“There was a moment, in Marrakech, Morocco, that reassured and amplified my philosophy of feasting… One year ago, my sister and I went to work at the carpet shop she takes pictures for – measuring and documenting the thousands of carpets that are sold there. It was a long afternoon of holding up rugs while learning Darija (Moroccan Arabic dialect). We went in for lunch for a home cooked meal by Zoubida. We all settled into a small room lined with brightly colored, subdued and rich carpets on the floors, walls and rolled into stacks against the stairwells. A low round table was set out and my sister and I sat cross-legged on the floor with a bunch of Moroccan businessmen and merchants talking politics and agriculture, flowing in and out of Arabic to ask our opinions. Zoubida set before us the biggest tagine I’ve ever seen that smelled so divine. Loaves of semolina bread were broken and passed around the cipher. We dunked our piece of bread into the stewed tomatoes and they let us choose first which part …