The moment we opened the door, hunger hit. The unmistakable scent of home-grown mint and caramelized sugar filled our noses and pulled us toward the dining room. This was atay bi nana, or mint tea, and in Morocco, it’s never just a drink. Its alluring golden-brown shimmer symbolizes the hospitality and generosity woven into Morocco's cultural fabric.

     The origins of atay trace back to the nineteenth century, when British traders 

introduced tea to establish new markets for their goods. “Though Moroccans had 

already been making herbal infusions, they crafted their own version of green tea,” 

marking the beginning of atay bi nana (Saberi, 80). Our version is made with 

gunpowder tea, a green tea where each leaf is rolled into small pellets that unfurl 

with hot water (Allan). This transformed what could be a simple domestic act into 

a ritual of hospitality and tradition (Haynes).

     The deceptively simple process reflects generations of care. You’ll need the atay (gunpowder tea), naȃnȃ (mint leaves), and sukkar (sugar). The tools, equally important, include the berrad (teapot), made of intricately designed silver, and the siniya (serving tray), which matches the artistic detailing of the teapot. The tea is served in glass cups, or kass, which are often adorned with elaborate patterns in various colors (Marrakechecrafts).

     To begin, rinse the mint and bring water to a boil. Add about two tablespoons of tea to the berrad, though for locals, years of experience replaces the need for precise measurement. Pour a cupful into the berrad, swirl it around, and then discard it to clean the leaves (Petit). Pour a second cup of boiling water into the berrad and leave it to sit for a minute before pouring it into another kass, which is considered the “spirit” of the tea, containing the full depth of flavor from the leaves. Then fill the berrad with more boiling water, leaving about ⅓ free to accommodate the rising liquid during brewing, and set the heat to medium. Leave the lid open and pour the “spirit” of the tea back into the pot. 

     Once bubbles form, a handful naȃnȃ is submerged. Sukkar is next, traditionally in cube form. Atay is unapologetically sweet, a legacy of when sugar was once an expensive commodity. Serving sweet tea demonstrated the depth of the host’s commitment to hospitality and generosity. The sugar mellows the strong green tea bite, while the mint cuts through it all with a sharp, cooling freshness. The tea is left to boil until it rises to the top, and then the fire is turned off. Atay is often served with a small bowl of dates or roasted almonds, their earthy sweetness or subtle saltiness perfectly complementing the tea’s crisp finish. 

     The pouring is an art form in itself. From high above the glass, about an arm's length above, the tea is poured in a thin, arching stream, creating a delicate froth known as kskrsha. More than showmanship, it aerates the tea, blends its ingredients, and is considered essential for a perfect serving (Oslan).