Harissa: Fire in a Jar

Our introduction came quickly, in the form of a small bowl placed on a café table alongside bread. Harissa. Deep red, glossy, and alive with spice. Made from sun-dried peppers, garlic, cumin, coriander, and olive oil, it’s more than a condiment here. It’s pride. Every family has their own recipe, passed down through generations.

We saw harissa everywhere: spooned onto sandwiches in Monastir’s market, stirred into soups on cold evenings, even folded into lablabi at a streetside stall. Soon, we were carrying jars of it back to the boat, because what was a meal without it?

Harissa recipe →

Tea with Pine Nuts

One late afternoon in the medina of Tunis, tired from wrangling the kids through narrow alleys, we slipped into a café. Glasses of steaming amber tea arrived — dark, sugary, perfumed with mint. Then came the surprise: pale pine nuts bobbing on the surface. One sip changed everything. The pine nuts softened in the hot liquid, releasing their delicate flavour.

It wasn’t just tea. It was hospitality in liquid form, the kind of ritual that makes you slow down, savor, and connect.

Pine Nut Tea recipe →

Brik: The Golden Triangle

Our first brik came from a street stall, oil spattering in the pan as the vendor worked quickly, folding thin sheets of pastry around tuna, capers, parsley, and — the star — a raw egg. Seconds later he handed us a crisp, golden triangle. The first bite was a mess — egg yolk running down our hands, pastry shattering everywhere — and yet it was perfection.

We saw brik everywhere after that, from Ramadan tables to quick lunches at seaside cafés. You weren’t just eating a snack, you were joining a tradition.

Brik recipe →

Slata: Freshness in Every Bite

For all the heat and richness, Tunisia also knows balance. At almost every meal, a slata appeared — sometimes just chopped tomatoes and cucumber with olive oil and lemon, other times elaborate with roasted peppers, onions, or boiled eggs.

For us, slata became a quiet favorite. On hot days when harissa felt too much, a cool slata with crusty bread was all we needed.

Slata Tounsiya recipe →

Tajin: Eggs, Meat, and Even Tuna

One day, a butcher pressed cubes of lamb into our hands and told us to try them in tajin. But this wasn’t the Moroccan clay pot we imagined — Tunisian tajin is more like a baked omelette or crustless quiche, made with eggs, cheese, herbs, and whatever protein you have. Sometimes chicken, sometimes lamb, and along the coast, even tuna. It’s the kind of dish that ends up at family picnics, holiday tables, and quick marina lunches.

Tunisian Tajine recipe →

Couscous: Meat or Fish, Always Tradition

If tajin is the picnic food, then couscous is the soul of Tunisia. On Fridays, markets are alive with people buying meat or fish for their couscous.

We were invited once to a family meal: fluffy couscous heaped with chickpeas, zucchini, and carrots, crowned with tender lamb. Another time, on the coast, it was fish couscous that stole the show — a whole fish simmered in a tomato broth with cumin, garlic, and of course harissa.

Tunisian Couscous recipe →

Marqa and Kabkabou

Tunisians know how to make a sauce sing. Marqa is the word for rich stews, usually with lamb or chicken, simmered with chickpeas, onions, and vegetables in a tomato base. Along the coast, the same technique transforms into Kabkabou — fish simmered with tomatoes, olives, and capers until the sauce is tangy, briny, and full of depth. Both are eaten with bread close at hand, wiping the bowl clean.

Lamb Marqa recipe →