What is Moroccan mint tea?

Mint tea — atay in Darija — is so much more than a drink; it's the warm handshake of the entire culture. The recipe is simple: Chinese green gunpowder tea, a fistful of fresh spearmint (nana), and sugar, lots of it, brewed in a curvy metal pot and served scalding hot in little glasses. Locals jokingly call it 'Berber whisky' because no gathering — a deal, a welcome, a rest — happens without it.

The theatre is half the pleasure. The host pours from a great height, the stream of tea arcing thirty centimetres or more into the glass, partly to aerate it and partly to crown it with that signature foam (the kesksa). Get it wrong and the tea sloshes; get it right and it's a small piece of choreography. The first pour is often returned to the pot to mix; by the third glass the flavour has deepened. There's a Saharan proverb: the first glass is gentle as life, the second strong as love, the third bitter as death.

You'll be offered it constantly — in shops, in homes, at the start of any negotiation in the souk. Accepting is courtesy, and refusing can feel cold, so even if you don't want a full glass, take a few sips. If you find it too sweet (it often is), you can ask for it 'shwiya sukar' — a little sugar — or none at all, though purists will gently disapprove. In summer the same tea is sometimes served cool, but hot is the soul of it, even at forty degrees.

My favourite ritual moment is sunset in the desert: the camp host crouched over glowing coals, the pot hissing, mint perfuming the cooling air, and that long golden pour catching the last light. Watch how it's made, ask to try the pour yourself, and buy a little pot and some glasses to take home — recreating it is one of the easiest ways to keep Morocco with you.