SpiceLines

This savory fish stew is based on Julia Child's recipe for bourride, the "marvelous" Provencal soup enriched with saffron and garlicky aioli sauce. But it also owes much to F.I.G. in Charleston, where chef Mike Lata layers the fish atop sauteed fennel and a bed of Carolina rice.

Here’s one more reason I love Charleston: (number 15, if you're counting): F.I.G.’s exquisite fish stew with saffron and fennel.

It came to our table in two black cocottes—the desirable cast iron oval ones from Staub, of course—with wisps of aromatic steam rising from the gilded broth. Digging in was like diving for oceanic treasure—first my fork speared succulent chunks of grouper and triggerfish. I impaled a plump shrimp, then probed for the tiny mussels and baby squid drifting nearby. Plunging further I became entangled in a thicket of pale, anise-scented fennel before coming to rest on a bed of Carolina rice, soft as sand on the ocean floor.

The broth was the stuff dreams are made of: briny, buttery and lightly suffused with garlic, it bathed the sea creatures and vegetables in a warm golden liquid, as sweetly flavorful as it was fragrant.

Was it a coincidence that almost everyone at F.I.G. was eating fish stew that night? Or that we were all grinning like loons who'd just hit the piscatorial jackpot?

One hundred bulbs planted, six fragrant threads harvested. Oh, well. There's always next year. The discarded lavender petals to the left are a casualty of the saffron harvest. It can take 150,000 flowers to make up a kilo of dried saffron threads.

What can I do with six threads of saffron?

Precious red threads, plucked from my very own crocus sativus. The scent: earthy, vibrant, intoxicating.

But still, just six.

What would you do?

Use it to gild a few tablespoons of rice? Stir the threads into a simmering seafood broth with shrimp and mussels? Poach a ripe pear in white wine, saffron and a touch of vanilla? Make a saffron omelet?

A cup of tea?

Dreaming of the red city in the desert…and saffron smelling of apples and old roses…bright peppery cumin…the mysteries of the spice souks. An ancient kasbah in the high Atlas… Jimi Hendrix on the beach at Essaouira….Berber rugs with mystical symbols, a silvery hand of Fatima, antique babouches….goats clambering in argan trees….dissolving in the hammam…sweet mint tea, aubergine caviar…and so much more.

I’ll return before Thanksgiving…see you then!

Where am I? Still high atop Zidaine le Francais, an amiable camel on the beach at Sidi Kaouki outside old Mogador in Morocco. To make a camel go, you say "Arrrrr...! To make him stop, "Sssshhhh...." Photo taken by Peggy Markel.

My acupuncturist’s fingers rested lightly on my pulse.

“Your body’s here, but your mind hasn’t yet caught up…” she murmured.

I’m home, but dislocated. Part of me is still on the shimmering beach at Mogador, high atop the hump of an affable camel. The tide swirls around his padded, two-toed feet as I gaze across the water to the old Portuguese fort….visions of Berber rugs dancing in my head…

Do I even want to come back?

On Thursday I slipped a spoonful of mrouzia into our traditional oyster dressing. At Abduls’s spice stall in the Marrakech mellah, the mrouzia was made of 16 spices, some familiar—cinnamon, nutmeg and mace—some exotic—carrot seed, long pepper and grains of paradise. A pinch of this aromatic blend lends flavor to fish and poultry dishes, especially those slow-cooked in a clay tagine.

Our Thanksgiving turkey was delicious, brined and roasted as always, but the savory dressing was subtly different, maybe a little sweeter, a bit brighter….

Was it my imagination or did body and soul move closer together?