A Medley of Ingredients
Let’s set the scene, but for this one we don’t need lights, a camera or a clapperboard. Nobody calls out “action,” just tfadalo and saha o afia. Welcome to my kitchen, the most sacred place in every home; let me show you what’s on my menu.
A splash of rich zeit zeitoun, sautéed onions, some irresistible taboon fluffy enough to make clouds look bad, crispy potatoes for some texture, plenty of sumac to fill your heart and the halls, jaj mhamar , and fried almonds obviously. Imsakhan: the marriage of all things bishahi (desirable). Every element of the dish comes together so seamlessly that the first bite you take makes you forget everything wrong in the world.
My life is a cookbook of ingredients that don’t necessarily fall together to create a delectable dish because life is never neat. It’s a yakhni (stew) of events that shape our lives and perspectives. It’s situations we choose and events that choose us. It’s the aroma and scent of memories that plague us. It’s the heaviness and happiness of the weights we carry. But that’s the beauty and pain of the lives we live. It’s where love is born and pain is bred. It’s how we grow more aware of the natural and unnatural processes of developing knowledge and maybe sprinkles of wisdom.
As different as people that we share space with are, food has always been a gatherer of all people within and across culture, time, age, diversity- the aroma that permeates a perfectly seasoned dish appeals to every sense. Our eyes eat before our mouths. The physical sensation of a satisfied taste pallet is indescribable. The ingredients to create this “perfect dish” must be chosen with precision and thought. The melding of flavors, the right temperature, the perfect garnish; all decisions of an artful chef.
As I consider what ingredients to share from the dish of Bayan’s life, I reflect on what memories and experiences have shaped who I am today. The people.
The Sumac.
A distinct taste and color, Sumac is used in very traditional Palestinian dishes like mjadara and imsakhan. The sumac in my life has always been how grounded and in tune I am with an oral history and culture that has been passed down to me by my ancestors. Palestine. As a bride, my henna party was of more importance to me than my wedding. My bridal thobe was more important than my wedding dress. Palestine is an ingredient in my DNA. I live and breathe its air. Palestine. She’s taught me strength, justice, persistence, and resistance.
The Zeit Zeitoun. (Olive Oil)
The darker the color, the richer the flavor. Used in every single dish in a Palestinian home and on occasion is shamelessly a replacement for a first aid kit. Slather some on wherever it hurts, trust me. It works. The zeit zeitoun in my life is undoubtedly my mother, my Sawsan. She’s the center of my world. On every bad day, Sawsan has the right marinade of things to say to fix it. In every happy moment, she is the loudest cheerleader. She’s the undertone of richness in my 24 years of life. In the absence of zeit zeitoun, every tabkha (meal) is incomplete. Just like zeit zeitoun, the world is a more flavorful place with my Sawsan in it.
Can you imagine a world without olive oil? Yumma, such a scary thought.
The A’asal. (Honey)
You know when you wake up lookin’ cute, the outfit comes together, the hijab is laid right, the weather is delicious, there’s no traffic on your way to work, your morning coffee is the right shade of milky goodness, and you turn on the radio and your favorite song is on? You know how sweet life feels in those few minutes? A’asalllllll.
My honeys: Suleiman and Rayanne, my younger siblings. Clear as honey, their hearts are so incredibly pure. If we measured life by cups of laughter, they would’ve broken my scale a long time ago. Honey is one of those interesting ingredients that comes in a lot of flavors that don’t really sound right, but when you taste it, you wonder where this wonderful creation has been all your life. Suleiman is my Sidr Honey, rare, sweet, strong, reliable and kind. Rayanne is my Manuka Honey, spicy with notes of sweetness, expensive but possessing healing powers. On any given day, I’d take a tablespoon full of both and my heart would smile.
Na’a Na’a. (Mint Leaves)
Ahh na’a na’a, the leaf you didn’t know you needed to be happy in this world. The way it enhances flavors is mindblowing. Let me explain: tea on its own is great, right? But tea with the right amount of na’a na’a takes you to a balcona somewhere Um Kulthoom is playing in the background, looking at the serene gardens that surround you while your soul is at peace. Or is that just me? Okay fine, salad: a compilation of tomato, cucumber, lettuce, and radish doesn’t really change your life, but when you add na’a na’a, my friend, it’s magical. There’s an ease and simplicity to it. My husband is that perfect addition for me. You can enjoy a whole sufra of all kinds of foods, but if the night isn’t ending with kaset shay o na’a na’a in hand, something isn’t right. There’s no such thing as too much na’a na’a or too much Ahmed. He makes the good days better. He makes the laughs louder. He makes me smile harder. He’s my person, my na’a na’a, and I can’t imagine a world without him.
As we sit together to share a meal, we celebrate and elevate all the ingredients that comprise a sense of self, a self concept sometimes drowning in the human struggle, a self lost in the options of a spice cabinet. In every dish, there’s so much more than meets the eye. The depth of flavor is in the people we love and care for; the spices that bring everything together.
Sahtein.
This blog post is part of the #30DaysArabVoices Blog Series, a month-long movement to feature Arab voices as writers and scholars. Please CLICK HERE to read yesterday’s blog post by Dr. Nevien Shaabneh.
