This piece isn’t about cooking in particular, but rather about a space where I spent many days working when my children where still very young, and when working with two six months old babies was practically impossible at home. This was my sanctuary, and with my reocrrucing visits I discovered a microcosm that was worth examining. At the risk of sounding judgmental, or having the piece misunderstood, I chose to write it with a comic, and imaginative point of view. This is meant to make you laugh, and if you know me roll your eyes at my science nerd self. It is also meant to offer indirect commentary on societal trends and relationships.
To Khamis AbuLaban, family is all he had left after he lost his village. And when you lose all that is material and physical in life, you always hang on to what is more precious, love.
This Article First Appeared in This Week in Palestine in the April 2015 issue 204. (www.thisweekinpalestine.com) by: Riyam Kafri AbuLaban “Khobaizeh (mallow) carries the DNA of our heritage,” said Vivien Sansour. She stood by her kitchen counter cutting green velvety khobaizeh leaves that we had just picked in Al-Walajeh, a small village outside ofContinue reading “Khobaizeh”
As we age, we pursue cooking to replicate those dishes in the hopes of reviving childhood memories and all the feelings that come with them, and in the hopes that we can create similar experiences for our own children. Food is, therefore, not just sustenance, and our journeys into our kitchens are not only a daily chore to put food on our family tables, but rather a deliberate, creative process in which memories, love, belonging, loss, celebration, and a sense of identity are created and engrained for both those of us who cook and those who eat.