Eating Arabic

Food is connection. Food is nourishment. It transcends time and place as it stimulates the old and creates new memories.  In her blog, My Plate Or Yours, our good friend Christine eloquently expresses the power of food.

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My Plate or Yours

I grew up eating, then cooking, Lebanese food made from my grandmother’s recipes. I have never been to Lebanon, probably will never go to Lebanon now, and still, if you ask me what my heritage is, I will tell you I am Lebanese. If you are what you eat, that’s what I am. That is the power of food.

I cherish the worn, food-stained cookbook that the ladies at my grandmothers Syrian Orthodox church produced in the 1960s – half (the American half) the most god-awful jello salads and condensed soup casseroles you can imagine and the other half sublime Lebanese food. Flaky spinach sfeehas. Cinnamon-scented stuffed koosa. Baked kibbe (and kibbe nayeh) – I can still see the huge metal meat grinder cranking out spaghetti strands of raw ground lamb to be hand mixed with borgul wheat and onion. Lemony hummus and smoky baba ganouj. Mujudra topped with crispy…

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