I tasted my first tagine in my 20s. A newly minted New Yorker, I went out to dinner in Greenwich Village to a now-shuttered restaurant called Cookies and Couscous. While sitting by the window and sipping mint tea, my friend and I studied the menu, admired the tiny 20-seat space, and ordered tagines – lamb and chicken – and a bottle of Moroccan red wine.
We smelled our tagines before we saw them, the heady aroma announcing their arrival. The stews, perfumed with saffron, ginger and coriander, among other spices, were as delicious as they were aromatic. Alongside couscous, it was an unforgettable meal, one I’ve thought about ever since.
