This is not my first shakshouka recipe. It is said, once you make it, you’ll keep making it all the time. I am not an exception to the rule!
Rarely do I repeat the same dish exactly to the point. It has to be different in something. And this time won’t be any different.
My love for shakshouka is real. A real love story. Or in the terms of food writers; it is a perfect marriage of ingredients and flavors. Jokes aside, it is. If you haven’t tried it at least once, you’re missing out. Continue reading
Some serious social media suicidal thoughts were spinning around my head.
I have neglected my social media accounts to a point that they might have died. I tried reviving my Instagram account. But still, I have reached a point where I do activities that I don’t want to share online. I meet people and rather not post a photo of us together.
Is this growth? Is this growing weary of social media? Is it social media suicide?
It is equivalent to leaving the big city and escaping to the mountains and seeing no one, sitting in between of beautiful high trees and waking up to the sound of roosters calling the sun to climb up from its slumber. It isn’t that bad if you think about it.
But for someone who is making a living from being online, sharing stuff online, and getting work from doing work and sharing it on the worldwide web… THIS IS SUICIDE!
I seriously have a problem that I need to talk to you about.
I need to know if I’m alone in this.
If you feel the same as I do, please let me know and release me from my agony.
HERE IT IS
From the moment I open my eyes, sometimes even before I open them, I start thinking of what to have for breakfast. I get up and start making something to eat
Am I alone in this?
Probably this is why I have so many breakfast recipes on this blog.
This post was written a year ago. I dug it up again, and edited it a bit, to post it this year with more intention.
May 15 marks a turning point in the course of history with massive consequences
It is the day Palestinians were forcibly expelled from their homes to nowhere
It is when Palestinians started looking for home, a shelter, a roof to stay under. For 68 years, Palestinians are being chased out of their homes and lands, tortured, imprisoned, mistreated, and killed.
Massacres are happening on a regular basis. The world has become so numb. We count numbers. Unless there’s a notable person among those killed, the death toll is meaningless
view from my house in 2015. Now I have more plants
Third Street: the street I live in
say a little prayer
art installation next to the church
the produce vendor
Photos from Dbayeh Palestinians refugees camp I took last year
As I probably have mentioned in previous posts, I am a 2nd generation Palestinian with a Lebanese nationality. I barely have any sense of belonging to neither. My grandmother used to tell me about how they fled and how they settled in the area that became the refugees camp of Dbayeh, the camp that neither most Palestinians nor Lebanese know about. Continue reading
For the winter issue of The Carton magazine, entitled A Proustian Memory, a piece of writing that I submitted was published and I couldn’t get any prouder to be part of such cultural publication. This piece revisits my memories of the period of Saint Barbara’s day through Christmas with scents, sights, and flavors.