Moroccan Chickpea Stew

Presidents' Day weekend, and the school closes, and David brings the grandchildren for Sunday. Ethan is four and a half and in that stage of childhood where he has opinions about everything and the opinions are delivered with the conviction of a Senate subcommittee. He has decided that he prefers Ruth's house to all other houses because, in his words, "there is always something cooking." This is the highest compliment a Feldman grandchild can give, and I have noted it in the permanent record. Sophie is two and a half and has just discovered the concept of "no," which she is deploying extensively and without discrimination, including against soup she requested and then reconsidered.

Marvin with the grandchildren is a specific thing I want to be able to describe precisely so that I remember it. He gets down on the floor with Ethan. He has always gotten down on the floor with children — I have watched him do it with David when David was small, with Rebecca, and now with these two. He sits cross-legged on the kitchen floor (which is hard on the knees at sixty-eight but he does not acknowledge this) and plays whatever game is presented to him. This week it was a game Ethan invented involving a set of blocks and rules that changed every thirty seconds, and Marvin followed every rule change without protest and won, according to Ethan, in a way that required celebrating. Marvin is a good grandfather. He has always been a good grandfather. The disease has not yet taken that.

I made tzimmes. This is not a Presidents' Day food — there is no Presidents' Day food — but tzimmes is a slow-cooked sweet stew of carrots and sweet potatoes and dried fruit (prunes and apricots) and a little honey and orange juice, and it is a comfort food in the deepest Jewish sense: sweet and slow and patient, the food of people who understand that some things get better over long heat. I made it because the grandchildren were coming and because I wanted something in the pot that could be ignored for hours while I was otherwise occupied with floor-level block games.

The house was loud all day Sunday. Loud is good. Loud is children and a husband who follows made-up rules and a daughter-in-law who brings wine and clears the table without being asked. Loud is, in February, in this particular winter of particular weight, exactly what I needed.

I made tzimmes that Sunday, but this Moroccan chickpea stew belongs to the same family of thinking — the kind of food that goes into the pot early and asks nothing of you while the house fills up with grandchildren and noise and the particular grace of a husband who follows rules he doesn’t understand just because a four-year-old invented them. Warm spices, sweet undertones, a long slow simmer: this is the food of people who know that some things only get better with patience and heat. Make it on a Sunday when you need something that will hold.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large yellow onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 can (28 oz) crushed tomatoes
2 cans (15 oz each) chickpeas, drained and rinsed
2 cups vegetable broth
1 medium sweet potato, peeled and cut into 3/4-inch cubes
1/2 cup dried apricots, roughly chopped
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
3 cups baby spinach
Juice of 1 lemon
Fresh cilantro or parsley, for serving
Couscous or crusty bread, for serving

Instructions

Sauté the aromatics. Heat olive oil in a large Dutch oven or heavy pot over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 6–8 minutes. Add the garlic and ginger and cook 1 minute more, until fragrant.
Bloom the spices. Add the cumin, coriander, paprika, cinnamon, and cayenne to the pot. Stir constantly for about 1 minute, letting the spices toast in the oil. This step builds the deep, warm base of the stew.
Build the stew. Pour in the crushed tomatoes and vegetable broth, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom. Add the chickpeas, sweet potato cubes, chopped dried apricots, honey, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine.
Simmer low and slow. Bring the stew to a boil, then reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer for 30–35 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sweet potatoes are completely tender and the stew has thickened and deepened in flavor.
Finish and serve. Stir in the baby spinach and lemon juice. Let the spinach wilt, about 2 minutes. Taste and adjust salt as needed. Ladle over couscous or serve with crusty bread. Top with fresh cilantro or parsley.

Nutrition (per serving)

Moroccan Chickpea Stew — Something in the Pot for the People You Love