We drove through a desolate, rocky plateau in the Anti-Atlas mountains. It was a sparsely populated area with less than 200 mm of rain a year. In places, few and far between, water courses from the mountains converged and created palm fringed oases where the local Berber communities could grow crops and vegetables.
One such village was Foum Zguid (sounds like Foomz Good). We chose a quiet camp site 15 minutes walk from the village. Rachid, the owner recommended his tagine and that evening the food was delivered to our truck. Frankly we were rather tired of tagines and couscous but this one was delicious, spicy – and fragrant with preserved lemons. We shared one dish between the two of us but ate every scrap, mopping up the juices with the fresh bread that came with the meal.
One morning we walked down to the village and found it was market day. We bought some fruit and vegetables and a new plastic bucket as ours had split. We tried to ignore the little live chickens, cheeping loudly as they were scooped up from their pen into cardboard boxes as well as a sad little lamb tied up outside a butcher‘s shop. However, the sight of these animals did not stop us enjoying our chicken curry Tony cooked that evening – chicken that had been purchased in a packet from the supermarket.