The Forgiven/ A Hedonistic Moroccan Feast
I could write a treatise on the independent bookstore and why it’s crucial that it survive the dawn of the Amazon era. However, this simple anecdote that led me to The Forgiven by Lawrence Osborne, proves my point rather well.
A few weeks ago, I was browsing in Three Lives, an adorable nook of a bookstore in the West Village. I adore this shop for many reasons: when you come upon it, you’ve been traipsing some of the oldest, most beautiful streets in New York, surrounded by the ghosts of Dorothy Parker and Eugene O’Neill. It’s a tiny little shop tucked into a corner frozen in time and when you pass through the threshold, you’re transported back to the bookshops of days past. But the number one reason I adore Three Lives, is because their staff is so incredibly knowledgeable and knows exactly what you want when you yourself aren’t even sure. I had wandered back and forth through the small, appropriated sections of the shop a few times when one of the booksellers approached me.
“You’re absolutely welcome to browse,” he said. “But let me know if I can help you find something.”
“Actually,” I said. “I’m looking for a novel that will pull me in, head over heels and have me reading under my desk at work. Abraham Verghese’s Cutting for Stone did that. I want a repeat performance.”
“I have just the thing,” he said, striding over to a bookshelf. “This book just about killed me. You won’t emerge until you’re done.” When I opened its pages on the train ride home and was sucked immediately in, I was reminded of the power of the independent bookstore.
The Forgiven is a story of a British couple traveling to a raucous, hedonistic party thrown by a gay couple in the middle of a sprawling villa deep in the Atlas Mountains. En route to the party, David and Jo fatally injure a young man selling fossils on the side of the road.
*Papadum boats with ras-al-hanout-marinated artichoke hearts with goat cheese and fried shallot*
What unfolds is a haunting tale of retribution, revenge and hidden secrets. David follows the dead boy’s father into the desert for his funeral while Jo stays behind to “enjoy” the party. Amongst some of the most titillating descriptions of orgiastic activities, culinary delights spun from the likes of Ali Baba’s chef meeting the Mad Hatter and aperitifs that made my mouth water, The Forgiven was replete with some of the most wholesome, desirable descriptions I’d ever read. In fact, upon finishing the book, I felt despondent, as though I could never write like that. But I polished it off, told myself that this book was something to aspire to, and then promptly requested Rohit to make a Moroccan feast that might rival the ones they enjoyed in The Forgiven.
*Harissa-marinated filet of sole with braised lentils, roasted eggplant and broccoli sprouts*
*Tabbouleh salad*
We had visited Morocco in 2007 – we walked through the twisty streets of the market in Fes and the sprawling ones of the market in Marrakech. We took a cooking class and fell in love with the flavors of the country – the tagines, the olives, the ras-al-hanout and orange blossom water, and the honey, oh the honey.
*Roasted cauliflower and sauteed carrots dressed with honey, slivered almonds, cumin and cinnamon*
*Trinity meatballs (pork/veal/beef) with zaa’tar, sumac, honey in a tomato-based sauce with mint, roasted parsnip and fennel*
Rohit called upon his love of all these flavors to focus on a brilliant feast made for revelry, hedonism and lots and lots of wine. We enjoyed this spread along with two friends that are getting married this May and will be honeymooning where else, but Morocco.
