Bissara

You know a dish is special when it manages to be both humble and heroic at the same time. Bissara is exactly that. Born of frugality, blessed with flavour, and nurtured across North Africa and the Levant, it has the kind of kitchen table charisma that puts many gourmet meals to shame. It doesn’t need foie gras or truffle oil. It just needs a pot, some dried fava beans, garlic, olive oil, and the kind of slow, loving simmer that turns peasant food into poetry.

Most people meet Bissara in a bowl. Warm, greenish-brown, thick enough to coat the spoon but smooth enough to glide down like velvet. If you grew up in Morocco, Egypt, or even parts of Syria or Palestine, this was probably your weekday staple, your grandmother’s go-to, your cheap student dinner. For Moroccans especially, Bissara is practically a national rite of winter, ladled steaming into bowls on cold mornings, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil, sprinkled with paprika and cumin, and handed to you with a chunk of crusty bread.

Let’s rewind a little. Bissara, or bessara, besarah, besara – depending on where you find it and who’s spelling it – most likely has Egyptian roots. The name is thought to come from the ancient Egyptian “Bisourou,” meaning cooked beans. Ancient it may be, but this dish has survived plagues, empires, revolutions, and probably a few kitchen fires. It’s as democratic as food gets: a meal for the rich, the poor, the meat-eaters, and the vegans.

In Egypt, Bissara is often eaten cold or at room temperature, more like a dip than a soup, spiked with green herbs like dill, parsley, coriander, and mint. Sometimes it’s garnished with caramelised onions or raw spring onions, or even left to firm up and be sliced like a cake. It’s cousin to ful medames, lentil soups, and all the glorious muddles of the Mediterranean. But in Morocco, it becomes something heartier, more rustic. Usually made with dried split fava beans, Moroccan Bissara is all about heat and comfort. The cumin hits your nose before the spoon hits your mouth. It’s the edible version of a warm blanket.

There are regional quirks, of course. In northern Moroccan cities like Tangier and Tetouan, it’s a street food staple, served hot from bubbling vats at market stalls. In Fez, you might find it with more spice, heavier on the garlic, or touched with lemon juice. Meanwhile, in the Rif mountains, it gets eaten by hand, scooped with khobz (traditional bread) as the sun rises and the mist lifts off the olive trees.

What makes it special isn’t some elusive ingredient or complicated method. It’s the simplicity. The quiet confidence of a dish that has nothing to prove. The fava beans are soaked overnight, simmered till they surrender, and blended into creamy submission. Garlic, olive oil, cumin, paprika – the holy quartet – do the rest. No meat, no dairy, no fuss. And yet, it comforts like few other things can.

Pairing drinks with Bissara might sound odd to some, but for those of us who enjoy making rules only to break them, try a glass of mint tea if you’re going the Moroccan route. The herbal sharpness against the creamy backdrop? Perfection. Or a fresh lemonade spiked with ginger, if you’re eating it cold on a summer day. If you’re really breaking conventions, a crisp white wine (think Sauvignon Blanc) might just surprise you. Fava beans and fine wine? Who’s to stop you?

As for sides, Bissara plays well with others. Serve it with grilled sardines for a classic Moroccan lunch. Or roasted aubergines with tahini for a Levantine twist. Pile it next to olives, pickled turnips, or even boiled eggs. It will never complain. It knows it’s the star.

Is it healthy? Very. High in protein, fibre, iron, and B vitamins, Bissara is what your doctor wishes you ate more of. It keeps you full, stabilises your blood sugar, and doesn’t come with the cholesterol baggage of meat-based comfort food. Unless you pour half a bottle of olive oil on top (which, to be fair, some people do), it’s remarkably low in fat too. It’s also naturally vegan and gluten-free, which means it somehow manages to be trendy without even trying.

Where to find it? In Morocco, just follow your nose. Any winter morning in the medina, you’ll smell it before you see it: vendors with their cauldrons, scooping it into bowls with a flick of the wrist and a ladle that’s probably older than the king. In Egypt, you might have to ask a local, as it’s more of a home dish than a restaurant one. In Europe or the US, your best bet is a Moroccan or Egyptian restaurant, or better yet, an auntie who’ll let you into her kitchen. Otherwise, the internet’s got you covered.

Bissara recipe.

You’ll need:

• 250g dried split fava beans (also called broad beans)
• 3 to 4 garlic cloves
• 1 teaspoon cumin (plus extra to serve)
• 1 teaspoon paprika
• Salt to taste
• Olive oil (as much or as little as your heart desires)
• Water (about 1 litre to start, but keep some extra on hand)
• Optional: lemon juice, chilli flakes, chopped parsley

Start the night before, because beans don’t like to be rushed. Soak the fava beans in cold water overnight. Next day, rinse them well.

Throw them in a pot with peeled garlic cloves, cumin, and salt. Add water to cover and bring to a gentle boil. Skim off the foam if it gets too enthusiastic.

Let it simmer over medium heat for about 40-50 minutes, or until the beans are totally soft. Add more water if needed. You want it thick, but not stodgy.

Use a stick blender to purée it until creamy. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Pour it into bowls, drizzle generously with olive oil, sprinkle paprika and more cumin on top. A bit of lemon juice doesn’t hurt. Nor does a pinch of chilli.

Serve piping hot with warm flatbread. Or let it cool and serve it as a dip. It doesn’t mind either way.

And there you have it. A bowl of Bissara. A dish with no frills, but a lot of feelings. Try it once, and you might just find yourself dreaming of fava beans the next time it rains.