From Tunisia With Love

At an Italian BYOB, an unlikely tasting menu celebrates a resonant cuisine.


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Published: Jun 16, 2010

Neal Santos

SHANK ME LATER: Chef Slim "Sam" Ben-Ouhiba showcases his interpretations of Tunisian cuisine with tasting menus at Tutto Mario. His lamb shank and cous cous dish, served with grilled vegetables and pan-fried chickpeas, is one of many standouts.

[ out of africa ]

Sitting in Tutto Mario in Chalfont, I can't help but feel a bit special. Even as I watch a server expertly remove the succulent flesh of a branzino at the table next to us, the feeling's unshakeable.

Although the chef trained in Italy, I'm not here for anything Italian. I'm eagerly awaiting the commencement of a request-only menu — chef Slim "Sam" Ben-Ouhiba's seven-course Tunisian tasting.

A native of the capital city of Tunis, Ben-Ouhiba's approach to this "chef's table" dinner differs greatly from the skills he applies to his regular menu, built around a blending of regional Italian cuisines. In our case, the chef's acting as a culinary ambassador for a cuisine many Americans have little experience with.

"'You're Tunisian — why don't you do a Tunisian chef's table?'" went the request from multiple customers who convinced Ben-Ouhiba to introduce this reservations-only option. "[With the tasting], you're taking from a solid heritage of cooking and giving it an adequate representation," he says. "You have to be creative, but you can't go too far — you have to maintain the subject."

In doing that, he serves up his own interpretations of the national dishes of Tunisia, ranging from street food to the robust dishes most common to home cooking. "In seven courses," says Ben-Ouhiba, "I'm trying to give you everything."

Though Tunisian cuisine can be as regional as Italian food, matters of climate, economics and pervasive cultural ties bind everything together. In a country that lacks widespread refrigeration while being encroached upon by the Sahara and abutted by the Mediterranean, simplicity is key. Caraway, cumin and coriander inform many spice blends. Lamb and fish (more affordable offerings, like bluefish and sardines) are staples, along with tomatoes, couscous, squash, zucchini and, of course, olive oil, given that Tunisia is an underappreciated bulk producer of the staple.

It's evident how much the weather shapes Tunisian cuisine, as the first two dishes were a cooling respite from a hot, humid day. Slata mechouiya featured tomato, garlic, onion and red pepper in equal chorus; first roasted, then finely chopped and blended, and topped with kalamata olives; fresh, cold tuna; and a drizzle of olive oil.

The omek houria featured a chilled carrot purée executed with white wine vinegar and harissa (a hot chili paste), seasoned with garlic, drizzled with basil oil, accompanied by an artful trailing of sriracha and served with a warm, sliced hard-boiled egg. When your starting point is fine ingredients, he says, "there's no point in diminishing any of their flavors." That's why he took care to avoid overwhelming with garlic, leaning on the vinegar to help bring the purée to life.

Neal Santos

I hardly have time to reiterate this point to Ben-Ouhiba before he's rhapsodizing about the importance of keftagi, the Tunisian street food so ubiquitous he refers to it as his native country's "cheeseburger." A boldly seasoned and lightly fried veggie filling (peppers, tomato, zucchini squash) is finely chopped and stuffed inside a roll, the soft insides of which are often scooped out, dipped in olive oil and harissa, flash-fried and then placed back on top of the sandwich as a sort of condiment. For this tasting, though, Ben-Ouhiba subbed out the bread for a moist, dense sunny-side-up egg.

It's easy to see how the chef's role in this dizzying, filling cultural exchange has been affected by his culinary background. He carries with him the nuances of his mother and grandmother, whose deep love of food inspired him to pursue cooking professionally — even though it's a role typically dominated by women in Tunisia.

Desirous of new experiences, a 17-year-old Ben-Ouhiba took to the sea, working an unpaid internship aboard the Habib, a passenger ship that shuttled tourists back to Tunis after two-day trips to Marseille. After a longer, paid excursion the following summer, he switched to a summer stint with a cruise ship carrying between 3,000 and 5,000 people. The menu was French, Italian, Tunisian and Greek to accommodate the varied clientele; he worked 18 hours straight on a a line of 40 people.

Culinary study followed at Le Cordon Bleu in Perugia, Italy, but ended before he could finish due to high expense. Adding to this setback was his father's desire to see him pursue something other than cooking. But rather than complete his B.A. in economics, he came to the States in 2000, where he continued his hands-on education, cooking in restaurants in New York City and outside Philly.

The reverence Ben-Ouhiba gives to couscous alone speaks to all this experience. He is dismissive when asked about boxed versions that occupy supermarket shelves here. For couscus to be right, he explains, "you need to wet it, mix it with oil, not let it stick together, and then you place it in a two-part steamer inside a bowl called a cikiss," and then keep a constant eye on it. Ben-Ouhiba believes it best to buy couscous derived from machines, which provide a needed uniformity when processing the hard semolina. "That way, you can get the best texture, which is sandy, easy to flow through your fingers," he says.

In his main dish, Ben-Ouhiba's couscous is perfect; firm, distinct spheres, soaking up just enough of a harissa-infused light tomato sauce in which a lean braised lamb shank luxuriates. (Though he's not able to recreate it, Ben-Ouhiba mentions a similar dish has been cooked by Bedouins for centuries in a double-chambered oven that's buried beneath the desert sand.) Accompanying summer-friendly arcs of grilled zucchini and squash and pan-fried chickpeas break the heat.

This was lamb's second appearance in the tasting. The third dish, in a nod to France's many influences on Tunisia, employed a beurre blanc sauce to complement the rich flavor of lamb merguez; the sausage, a staple in a country where pork is verboten, was smoky from the grill but tender inside.

Ben-Ouhiba's fifth offering underscored his intention to "always stick to the natural ingredients." The mloukiya plant used in the eponymous dish reflected this sentiment, while making the dish distinctly Tunisian. Its leaves are sun-dried and ground into a powder, and then mixed with olive oil and bay leaves to make a sort of roux worked into chicken stock. Tomato paste is then added, as well as a choice cut of veal, which braises for three to four hours. The dark sauce danced lightly on the taste buds, with earthy notes and singular salinity.

Capping the meal is a light nougatine with a pleasant gumminess somewhat akin to mochi; toasted pistachio calls out, but not over, its cohorts. Vanilla and raspberry sauces are brilliant additions, and artfully displayed to boot.

"You showcase, giving your cuisine a beautiful presentation, since we eat first with our eyes," says Ben-Ouhiba, as I applaud the beautiful plating. And while he knew he couldn't execute such techniques back in his homeland due to limited expectations by consumers and what he characterizes as a pervasive make-money-only restaurant model, it's clear he also wishes to elevate Tunisian cuisine.

In stressing how vital nougatine is to the local palate, Sam speaks of a widely sought-outnougatine maker in the town of Sidi Bou Said. In a small country like his, Ben-Ouhiba says, such people are famous. America's a little bigger — but may this chef's explorations be just as prized.

(editorial@citypaper.net)

Seven-course Tunisian tasting menu, $55-$75 per person, Tutto Mario, 459 W. Butler Ave., Chalfont, 215-822-6668.