I grew up in Beirut during its belle epoque, the late 1950s and early 1960s. In those happy days, my uncles would often take me and my sisters for long walks along the Corniche, the city's famed seafront promenade, which was lined with street vendors selling all kinds of food. Unfortunately, I was never allowed to join the people gathered around the food carts because, as my uncles always said, "Girls from good families don't eat on the street."
Perhaps in reaction, I became a lifelong devotee of the street food of the southern and eastern Mediterranean. At least partly due to their nomadic traditions, these countries have what I consider the finest such food in the world. Among my favorite dishes are the many and varied kebabs, and so there is nothing I like more, when wandering the souks of this region, than to see a cloud of smoke rising above the crowd. It is a sure sign that I am approaching the barbecue corner, where stalls selling grilled meats will be crammed together. One of my favorites is in the Place Jema al-Fna, the legendary square at the center of the part of Marrakech known as the Medina. Here, when dusk falls and the vast rectangular formation of food stands has been set up, I love to linger by the barbecue stalls and watch the spectacle. I'm fascinated by the stall holders, who sit in front of mounds of cubed and seasoned meat. With one hand, they fan out a half-dozen long, thin, metal skewers, deftly thread the cubes onto the skewers, then set them at the side of the grill, ready to be put over the fire when customers start streaming in. People settle at long trestle tables and eat the grilled meat either from a piece of paper or slipped inside kesra, a round, flattish Moroccan bread.
It is a scene that is repeated throughout the region, but the taste, composition, and size of the kebabs vary markedly from one country to another. In Morocco, the meat is usually cut into tiny cubes and dry-marinated in a mixture of fresh herbs and spices. In the south and east Mediterranean, the marinades are the more common wet ones, made with olive oil, garlic, dried herbs, and the whole range of Mediterranean spices. In Lebanon, Syria, and Greece, the addition of lemon juice lends a certain tartness to the meat. And in Turkey, tomato paste provides an intriguing touch of sweetness.
The way kebabs are served also differs from one locale to another. In Syria or Lebanon, many souk butchers have their own charcoal grill at the stall. They start their fire around midmorning and keep it going all day. Customers perch at a narrow counter, and the butcher serves them grilled kebabs on open pita bread. If they'd rather have the cooked meat to go, he'll wrap it in the pita. In Morocco, you can either stop at stalls like those in Jema al-Fna, where the meat is already cubed, seasoned, skewered, and ready to be grilled, or you can first go to a butcher (you always find butcher shops near grilled meat stalls), buy your chosen cut, then take it to the nearest grill stall to have it seasoned and cooked.
In some countries, kebabs are joined on the grill by the equally popular kefta—long, cigar-shaped patties of ground meat, fresh herbs, onion, and spices threaded on skewers lengthwise. Again, preparation of kefta (or kofta, or köfte, depending on where you are) varies from one country to another. In Turkey, bulgur is added to the ground meat. In Lebanon, the meat is mixed with very finely chopped onion and parsley and seasoned with a seven-spice mixture that includes ground cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. In Syria, the ground meat is often left plain, seasoned only with salt and pepper, while the Moroccan version, my favorite, has all kinds of fresh herbs such as cilantro, mint, and marjoram, and also includes ras-el-hanout, a heady mixture of over 20 spices.
Surprisingly, grilled fish is scarce on Mediterranean streets—the only place to find it is right by the sea. Essaouira (where Orson Welles filmed Othello) is a charming fishing port not far from Marrakech. If you walk out by the water, you will come across a large covered area lined with fishmongers' stalls, each displaying the day's catch. All you have to do is buy the fish you want and ask the vendor to grill it for you. If the fish is big, he will slice a piece off, cut it into cubes, then season the cubes and thread them onto skewers to grill as kebabs. Like their meat counterparts, these are fine examples of the world's best street food.
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