Muhalabia (المهلبية)

The spoon tells you when muhalabia is ready. At first the milk moves like milk, loose and bright, then the saffron begins to stain it gold and the cornstarch wakes under the whisk. When it coats the back of the spoon and a finger drawn through leaves a clean path, stop. This pudding sets again in the cold, so if you cook it until it stands in the pot, you'll serve something stiff instead of tender.

Orange-blossom water goes in after the fire, not before it. Heat is greedy with perfume; it takes the fragrance and leaves only sweetness behind. Use real saffron threads bloomed in warm milk, not powder, because here there is nowhere for a false color to hide.

In Moroccan homes this is a cool sweet for a full evening, Ramadan nights, a guest after a long tagine, or one of those days when comfort wants a small glass and a spoon. It isn't one monument called Moroccan cuisine; il n'y a pas une cuisine marocaine, mais des cuisines marocaines (not one Moroccan cuisine, but many), and this milk pudding sits especially well in the urban Andalusi register, perfumed, restrained, made ahead so the host can stay at the table.

Make six even if you need four. Cold muhalabia waits kindly, and a table is a door you leave open.