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As starches go, pasta is surely one of the world's favorites as well as the most versatile. In considering pasta, however, for all the myriad shapes and sizes that one has to choose from in the modern food store, it is always surprising to me that couscous is so underutilized in the American kitchen. Couscous, for anyone who doesn't already know, is the delicious, nutty-flavored wheat product that is a staple throughout the North African countries of Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria, or what is collectively known as the Maghreb. Although couscous originated in the Maghreb, it has embedded itself into many cuisines around the world, most notably in France, where many Americans were first exposed to it. France ruled Algeria for 132 years until 1962 and consequently developed a taste for many of the foods of the region, including couscous. Returning French soldiers, along with many Algerians, brought couscous back to France where it remains a fixture throughout the country in restaurants like the ones that proliferate in the Latin Quarter in Paris. Knowledge of couscous in America was further enhanced by the publication in 1973 of Paula Wolfert's seminal cookbook, Couscous and Other Good Food from Morocco (Harper & Row). Until recently, however, couscous remained an exotic dish that one usually had to go to a North African restaurant to experience. It has happily become somewhat of a darling among chefs these days and often appears on menus as a side dish or in its traditional form. I like to think of it as the littlest pasta.

The Little Pasta That Could
Couscous is made from whole grain semolina wheat through an intricate process that dates back centuries. Traditionally, the flour is placed in a wide, shallow bowl and intermittently sprinkled with water with one hand as the other hand rakes through the flour, rolling it into tiny balls with the tips of the fingers. Although it sounds simple enough, it is actually a fairly elaborate process that Wolfert explains very well in her book, a description that goes on for several pages as I recall. Almost all couscous sold in the United States, however, is of the pre-cooked variety, meaning that it has been steamed and rolled, and requires only to be reconstituted with boiling water to prepare (more on that later).

In the Maghreb, and in the Moroccan and Algerian restaurants in France and elsewhere, couscous is typically served with some kind of stew made with lamb, mutton or chicken, and vegetables. Pork is forbidden to Muslims and the geography of most of North Africa is not conducive to raising cattle. Couscous can also be sweet with the addition of raisins, prunes and honey, a classic combination in the cooking of the Maghreb. Traditionally, couscous would be prepared in what the French have dubbed a couscousiere, an hourglass-shaped cooking vessel with two compartments -- like a double boiler -- that are divided by a perforated midsection. The stew cooks in the lower half, the steam from which serves to cook the couscous that is in the top compartment, infusing it with the various flavors of the meat, vegetables and spices. It is then served by ladling heaps of couscous onto plates and topping it with the stew, along with plenty of harissa, the spicy chili paste favored in the region. Wash it all down with a nice chilled rosé wine (my preference) and it is a lovely and satisfying meal.

Many years ago, I was treated by a friend to roast chicken stuffed with couscous. It was a marvelous, fairly light stuffing filled with onions, mushrooms and currants, and it complemented the chicken very well. Subsequently, I began to use it to stuff a turkey at Thanksgiving and continued to do so for years, often varying the ingredients to suit my tastes. In fact, save for the extra pan of stuffing that would invariably be left over after filling the bird, I rarely made couscous as a simple side dish.

These days, I tend to defer to my wife Sydney in all matters of cooking (she usurped my place in the kitchen 10 years ago when we got married, and I still suspect she married me for my cookware). Finding ourselves alone last Thanksgiving, Sydney had the inspired idea to make us a couple of Cornish game hens. We stuffed them with couscous filled with sautéed yellow onions, chopped-up dates, coriander and herbs. She then braised them standing on end in a Le Creuset oven on top of the stove with organic chicken stock as the cooking liquid. They were simply magnificent -- the slight sweetness from the dates, the toasted bread flavor of the couscous and the succulent and juicy hens. And yes, I washed it all down with very cold rosé.

Branching out in our experiments with couscous, we have begun to cook the couscous on its own as a side dish (or, more accurately, as pasta) and recently had it with braised chicken thighs, scallions, and roasted red bell peppers. The very last time we made it, however, another discovery was made. Realizing that we didn't have any chicken stock to cook the couscous, we used beef stock instead. Fearing that it would be too heavy-tasting, we were pleasantly surprised to find that it added great new depth of flavor to the couscous and, indeed, the entire dish. In the end, I'm sure, our methods would be considered blasphemous by true couscous aficionados (I haven't dared discuss it with Paula Wolfert), but to my taste, it is a terrific way to prepare this dish. That being said, I will still make my pilgrimages to the Latin Quarter in Paris for my obligatory couscous dinner any time I am in the City of Lights. At home though, I opt for the simple route.

Here is how we make couscous at home. It's important to note that couscous increases in volume by two to three times when it is cooked, at least the way we cook it. We apportion about 1 to 11/2cups of uncooked couscous per person. I know that sounds like a lot but, whether you are stuffing a bird or using it as pasta, some people will eat more than others, and leftovers are never a bad thing. The way I had been taught to prepare it was to put the couscous in a wide, shallow bowl and pour boiling water or stock over the top a little at a time, fluffing it with a fork in between dousing it with liquid. At this point, you can add any additional ingredients you wish, such as onions, dates, currants, herbs and spices, and so on. The result is a fluffy light couscous that can be served with a variety of sauces or stews.

Sydney discovered another way to cook couscous (I don't know if anyone else does it like this or not) that is quick and easy. Heat the cooking liquid -- in our case, either chicken or beef stock -- in a good-size saucepan. The ratio should be two parts liquid to one part couscous. When the liquid has reached a slow boil, add the couscous along with a knob of butter, cover tightly and turn off the heat. Allow the couscous to sit until it has absorbed all the liquid, similar to cooking rice. When it's finished, about 10 minutes, fluff it up with a big fork. Add any other ingredients at this time, which means, of course, that onions, scallions, mushrooms and such will need to be sautéed in advance or while the couscous is steaming. If you are going to stuff game hens, figure about 1/2 cup of (uncooked) couscous per hen, but cook more to have on the side.

Couscous is simple and delicious, and because it is typically made with the whole grain, it is also a healthy addition to one's diet. If you think of it more as pasta and less as an exotic dish, you'll soon discover your own favorite ways to serve it. It's a great dish to use in the prepared foods section and can accompany almost any other dish very well. You don't have to travel to the Maghreb or even Paris or Marseilles to enjoy this marvelous grain, and hopefully, it will become a staple food in this hemisphere as it is in North Africa.

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