Ladies (and Gents) Who Lunch

“What are your plans this afternoon?”

“We don’t really have any, you?”

“I don’t know, it’s so hot I thought I’d go home and read for awhile.”

“Yeah, it’s quite a treat to curl up with a book during siesta.”

“Well, perhaps not curl up, given the heat, more like sprawl out.”

“Indeed.”

I don’t remember a lunch as deliciously relaxed as the one we had today with Simone, an American girl who is spending her summer living alone in Morocco and working for a non-profit. Quick note: Simone is a girl to watch. She’s not even finished college yet, but she’s mature and worldly and able to process experiences with humor and independence of thought. It’s incredible to think that we’re 13 or 14 years older than she is. The only chink in her infuriating armor of self-possession is her interest in Marrakech’s sceney hot-spots; and there’s debate in our camp about whether this even qualifies as a chink.

Simone is dog-sitting at the riad in which she’s living – a small price for free board – and she has us laughing about the arc of her relationship with Daisy, the unlikely chow.

“First I was a little grossed out about having to pick up after her. I mean, I grew up on a farm, so it’s not like I’m not used to that stuff, it’s just weird in a city. And what’s the etiquette in the medina? I mean you see donkey droppings everywhere, so I figure nobody’s gonna be bothered by a little dog shit, right? Daisy’s cooped up all day in the house, and finally I got to feeling sorry for her, so I’ve started taking her for walks early in the morning. I get a lot of funny looks, but I’m like, ‘Yeah, I’m walking an Arctic dog who got lost on her way to Siberia, so stop staring’.”

We meet at a café, whose shady balcony overlooks the Djemaa El Fna. Over harira, couscous and brochettes, we tell stories about our experiences in Morocco so far. Simone describes Marrakech as “Morocco light” and the place she feels most at ease as a single girl. We laugh at the pervasive use of inshallah, or God willing, as the ultimate catch-phrase for, “Sure, I might get to fixing your toilet, but if God doesn’t will it this week, you’ll just have to make do.” Kinda frustrating, but who are we to try to argue Allah’s will with a devout Muslim.

As lunch wraps up, we decide to order coffees, and there is such a sense of giddiness about this addendum to the outing. It sounds silly, but the moment is a real epiphany. No, we don’t need to race back to an office or off to another appointment. The cell phone isn’t ringing. And we don’t have anything, anything at all to get done before the end of the day. We can sit in this little café all afternoon if we please. It’s a real Rodeo Drive / Madison Avenue moment, let me tell you. Never will I scoff at those Ladies Who Lunch again, because man, they are onto something good.



As if lunch wasn’t enough of a world-rocker, we proceed afterwards to a pastry shop that Simone recommends around the corner. “It’s amazing,” she explains, “they hand you a plate and you just pile it up with whatever you want, they weigh it, and voila.” Voila indeed. Patisserie des Princes garners an immediate spot on the top 10 list of reasons to live in Marrakech. We got out of there with two boxes (petites boites, to be sure) of insanely tasty treats – tarte citron, gateau au chocolat, galettes, or cookies, made of almond and hazelnut paste and dusted with powered sugar, and macaroons that are swoon-worthy. These are the sort of refined goodies that you’d be likely to get at Fauchon or Dean & Deluca, which in Paris or NY is expected, but here in the dusty Red City, the experience is transportive. The gleaming shelves piled with delicate confections, the slightly too-chilly air, and the stiff proficiency of the white-aproned ladies who fill our boxes – it’s all too perfect. Later, we may be forced to think that some things – leisurely lunches and divine pastry shops – are better left undiscovered, but for now, we are tres, tres contents!