Double page feature in today’s Daily Mail. And that’s caused a mini media storm. Watch out for the Lorraine Kelly show on Wednesday morning!

The nice thing about revisiting the story this year is that it’s our 7th wedding anniversary this year. You can access the story online by clicking on it or pasting this link into your browser:

I-married-Berber-tribesman-Jane-thought-middle-aged-women-fell-handsome-foreigners-crazy–locked-eyes-Abdel.html

This is a brilliant little recipe, and could not be simpler to make. It can be eaten at any time of day, and makes both a fantastic spicy breakfast dish or a quick and comforting supper (despite the fact that it is sometimes called ‘Eggs in Purgatory’ – though that must be a European spin on this Moroccan classic, since Muslims have no concept of limbo…

Ingredients

2 tomatoes, chopped small (or a can of chopped tomatoes)

1 onion, chopped small

1 or 2 cloves minced garlic

1 tbsp tomato puree

spices: half tsp chilli, half tsp cumin, half tsp paprika

handful fresh chopped coriander

3 or 4 eggs

squeeze of lemon juice

For meat-eaters: 4-5 oz lean mince, rolled into small balls (makes about 10-12)

Crusty bread to eat it with

In a heavy skillet heat 1 tbsp olive oil and cook the onions and garlic in the spices until soft.

Add the tomatoes and the puree and cook for a few minutes. Add a little water (2-3 fl oz) to keep the sauce fluid

Now, for the meat-eaters, add your meatballs into the sauce. They will take about 5-6 minutes to cook through, depending on how brown you like your meat.

Break your eggs on top of the mix – just after you’ve added the meatballs if you want them, or after the tomato sauce has cooked for a few minutes. You can add a lid to the pan to speed the cooking process, but 5 minutes should see your eggs nicely poached. Moroccans like their eggs cooked right through: when you take them off the heat is up to you.

Scatter the chopped coriander over the dish just before serving; add a squeeze of lemon juice if you like a tang.

Traditionally this is a communal dish which is eaten by dipping your bread into the pan and scooping up the meatballs, eggs and sauce. If you’re feeling less sociable, or dexterous, you can serve up onto plates, but it does look prettiest served in a single pan brought to the table. Bon appétit!

The Voyager team (above, minus Amy McCulloch) take charge of the Iron Throne – L to R: Natasha Tanczos, Jane Johnson, Emma Coode.

Very nice article in the Guardian today:

The rise of Eastercon: the SF/fantasy convention with community spirit

A policy of inclusivity has changed the face of the British National Science Fiction Convention, with an equal gender split and a distinct lack of Klingons

Guest of honour … George RR Martin

David Barnett

guardian.co.uk, Mon 9 Apr 2012 11.53 BST

“The first time I went to a convention, all I could see was a sea of white, male faces, says Rita Medany. “I found it very disheartening, and I knew I could either go away and never go to another con or try to do something about it.”

She settled on the latter, and as chair of the 63rd British National Science Fiction Convention, more commonly known as “Eastercon”, which ends today, her and her fellow committee members, including husband John, have pulled off something of a triumph. Eastercon was completely sold out in advance for the first time in almost 30 years, and inclusivity has become something of a watchword, with the 1,400 attendees in roughly an equal gender split.

Eastercon is the biggest date in the UK SF/fantasy convention calendar, and moves location each year – this year it was at the Radisson Edwardian hotel in Heathrow, London, along a suitably Ballardian strip of hotels and squat airport buildings. Next year it moves up north to Bradford.

John Medany says, “It wasn’t so long ago that Eastercon was getting about 400 people, and this year we’ve got more than treble that.”

Perhaps a lot of the draw was the presence of the guest of honour, author George RR Martin. A huge name among SF and fantasy fans for decades, he has been catapulted to the forefront of the general public consciousness thanks to being the author of the A Song of Ice and Fire series of novels which are currently chewing up the ratings as HBO’s supremely slick Game of Thrones TV series.

Martin is a large yet quiet presence whenever he walks through the hotel lobby with his UK editor at Harper’s SF imprint Voyager, Jane Johnson, a successful novelist in her own right. That lobby is dominated by the throne of swords itself from the TV adaptation, where a steady succession of fans queue to have their pictures taken in the same pose as Sean Bean’s brooding Nedd Stark.

Martin seems to accept the attention he gets in public equably enough – he’s about as un-prima donna-ish as anyone could be while dominating the bestseller lists with multiple volumes. Martin still wears his trademark fisherman’s cap wherever he goes.

“I get over to the UK maybe once a year,” he says as fans surreptitiously fire off shots with their camera phones. “Eastercon has been utterly amazing this year. The enthusiasm of the fans has been great. The TV show has certainly brought a lot of new fans. Sales of the books have gone crazy.”

“Nine million copies sold worldwide,” Jane Johnson tells me with understandable pride. Would Mr Martin consent to a photograph? Perhaps on the throne itself?

