I Grew Up With Harissa. Here’s How I Use It on Everything

Harissa isn’t just a condiment to me; it’s the smell of chiles and garlic crushed in a mortar, the red that clings to a spoon, the taste of home.

My earliest memories of harissa belong to my mother’s kitchen. She still makes it regularly, drying fresh chiles under the sun on wide metal trays set out in our backyard. I remember the glossy, red peppers slowly shrinking under the heat, turning leathery, smoky, and sweet, in anticipation of being ground into a fiery paste. Her harissa is never exactly the same twice, shifting subtly with the type of chiles or the balance of spices she chooses, but it’s always alive with flavor—fiery, fragrant, and vibrant with her touch.

These days, harissa has traveled far beyond its North African roots, finding a place in kitchens around the world. I love seeing how it’s been reimagined—swirled into aioli, brushed on grilled meats, or stirred into pasta—because it proves just how flexible it can be. Here, I’m bringing harissa back into focus, exploring its origins, what makes it special, and all the ways it can bring depth, brightness, and heat to your cooking.

What Is Harissa?

Harissa is a fragrant paste of chiles, garlic, olive oil, and warm spices like cumin, coriander, and caraway. Although it is now celebrated around the world as a versatile cooking ingredient, in Morocco it plays a different role. You won’t find it stirred into tagines or spread on roasts; instead, it’s served on the side as a condiment, much like mustard in France—spooned into small dishes alongside couscous or spread inside sandwiches. 

Harissa is often called the queen of North African condiments, and for good reason: it’s as essential to the table as salt and olive oil. Its name comes from the Arabic word harassa, meaning “to pound” or “to crush,” a nod to the traditional method of grinding chiles in a mahraz—a brass mortar and pestle used throughout North Africa.

Where Did Harissa Come From?

Harissa traces its roots to Tunisia, where it became a staple condiment before gradually spreading across the Maghreb (the region that includes modern-day Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya). Its key ingredient, though, came from elsewhere: Chiles weren’t native to North Africa—they arrived in the 16th century, carried from the Americas to Europe after Columbus’s voyages, and later brought to the region through Spanish and Portuguese trade. Over

Over time, cooks embraced these zesty newcomers and by the 17th and 18th centuries, harissa had become so essential to Tunisian cooking that it eventually spread to neighboring Algeria, Libya, and Morocco, where each region made it their own.

As a result, there is no single recipe for harissa. While there aren’t distinct regional styles of harissa within Morocco, it does vary from household to household and shop to shop. Some variations are made with fresh red chiles, while others are dried. Fresh harissa often contains preserved lemons, which lend not only acidity but also a distinctive briny note, while the dried-chile varieties, my personal favorite, carry a smoldering, smoky depth that lingers. Many recipes include warm spices such as cumin, coriander, or caraway, while others omit them in favor of letting the chiles’ fruity flavors shine. And then there’s green harissa, a grassy cousin of the classic red, made with fresh green chiles and herbs that give it a vibrant, bright flavor. This version comes together quickly, just blitz the ingredients in a food processor and you have a punchy sauce ready to spread in sandwiches, swirl into yogurt, or toss with roasted vegetables.

What to Look for in Store-Bought Harissa

The quality of the harissa you use has a big impact on the final dish, and its heat can range from mild to intensely spicy. It all depends on what you’re after—if you want to keep the heat in check, choose a milder one. In the US, I recommend harissa from Mina, a brand known for its balanced flavor; they offer both mild and hot versions, and can be found in many mainstream grocery stores.

In Morocco, home cooks often make their own harissa, but store-bought versions from neighborhood spice shops are just as common. While I try to make my own when I have time, a good-quality store-bought jar is great to have on hand. I like to keep both spicy and mild varieties around for when I want either a gentle kick or a full hit of heat.

My Favorite Ways to Use Harissa

Outside of North Africa, harissa has taken on a second life beyond how it’s classically used in Morocco, turning up in marinades, braises, and pastas where a little goes a long way. In my own kitchen, I’ve embraced those modern uses of harissa. Here are some of my favorite ways to use harissa in everyday cooking:

• Use it as a glaze for meat skewers. I like to make a sweet-and-spicy harissa-honey glaze for chicken skewers. As the chicken grills, the honey caramelizes and chars, adding smoky depth that plays beautifully with harissa’s own heat. The honey also softens the spice, rounding it out without dulling its edge.
• Add it to marinades. A marinade of about a tablespoon or two of harissa, orange juice, and honey has become my go-to for quick, flavor-packed sheet-pan dinners.
• Whip it into a compound butter. The rich butter mellows out the complex notes in harissa. I particularly love slathering this harissa butter over grilled corn while it’s still hot, letting it melt into the charred kernels for a richer, spicier, and smokier version of the summer classic. You can also use the same butter to top grilled shrimp or even steaks.
• Mix it into aioli for a spicier, punchier condiment, perfect to dip fries in.
• Stir it into risotto for a version of the Northern Italian classic that smolders with heat.
• Add it to your stews and braises for a truly layered dish. 
• Spread a light layer of harissa onto bread for a spicy grilled cheese. The cheese’s savory, nutty notes blend into the harissa’s smoky heat.

In each of these cases, harissa isn’t just a condiment on the side—it’s the backbone of the dish, proof of how effortlessly versatile it is.

Harissa, Then and Now

For me, harissa is inseparable from memory. Every time I open a jar, I’m transported back to my mother’s backyard in Morocco, where chiles dried in the sun, waiting to be transformed into something greater. But it also connects me to the present—the ways I bring it into modern, more creative cooking. It’s a condiment, a flavor booster, a cultural marker, and a thread between past and present. However it’s used—served on the side, whisked into a sauce, or spread over chicken—it carries with it far more than just heat.