Chef Anass Sentissi says people in Morocco eat five times a day. “We snack on almonds, and when we are sick, we use spices and rest,” he said. / Rob Goebel / The Star
I am the type of person who, when cooking, measures everything. I don’t experiment, I don’t improvise, and I certainly don’t go around throwing spices into dishes all willy-nilly.
Or at least I wasn’t that person before I walked into Saffron Cafe one Sunday morning for a Moroccan cooking class with chef Anass Sentissi.
Sentissi is a historian, a musician, an herbalist and a sociologist who just so happens to be in the restaurant business.
“The concept of Moroccan cuisine is the spices,” Sentissi announces as he breezes into the small restaurant on Fort Wayne Avenue, nearly 15 minutes late. He motions for me and the six other students to join him at a long table full of small bowls containing spices and other ingredients varying in color and scent.
We weave in and out of the history and medicinal uses of spices: In the seventh century, Arab armies spread across northern Africa and into Morocco. . . . Have diabetes? Try cinnamon.
During the mid-13th century, the Beni Merin Berber tribe takes control. . . . Anxiety? Drink distilled cilantro water.
He rattles off information and remedies as we sniff and pass, then sniff and pass, until we finally arrive at the word we’ve all been waiting for — saffron.
At $300-$400 an ounce for high-quality saffron, my classmates and I are anticipating what medical condition this threadlike spice will help:
Menstrual cramps.
For today’s purposes, we would simply use the saffron for flavoring.
Our first recipe: zaalouk, a traditional Moroccan eggplant spread.
“I am not teaching you how to cook eggplant today,” Santissi says. “I’m teaching you how to use these ancient spices as remedies and flavoring so that you can use them in any dish you please.”
My classmates and I take turns peeling, slicing and preparing the eggplant with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and a “generous” amount of Kosher salt (sea salt, bad; Kosher salt, good, we learn).
“Americans love salt. I don’t know this tradition from where they got it, but can you try please first?” Sentissi pleads.
Sentissi, an accomplished Middle-Eastern percussionist, moved to the U.S. in 2005 to join family and receive a degree in ethnomusicology at Indiana University.
While in Bloomington, he was involved in his family’s restaurant, Casablanca Cafe, before opening Saffron Cafe in Indianapolis in March 2009.
The cooking classes are only a recent addition to Saffron Cafe, and they’ve quickly filled since deal-site Groupon earlier this fall promoted a half-off class — a $200 value.
Our class takes turn preparing the lamb; no one is excluded from the opportunity to enjoy a hands-on experience under Sentissi’s watch.
While much of the class is taught in the dining area, there is plenty of time spent in Sentissi’s tiny kitchen as well — an experience that Dawn Nickolaus was hoping for.
“Saffron Cafe is one of my most favorite restaurants in Indy. I’ve been wanting to get inside chef Sentissi’s kitchen for quite some time,” the 49-year-old Morristown resident says.
As our lamb tajine entree simmers, Sentissi takes us back to the dining room and through a tasting of eight wines, as well as his philosophies on food and healthy living.
“In Morocco, we eat five times a day and drink hot water, green tea. We snack on almonds, and when we are sick, we use spices and rest,” he said.
He encouraged that we learn where our meat and produce come from while also paying attention to its freshness.
The lamb in our tajine dish, for example, was delivered fresh from a Louisville farm — never frozen before being dressed with light gravy, peas and artichoke hearts.
Not only did each of the students clean his or her plates, but we also were offered boxes “to go.”
After our final lesson for the day there was dessert.
The anxiety I feel about proper cooking measurements is nothing compared to the debilitating fear I have around ever-so-delicate phyllo dough.
I stood back to watch my classmates butter layer after layer of the honey-nut deliciousness that is baklava.
“It’s important to work quickly so that the phyllo dough doesn’t dry out. It also helps to wipe your hands with wet towel,” Sentissi explains.
As the flaky concoction bakes, we relax with our wine and enjoy the traditional — and live — Moroccan music of Victor Santoro, who plays the lute and the kanun, both Middle Eastern string instruments.
Santoro, who performs at Saffron every Saturday evening, plays the entire four hours. By the time we sample the baklava, I’m full, happy and a little buzzed. It could have been the wine, but I am quite certain that baklava was one of the best desserts I have ever tasted.
Maybe measuring is overrated after all.
Saffron Café
Where: 621 Fort Wayne Ave. Information: (317) 917-0131, www.saffroncafe-indy.com.
