompanied by a milk that the described as "skimmmed." After a sip or two of the interesting-smelling milk, I inquired a little bit more fully - it tasted like a mix of yogurt and milk. Turns out, I wasn't quite right, it had previously been milk - milk that had been left out for a few days at normal temperatures.
Another part of Moroccan cuisine involves the level of cleanliness that goes into some preparations. Last week, my stomach was feeling kind of off - as it does all the time - so I decided it'd be a good idea to just get a basic pain rond with some cheese and meat, no fixins. Kamal took me to a local street vendor that sold fresh bread etc, and I picked out some meat and some cheese, expecting to put it together myself. To my surprise, the glove-less (and moderately greasy) street seller took the bread in his hands, broke it in half, ripped out all the bread in the middle, and then proceeded to roughly stuff my cheese and meat into the center. Giving me a smile that was a few teeth too little, I smiled back and quickly grabbed my sandwich.
Relatively speaking, I've probably had less stomach problems than some of the other members, nothing that a little Imodium and Tums couldn't help with. As a side note, I've been popping Tums EX like it's my job. However, there has yet to be a time that my stomach hasn't been... kind of off. Several of the Americans have gotten really sick to their stomach, and at least one has had food poisoning.
We've learned to avoid anything actively made on the street (except for Jus d'Orange), such as the chicken stir-fried on what could be called hibachis in the middle of the medina. Also, "fresh" yogurt that isn't factory-sealed is definitely off-limits.
Part of the problem has come from this kind of macho complex us American guys have picked up here. It almost becomes a battle over who can/will eat what. That first night that the sour milk was served, Ryan took it upon himself to take down 4 glasses, shot-style, of the aged liquid. This has even extended to meat, with the size of your cojones being based on what you'll eat( pigeon anyone?) and which parts of the animal you'll eat. The butcher's shops are a sight in and of themselves, with whole carcasses hanging out in the sun, and every animal from cow to sheep to rabbit being actively on display. With whole sheeps' heads being common here, we shall see what happens next...
posted by Isaac at 3:04 AM
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