“Sure!” he says, cackling delightedly as, from nowhere, someone hands him a sword to wield and fans rush over for this unprecedented photo-opportunity.

But while the big names such as Martin and the other guests of honour including Tricia Sullivan, Cory Doctorow and Paul Cornell are obvious draws, the schedule is packed with panels probing the minutiae of SF, with a special emphasis on books, though there are movie strands and discussions on comics and gaming.

And then there are the awards. The Hugo shortlists were announced simultaneously at Eastercon and several other worldwide locations on Saturday night; the British Science Fiction Association award winners were unveiled last night exclusively at Heathrow, with complaints that the preamble was too long-winded and “un-PC”, prompting a walkout in some quarters. Those that left, however, missed first-hand the delicious irony of the best novel gong going to The Islanders by Christopher Priest, who last month caused a flap with his no-holds barred deconstruction of the Arthur C Clarke shortlist.

Just like some people go to Glastonbury and never watch a live band, so many Eastercon attendees are content to sit in the bar, meet other fans and the growing army of SF book bloggers, and of course, rub shoulders with their favourite writers.

John Jarrold is one of the UK’s leading literary agents specialising in SF and fantasy, a former editor for the likes of Orbit and Simon and Schuster and, first and foremost, a fan who has been attending conventions for longer than he cares to remember.

“It’s a community, very simply,” he says. “I don’t think there is any other genre in literature where the fans are given such easy and free access to their favourite authors. Writers will come and stand in the bar, have a drink with their readers. It’s wonderful.”

If your view of SF conventions is of people running around in fancy dress, then Eastercon would disappoint. Well, there was one Klingon, called somewhat disarmingly Roy. But ordinary mortals are welcome, too, in the spirit of inclusivity.

“I think we’ve sorted out the gender thing,” says John Medany. “Look around. Half of the attendees are female. Next we want to tackle the race issue.”

“It’s been a brilliant success this year,” says Rita. “We went for inclusivity and I think we got it. There was even an airline pilot staying overnight in the hotel who came and had a look and was so impressed he let us sign him up. Our aim is to make Eastercon a ‘safe space’ for everyone to enjoy, regardless of who they are.”

10 April 2012: George RR Martin in conversation with me at the Bloomsbury Theatre 6.30pm

For a time last year, the world was divided into those of us (the readers of George RR Martin’s glorious A Song of Ice and Fire novels) who knew full well that stiff-with-honour Ned Stark was doomed, and hugged that information to ourselves with a certain gleeful delight, and the newcomers to the story, via the HBO series Game of Thrones, who were stupefied when (SPOILER) the series’ biggest star, Sean Bean, lost his head.

You could practically hear the sigh of horror that emanated from a nation as its favourite son of Sheffield fell prey to the wanton cruelty of a mad boy-king. Even those of us who knew the story well were so sucked into HBO’s retelling that for a brief hallucinatory moment it seemed that the tale might take a different turn, that Ned Stark would be back with an army, and that Joffrey’s head might soon be adorning a pike on top of the walls of Winterfell.

Series 1 of Game of Thrones seized the collective imagination with a previously unknown power – even for such superlative series as The Wire, Sopranos, Rome or True Blood. There was something glorious and visceral about Game of Thrones, something sumptuous and violent and sexy and unbridled – and complex and profound and neatly structured and funny – that made for compulsive viewing.

You knew within minutes of watching the first episode that you were in the hands of the masters – master storytellers and master filmmakers – and could just sit back, relax and enjoy the wild ride.

The first season bewitched us all, boosting the viewing figures for the newly-launched Sky Atlantic; being nominated for countless awards (including 13 Emmys); and garnering a Best Supporting Actor Golden Globe for the extraordinary Peter Dinklage (Tyrion).

What’s more, it sent sales of the original novel rocketing and made George RR Martin – stalwart of the science fiction and fantasy community for over 40 years – Britain’s best-selling author for a year.

The internet burned with discussions; countless fans adopted Game of Thrones avatars as their own online representations; the books sold in millions; and an entire mini-industry of merchandising spin-offs from cookbooks, maps and calendars to games, weapons and models was generated on the back of the franchise.

In short, Game of Thrones has established itself as a worldwide cultural phenomenon. We are just a week away from the advent of Series 2, waiting for the next instalments of the tale to uncoil themselves and draw us in again.

We left the gorgeous and brave Emilia Clarke (Daenerys Targaryen) walking unscathed and naked out of her husband’s funeral pyre, complete with three dragon hatchlings ready to take on the world.

Jon Snow was in the snowy wastes of the far north on the Wall with the other outcasts and criminals of the Night’s Watch. The vile brat Joffrey – offspring of the incest between those splendidly amoral Lannister siblings, Cersei and Jaime – was illegitimately seated upon the Iron Throne. And young tomboy Arya Stark, having witnessed the horror of her father’s execution, was on the run.

