Traditional Roadside Bread in Tunisia: Sekouna and Semi’s Tabouna

My husband and I were driving along the road in Tunisia when we noticed smoke rising ahead and a small crowd gathered around what looked like a pretty beaten-down old shack.

 For a moment, I wondered if it had caught fire. 

As we got closer, the smell told a very different story — fresh baked bread, warm and unmistakable.

 

I had to get out and take a look for myself.

What I found was bread being made the old-fashioned way, in an above-ground clay oven called a Tabouna.

I remember Jamal’s mom having a smaller one, but this one was impressive — about three feet tall and three feet wide.

Meet Sekouna and Semi, roadside bread makers. They use two large Tabouna ovens to make a local bread called Khobz Tabouna. This kind of roadside bread is still a common part of daily life in Tunisia — made fresh, eaten warm, and shared without ceremony.  

The smoke I saw earlier was the beginning of the process. Semi was starting a fire in the center of the oven, heating it until it was just right for baking. Once the fire burned down to embers, the oven was ready.

Semi cleaned the inside with a long stick, spreading the embers evenly along the walls.

Sekouna pulled a round of dough from a tray and began flattening it by slapping it gently between her hands. She placed it on the table and ran a docking roller across the surface — small holes to prevent large bubbles while baking.

With the dough in her right hand, she scooped a bit of water with her left and splashed it onto the surface. Then, in one smooth motion, she slapped the wet side of the dough onto the oven wall.

You can hear it instantly — the dough searing against the hot clay.

Sekouna repeated the process until the oven was full, about twenty pieces baking at once.

Now it was Semi’s turn to watch over them. He kept a close eye as they cooked, bantering easily with customers as they waited.

Five or six minutes later, he began removing the first loaves using a knife and glove. Soon they were all done. Almost as fast as they came off the wall, people gathered to buy them.

Each bread costs 1 dinar 200 millimes, about forty cents in U.S. dollars.

We took our bread and headed back to the car — but before the engine even started, we tore off pieces and ate them warm.

It was absolutely worth stopping.

Once home, we cut the bread into squares and poured fresh olive oil over the top. The heat of the bread lets the oil soak in, turning the next bite into something magical.

Thank you, Semi and Sekouna, for showing us how it’s made.