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.
November is coming to an end. Movember is not achieved without showing off your Moustache to bring awareness to testicular cancer. Or just show off. I’m here to show off. And bake. And give people my ‘staches. Continue reading
I’ve been searching for the origin of this recipe. I was asking people around me how they (or their grandparents) heard of this particular dish. My question was where did they get the recipe from and how did they make the pearls/giant couscous/maftoul (as we call it) or get them from. Almost no one could give me a satisfying answer about its origin. All they know is that they used to get the “maftoul” from the supermarket and no idea how the recipe got to them..
On the day off when the country was celebrating Al Adha, my uncle woke me up early in the morning asking me if I’d like to go with him to the olive press located somewhere in the mountains over Jbeil – Byblos. Me, being a lazy boy, agreed to go only after loads of hesitation and self-questioning. The main reason behind getting out bed this early is because of one thought: I’m not the only one who has never ever visited an olive press.