All of this craziness is during daylight hours, and once night falls, the square gets even crazier, with dozens of food stands invading the area, all numbered and individualized. As you get close to the area, you can hear the vendors shouting, each one a Puff Daddy level hype man for his stall. "One One Seven Take You To Heaven! Thirty Five Keeps You Alive! One Hundred And Four We Give You More! Stall Twenty Two, We Promise You No Bloody Diarrhea" Yes, someone actually yelled that last one. The dirty secret about the food stalls: Most of them serve the same menu of traditional Moroccan foods: olive and tomato salads, tagines, cous cous, sausages and lamb, with some serving more exotic fare like sheep's head. The second dirty secret: Most of them aren't very good. Our friend Amanda (Also known as MarocMama) says "Eat at your own risk....we've lived here three years, I've been visiting for almost ten, and eaten here maybe a handful of times." But you don't want to spend a tourist trip in Marrakech without at least trying out the experience of eating amongst all that madness. The key to finding something good to eat in a situation like this is to follow three pieces of advice:

Find the place with mostly locals. Menus in English are bad. The stalls without people hollering at you, imploring you to come and eat there don't have them for a reason: the food speaks for itself.

It was using these rules we discovered the best thing we ate in Marrakech (and we ate some ridiculously delicious food). As we walked through the stalls, being accosted at every angle with menus and funny rhymes about numbers and enjoyable food, we spotted a stand in the middle of the pack besieged by Moroccans. There wasn't a white person in sight, and the menu was mostly Arabic, with two French phrases we could decipher: "Sandwich Petit" and "Sandwich Grand". As we hung back for a moment, watching the machinations unfold in front of us, a Moroccan patiently waiting for the vendor to make eye contact grinned at us, raised his eyebrows, and uttered three words, which Renee and I would repeat to each other the rest of our time in Marrakech. Whenever hunger would strike, and we would discuss what we wanted, it was the same. When we fondly reminisce about Marrakech in the coming years, what will we remember the most? We had done hours of research on what to do, where to go, and most importantly, what to eat, how is it possible we had not heard this phrase before? What was this best bite in Marrakech that had dozens of locals clamoring to catch the eye of the vendor like a gaggle of sorority girls at Señor Frogs on Spring Break?

Moroccan Big Mac.

Allow me to make your life complete. While some locals refer to it as "Tortilla", and our Riad host made a passing reference to it using the term “Crazy Bread”, we will stick with the classic nomenclature and refer to it as the “Moroccan Big Mac” for the remainder of this entry. The MBM goes like this: