How is harira soup made?

Harira is the soup that smells like the whole country at sunset during Ramadan — step into any neighbourhood at fast-breaking time and the air is thick with it, simmering in vast pots in every home. It is hearty, tangy, deeply spiced and nourishing, designed to gently restart a body that has not eaten all day, and the way it is built in layers is what gives it that characteristic velvety richness. It begins, like so much Moroccan cooking, with onion and a base of warming spices — ginger, turmeric, a little cinnamon, plenty of black pepper, often saffron — sweated in oil or smen, with small pieces of lamb or beef browned in.

Then the body of it goes in. A generous amount of fresh tomato, blended or grated to a purée, is the soul of harira and gives it its red colour and tang. Lentils are added, and chickpeas — usually soaked overnight beforehand — and a big handful of chopped celery leaves, parsley and coriander, which is essential to the flavour and not just a garnish. This all simmers together for a good while, an hour or more, the lentils softening, the chickpeas turning creamy, the meat going tender, the kitchen filling with that unmistakable spiced-tomato smell. At this stage it is delicious but still thin and brothy.

The signature step — the one that makes harira harira — is the thickening, called tedouira. Flour is whisked into cold water until completely smooth, with no lumps, sometimes with a little tomato or fermented dough added, and this slurry is poured slowly into the bubbling pot while you stir constantly. As it cooks it transforms the soup from a brothy stew into something silky, slightly glossy and lightly thickened, binding all the elements together. You have to keep stirring so it does not catch or clump; cooks stir patiently for the last stretch until the floury taste cooks out and the texture turns smooth and luxurious.

It is finished bright: a final shower of fresh coriander and parsley, and crucially a good squeeze of lemon at the table, which lifts the whole rich, spiced bowl. During Ramadan it is broken open the moment the call to prayer sounds, served with dates, hard-boiled eggs, sticky chebakia pastries and bread — a complete, restoring meal in itself. On our journeys, even outside Ramadan, I love arranging for guests to share harira in a family home, because it is comfort food in its truest sense and tells you everything about Moroccan generosity in a single bowl.