Article 1 of TRAVEL WEEK (“Two Weeks In Egypt: A Masterclass In Low‑grade Extortion” by Cymposium) is here. Next we travel to Morocco for article 2.
Richard Neat’s OBSERVATIONS FROM THE KITCHEN is far more than a memoir, a travel book, an ode to food or a paean to chess. It is a work of political philosophy that takes its rightful pride of place on Guerre and Shalom. And no chapter gets more political than this in its fierce defence of economic liberty, freedom from the State and the sovereignty of the financially independent individual. It deconstructs the myths that the West tells itself: that we value the marketplace; that we nurture innovation; when in fact the Moroccan trader could claim to have these blessings in greater abundance. It's a must-read for any politician and a testament to a man who fought to be free. - Daniel Clarke-Serret (editor).
Book Launch:
Introduction:
Chapter 1: Ambition
Chapter 2: Faith
Chapter 3: Loyalty
Chapter 4: Struggle
OBSERVATIONS FROM THE KITCHEN by Richard Neat
Chapter 5: SOVEREIGNTY
Quintet of Scallops
“Over himself, over his own body and mind, the individual is sovereign” (J.S. Mill)
Marrakech lay within sight of the slumbering, snow-covered body of the Atlas Mountains. According to one version of events, the Titan once made the mistake of treating Perseus discourteously, believing him to be a thief intent on stealing Hesperides’ golden apples. Thus he suffered cruel Perseus’ wrath who, displaying Medusa’s head, turned poor Atlas into stone; his huge frame constituting the mountain range that separated the Maghreb from a very different sub-Sahara.
The dusty pink city was the venerable guardian of that and many other myths, witnessing so many of man’s vanities and follies as history had ebbed and flowed around its ancient walls. Yet, on this particular evening, the city quietly prepared itself for imminent nightfall, as the day’s once resplendent sun transformed into a glowing red ball, tottering almost drunkenly upon the roofs of the buildings.
As usual, a wonderland of storytellers, snake charmers and henna painters had ensconced themselves around Marrakech’s Place Jemaa El Fna attempting to charm even the most hesitant of tourists out of a handful of coins. The last tremulous sheaves of light illuminated an august cast of players, showering honey-golden hues that fingered their grizzled ancient features.
The rhythmic drumbeats of the snake charmers, and the street entertainers who colonised the square, cha-cha-charred from terrace-top to terrace-top above the old Medina of Marrakech.
Clouds of spicy, pungent smoke, spat from the charcoals of merguez-grillers, roamed around the diners before departing onward upon their celestial journey, illuminated by a star-laden night sky.
Article 1 of TRAVEL WEEK by Cymposium:
A click, then an audible crackle. The microphone sprang to life. ‘Akbar Allah’. The evening call to prayer began.
On one such roof terrace The Cook was reclining upon a sun-lounger, deep in conversation with his friend The Guitar Man who plucked a last chord before listening to the melody from the minarets.
“I’m so glad you’re thinking of settling here. It’s such a magical place,” said The Guitar Man, throwing a glance at The Cook.
The Cook had spent twenty-five years on a circuitous route to find home, taking him from London to Cannes, through India and Russia, before finally settling in this place of magic potions and fakirs. Having worked his formative years for other people, and then in his own precariously financed restaurants under the ever vigilant eye of his shareholders and penury, it was a welcome relief to finally be in a place –excluding a docile bank manager- of his own.
C1xC3
Finally, White managed to mobilise the last of his major pieces.
His Riad was situated within one of the sleepy labyrinthine backstreets that slinked away from the hectic Jemaa El Fna Square. The architecture was such that it created a wholly self-enclosed environment. Like huge sentries, the solid clay-straw walls kept guard against unwelcome noise and visitors. From the open courtyards, in the heart of these buildings, a glance towards the orderly heavens afforded the onlooker a moment of utter tranquillity.
In the bedrooms, fabrics trembled seductively upon the ornate four-poster beds, while incandescent light caressed the tadelakt walls through locally purchased jali lamps. Marrakech challenged anyone to be apathetical.
The Cook drew deeply on his cigarette:
“Of course I’m grateful to the share-holders and investors who trusted and invested in me over the years, but I must honestly say, to finally have a place of my own is such a liberation. No more prying eyes, no more unwelcome suggestions and no more well meant interfering”.
The Cook stood up, making his way towards the terrace kitchen area and started to prepare their dinner. The Scallops required much work, as there were many different preparations. The first was wrapped in smoked salmon and sat upon fennel coleslaw, which lay, in turn, upon a slither of cooked beetroot. The Cook saved a few sticks of fennel and cut shavings from them, which he would go on to flour and deep fry.
“Your share-holders were always supportive though,” said The Guitar Man as he settled back into a sofa.
“They gave you your first opportunity in life. They had faith in you and gave you a platform to be who you are today. Everything, and I mean everything, that you have done since was because people with money set you free. They provided financial security, which allowed you the freedom to express yourself and become the cook that you ultimately desired. If you can now create what you want, it shouldn’t matter whether you are alone or have a handful of voices beside you.”
The Cook continued making the curry sauce, crafting magic from onions, curry powder, coconut milk and a little diced mango and pineapple. He seasoned another scallop with curry powder and cut some baby onions as finely as he could before passing them through milk and flour.
“I know that; but what I meant was that having this Riad on my own has been a release from responsibility to other people. It doesn’t matter whether your partners are silent or troublesome, I always felt an obligation to explain and justify why we should do anything. It was the constant need to consider their opinions that cast a shadow across my reasoning —or lack of reasoning as in my case.”
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Neither player could be sure how the next exchange might unfold.
“But, surely, that kind of responsibility is beneficial” said the Guitar Man. “Maybe now you are disciplined enough to enjoy your own business. At last you have learnt a little respect for money having spent years looking after someone else’s?”
The Cook had made a paste from toasting some sesame seeds with oil and spread this upon a third Scallop. He shredded a red pepper with a similarly-coloured onion and seasoned the vegetables with sesame oil, chopped coriander, salt, pepper and lemon juice. This would be the third member of the assemblage. It would eventually be sat upon a crispy Romaine leaf.
The Guitar Man was not only a great friend and a great musician but he also dwelt amongst The Cook’s pantheon of business gods. He had created a fortune that afforded liberty —arguably the only type of liberty that was worth fighting for. Financial liberty!
The Cook pondered this idea for a moment. In his short lived experience, all his other liberties had crumbled in the absence of capital. He wondered how free a person really was if he had to rely on the goodwill or benevolence of somebody else, whether an investor, an employer or especially a government.
