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| NEWYORKER.COM |
Recently, my
wife’s distant aunt, Leila, invited me, my wife, and our three children
to her home in the Faisal neighborhood of Cairo. She promised to cook us
maftoul, a Palestinian dish that we had not eaten since we fled Gaza in December. Back home, making maftoul
was often a family affair. One person cooks a rich stew from pumpkin,
onions, tomatoes, and chickpeas. Someone else mixes wheat flour into a
dough. A third person rubs the dough through the holes of a sieve,
creating tiny balls that are similar to pearl couscous. Finally, the
balls are steamed and served with a hot ladleful of the stew. We looked
forward to tasting it again.Leila speaks with the same warmth as my mother, and she cooks the same familiar foods... READ MORE https://www.newyorker.com/news/essay/my-familys-daily-struggle-to-find-food-in-gaza
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