How To Cook with a Country: Algerian Couscous

Couscous, Algerian-style.

If you like vowels, don’t bother talking couscous with an Algerian -- or any North African individual, for that matter. The again, the topic is pretty difficult to avoid in the grand scheme of Algerian life. Algerian couscous, or ksksou in Arabic (I warned you about the vowels), has had a prominent place at the tables and in the hearts of the Algerian people even before the idea of ALgeria existed in their minds. Nationalism still a nebulous entity in the far-off future, North Africans of all ethnicities settled on steamed semolina pasta as the staple food, much like the body itself in its ability to symbolize countless concepts and ideas or be dressed-up or down by its preparation. Couscous is central to the idea of North Africa, and through the modern period, it has come to possess a critical and uniquely nationalistic undertone which, though recent in its establishment, evokes the days of a nationless Algeria. It is as ubiquitous as the baguette in cuisine, as Algerian as the bread is French, and its cultural significance lies in its simplicity and its unification.

Couscous is prepared in a series of complicated steps, usually involving steaming the pasta multiple times, cooking it for extended periods with a diverse array of vegetables and meats, and then serving it on a common platter to the family or group involved in the occasion, whether it is after prayer on a Friday or a wedding feast. As with most cooking, excepting, perhaps, tea, ksksou is presented and created exclusively by women, keepers of the national culinary heritage even as they remain barred from its political and social history in many ways. Couscous is the Sunday Brunch of Islamic Algeria; it transcends ethnicity, location, and class to bind and unify a nation of diversity even before the concept of nationhood existed. Charitable work and assistance to the poor, one of the pillars of Islam, is manifested in Algerian tradition almost exclusively via couscous, which is distributed to homeless or needy individuals during Ramadan and other holidays throughout the year as a token of goodwill an a symbol of celebration even in the darkest of times. Semolina grains steamed and with vegetables are more than simply delicious. They signal to those partakers of them a place at the table, a place in Algeria, and a role in the development of a complex national history and identity which continues to grow and change. It is a bridge between classes as it is transferred from rich to poor in the act of almsgiving. It, in its individuality, complexity, and coexistent diversity of style and form, encompasses the nature of a nation. And it does so even with limited vowels.