Three delicious HBO trailers for the new series have treated us to increasingly tantalising glimpses of Dany in the great trading city of Qarth; of the brothers Stannis and Renly Baratheon ready to make separate bids for the throne; of the Red Priestess Melisandre; of Tyrion armour, and scenes from the vicious battle for Kings Landing… So we can happily guess that we are in for plenty more of the same as Series 1, and then some.

History as it never was, but should have been, will start to spread its glorious tapestry before us once more on 2nd April at 9pm on Sky Atlantic. And I, for one, cannot wait.

As George RR Martin’s UK editor, I will be in discussion with him at the Bloomsbury Theatre, London on April 10, 7pm. Contact Waterstones Gower Street for details and tickets and come and hear us talking about books, series and life.

Kaab el Ghazal (literally gazelles’ ankles!)

These delicious little almond biscuits are traditionally served for all special occasions in Morocco, and once made will keep well in a sealed container for 2-3 weeks, or can be frozen.

For the almond paste

500 g ground almonds

275 g sugar

75 ml orange flower water

60 g unsalted butter

quarter tsp cinnamon

For the pastry

375 g flour

half tsp salt

2 small eggs

170 g unsalted butter

5 tbsps orange flower water

powdered sugar, for dusting

Almond Paste

Mix the ground almonds with the sugar, cinnamon and orange flower water into a smooth, moist paste.

Take a small portion of the paste and shape it into sausages about the size of your little finger. Do this as many times as it takes to use up the mix (approx 48 biscuits)

Pastry

Mix all ingredients to form a soft dough, and knead by hand until the dough is very smooth and elastic; or in a food processor with a dough attachment

Divide the dough into 4 to 6 portions, cover with clingfilm, and set to rest in the fridge for 15 mins

Lightly dust a work surface with flour. Roll a portion of dough until quite thin.

Cut out small rounds, enough to snugly enclose the almond sausages. Seal tightly, using a little water to bind the edges

Mould into a crescent, and squeeze the tips to taper the ends

Transfer the biscuits to an ungreased baking sheet

If time allows, leave the biscuits to rest, uncovered, for an hour or longer before baking. Then prick 2 or 3 holes in the ridge along the top of each one. You can also glaze them with an egg wash if you like.

Preheat the oven to 180° C and bake for about 12 mins, until barely golden. While they are still warm, quickly dip them in orange flower water, shake off the excess, and roll them in powdered sugar.

If you don’t want strong orange flower water flavor, sprinkle the cookies with orange flower water instead and then roll them in powdered sugar. Or, eliminate the orange flower water and simply roll the warm kaab el ghazal in powdered sugar.

A handful of fresh mint leaves
Sugar to taste (at least 4 tsps, but see below)
Gunpowder green tea if you can find it
(Ordinary green tea if not)

Tea-taking is a ritual in many societies the world over, from Japan to England, from the Hindu Kush to the Sahara Desert, and Morocco is no exception. You will be offered tea wherever you go here, even in shops as you haggle for your bargains. Sweet and fragrant, it’s hospitality in a glass. Lovely. Until you see the amount of sugar that goes into the pot… Here, sugar was traditionally sold in cones: wrapped in blue paper, you can still buy these in markets as gifts for weddings, or as a thank you to friends. (In the 18th and 19th centuries this was how sugar was sold and stored in England, and broken apart with a little sugar hammer.) Now, it mainly is sold in bars in a box – each bar equivalent to about 10 tsps granulated sugar. One small teapot can easily be fed with 3 or 4 of these bars…! When I realised that I stopped drinking it: so Abdel amended his recipe, to suit the less sweet-toothed European taste.

A metal teapot is preferable to a china one: it retains the heat better, and of course really traditional tea is made over a flame, which you definitely don’t want to risk with a piece of Spode. Boil the water (yes, boil: I know your mother always warned you to take the kettle off the heat before it boiled, but no such nonsense in Morocco) and swill a little around to warm your pot.

Now add a heaped teaspoon of gunpowder green tea (with the best you can see each green leaf curled into a tiny ball) per person, plus the usual one, into the pot. Top it up with boiling water. Add your sugar, and then a generous handful of mint leaves, slightly crushed (a fantastic smell!) and allow to steep for 3 or 4 minutes.

You can serve in whatever vessels you like, but best are delicate little Moroccan tea glasses in jewel-like colours with a filigree of gold decoration around the lip.

Now comes the skilful, and most important, part! The pouring: done from as exaggerated a height as you can manage without anointing your entire kitchen floor with tea. Abdel is of course a master of the art:

You pour at a height into a single glass 3 times, each time returning the poured tea to the pot, in order to distribute the sugar through the liquid. On the final pouring, to serving, try to do it with a properly dramatic flourish: your aim, to produce a fine white froth on top of the tea, known as the ‘shesh’ – or turban.

B’saha!