Zaalouk (زعلوك)

The eggplant goes first, and you let it cook further than feels polite. Past soft. Past holding its shape. It must collapse, because that collapse is the dish. If you stop too soon, zaalouk tastes watery and unfinished. Let the flesh slump into the tomatoes with olive oil, garlic, cumin, and paprika, and it becomes smoky, sweet, and deep.

This is an everyday salad, the kind that sits in the middle of the table while bread does the work of forks. You can serve it warm, room temperature, or chilled, but don't rush the pan. Drag a spoon through it near the end. If the path holds for a breath before closing, you're there.

Use eggplants that feel heavy for their size, tomatoes that smell like tomatoes, and olive oil you would be proud to pour at the table. Sourcing comes first. No gesture rescues a tired vegetable. Cook a little more than you need, because a bowl of zaalouk with round khobz is how you make room for one more hand reaching in. Une table, c'est une porte qu'on laisse ouverte.