Mom and I took a cooking class at Café Clock today. Our group of seven had Americans and only Americans: two older women traveling together from California whose names were Mary and Katherine, Linda from Tucson, Arizona, whose husband had declined to attend the class (although he came to eat), a man named Mike from Minneapolis, and the two of us. Our leader was Souad, who ran us through the menu. We chose a soup, a salad, and a main course before coming to the desserts.

“Where’s the chocolate?” I asked. Souad, who was sitting next to me, eagerly suggested making chocolate-dipped strawberries along with the date rolls. That was fine with me!

In the market, Souad showed us our chicken B.D. (Before Death) She also showed us some breads, hair conditioner, and herbs before we bought chicken, spicy bread, strawberries, cilantro, fava beans, and peas. Then we retreated to the upstairs kitchen.

Several times while we were cooking, people came through the cinema and up the stairs to where we were, looking for the rooftop tables. Souad always directed them up the stairs. The real way to get to the terrace was just going up the stairs that everyone else used.

We made a lentil soup, smoked eggplant salad, herbed chicken, and sticky date rolls before coming to my part.

Souad poured some vegetable oil in a pot and then added baker’s dark chocolate. I stirred as she placed the strawberries and sesame seeds and almonds next to me. Then, I dipped the strawberries in the chocolate and dropped them on wax paper, sprinkling them with sesame and almond. Eventually, everything was either setting or cooking, so Souad talked about the culture.

The soup was served with couscous bread, the spicy bread, and a scoop of the (now cold) eggplant salad. Along with our (rather tough) chicken, bread was served.

The crowning glory was, of course, the dessert platter. The strawberries were the best.

Ciao!