Culinary Secrets of Fez: Moroccan Cooking Classes and Food Markets Exploration

Fez's UNESCO-protected medina isn't just the world's largest car-free urban area—it's a living museum of culinary tradition where 9,000 labyrinthine alleyways harbor food secrets dating back to the 9th century. My exploration began at Bab Boujloud, the ornate blue gate where the medina's pulse is strongest.

Navigating these narrow passages can be overwhelming for first-timers. Rather than relying solely on Google Maps (which often fails in the medina's depths), I invested in a compass that became unexpectedly essential. The medina's high walls block GPS signals, but this reliable tool helped me mark cardinal directions from major landmarks.

I spent my first morning photographing the geometric patterns of spice pyramids—ochre turmeric, crimson paprika, golden cumin—while vendors called out in a melodic blend of Arabic and French. The spice market near R'cif Square offers the most photogenic displays and authentic quality. Here I purchased a handcrafted wooden spice box that now travels with me, carrying the essential Moroccan quintet: cumin, cinnamon, ginger, turmeric, and paprika.

After researching countless cooking classes, I bypassed the tourist-oriented options for something more intimate—a home-based workshop with a Fassi grandmother named Fatima, arranged through the riad where I stayed. Her kitchen, nestled in a 300-year-old home with intricate zellige tilework and a central courtyard, became my classroom for three afternoons.

Fatima spoke limited English, communicating instead through her daughter's translation and the universal language of demonstration. Her hands—weathered but precise—showed me how to properly build a tagine: meat first, vegetables arranged in concentric circles, spices measured not in teaspoons but in practiced pinches. The tagine pot she used had been seasoned by decades of use, developing a patina that no new cookware could replicate.

What struck me most was how Fatima's cooking incorporated elements of calligraphy—the deliberate swirl of honey drizzled over pastilla, the precise arrangement of preserved lemons in a chicken tagine. Like the Arabic script my father taught me to appreciate, Moroccan cuisine is both art and communication, with technique passed down through generations of women whose kitchens served as informal culinary academies.

By our final session, I'd mastered not only tagine but also the art of Moroccan salads—the refreshing combination of cucumber, tomato and herbs that begins every proper meal—and the delicate pastry work required for bastilla, a sweet-savory pie that represents the pinnacle of Fassi cuisine.

The rhythms of Fez are dictated by bread. Each morning before sunrise, I joined local women carrying trays of prepared dough to the ferran—neighborhood communal ovens that have operated continuously for centuries. The ferran master recognized me by my third visit, nodding with approval as I photographed the hypnotic process of dough-marking (each family creates a distinctive pattern to identify their loaves) and the balletic movements of his long wooden paddle extracting perfectly browned khobz.

This daily bread ritual reveals the community-centered approach to Moroccan cooking. Even families with modern kitchens still bring their bread to these ancient ovens, understanding that the distinctive flavor comes not just from ingredients but from the accumulated history of the stone chambers.

I began carrying a insulated food container to bring still-warm bread back to my riad, where I'd enjoy it with local honey and mint tea while watching the city awaken from the rooftop terrace. The container kept the bread perfectly warm for hours—essential for experiencing khobz as locals do.

For photographers, these ovens offer exceptional opportunities to capture both cultural tradition and compelling light. The glow of the fire illuminates faces in a chiaroscuro effect that reveals character in every crease and smile.

Most travel guides direct visitors to the touristy food markets near Bab Boujloud, but locals revealed to me the existence of R'cif's midnight market—a nocturnal gathering where restaurants and households source the freshest ingredients. Arriving just before midnight, I witnessed an entirely different side of Fez's culinary scene.

Under strings of bare bulbs, farmers from surrounding villages displayed produce harvested that evening. Fish vendors sold catches that had arrived from the coast just hours earlier. The transactions were swift, the quality exceptional, and the prices remarkably lower than daytime markets.

Navigating this authentic space requires confidence and respect. I dressed conservatively and carried my camera discreetly in a anti-theft crossbody bag that allowed quick access while maintaining security in the crowded market. The bag's slash-proof construction and locking compartments provided peace of mind while photographing in dense crowds.

The night market also revealed Fez's astronomical connection—vendors used the position of stars visible between medina rooftops as timekeepers, just as their ancestors had for centuries. As someone fascinated by celestial navigation, I appreciated this traditional method that persists despite modern alternatives.

For couples seeking romance with a dash of adventure, this midnight excursion offers an experience far from the typical tourist path—though I'd recommend visiting with a local guide your first time to navigate both the physical space and cultural expectations.

For our final evening in Fez, my riad arranged a special experience—the opportunity to prepare a complete Moroccan feast under Fatima's guidance, using ingredients we'd selected together at the market that morning. This culminating lesson was designed specifically for couples, teaching not just recipes but the choreography of cooking together in the Moroccan tradition.

We began at Ain Azliten market, where Fatima taught us to select the perfect ingredients: unbruised eggplants with tight, glossy skin; pomegranates heavy with juice; and fragrant bundles of mint and cilantro. I recorded these market moments using a smartphone gimbal that allowed for smooth tracking shots through crowded aisles without drawing undue attention.

Back in her kitchen, we prepared a progressive feast: first, a spread of cold salads including zaalouk (smoky eggplant) and taktouka (roasted peppers with tomato); then a lamb tagine with prunes and almonds; and finally, a dessert of orange slices infused with cinnamon and orange blossom water.

Fatima emphasized that Moroccan cooking is inherently romantic—dishes designed for sharing, eaten with hands from common plates, creating intimacy through food. She showed us how to arrange the meal for maximum visual impact, explaining that Moroccan hosts 'eat with their eyes first'—a concept that resonated with my designer's appreciation for visual composition.

The evening culminated with mint tea service, where Fatima demonstrated the dramatic high pour that aerates the tea and creates a delicate foam. She gifted us with a Moroccan tea set similar to the one we'd used, ensuring we could recreate this ritual at home.