Tunisian street food is making waves

In the 2000s, the raï n'b fever (a blend of raï and r'n'b musical styles) electrified a section of French youth. Despite the resulting slogan "Maghreb united," Samir remembers the mockery endured by the children of Tunisian immigrants, in the shadow of the Algeria-Morocco rivalry. At the bottom of the towers of Créteil (Val-de-Marne), it's always the same old refrains. The 40-year-old Franco-Tunisian recalls the mockery: "The whole building hates you when your mother cooks her mloukhiya, it's like henna mixed with petroleum! Don't bother looking for the zients [slang for Tunisians, editor's note], you don't know how to cook." Looking back, he comments: "It was special back then, there were fewer of us. Algerians and Moroccans had their restaurants. We, fewer." They formed coalitions against us, saying we were the “ Switzerland of the Maghreb” . They sometimes saw us as failed Italians. Others imagined that our food was necessarily a copy of neighboring countries.

For several years now, the greengrocer has been watching with relief and appetite the rise of Tunisian street food in the Paris region. Fricassees, mlawis, chapatis, and kafteji are making a name for themselves in France and serve as a reminder that Tunisian cuisine is at the crossroads of a rich culinary heritage blending Berber, Turkish, Andalusian, Jewish, Italian, and French influences.

A stone's throw from the Blanche metro station, in the 9th arrondissement