No Chef in the Kitchen's event for Beirut Art Days on July 5, 2024. (Credit: Renee Davis)
“The last tastes of Khiam are left behind in empty homes,” Christine Abi Azar, a local artist, recounted as she kneeled on a line of laid-out pillows, arranging eight bowls before her, “I just cannot believe it.”
The bowls of mouneh from Khiam on July 5, 2024. (Credit: Renee Davis)
The eight bowls laid out on the floor of her small space in Gemmayzeh, Beirut, contain the last tastes of her hometown of Khiam in southern Lebanon's Marjayoun district. Since Oct. 8, 2023, the area has endured relentless bombardment from Israeli warplanes, including the use of controversial white phosphorus munitions.
For Abi Azar, the importance of the land and its fruits lies in its history and resilience, and how it has resisted centuries of conflict. She runs "No Chef in the Kitchen," an open space in Gemmayzeh where she curates immersive taste experiences. She frequently reminds people that while she uses cooking as an artistic expression, she is not a chef.
Christine Abi Azar prepares for her Beirut Art Days event on July 5, 2024. (Credit: The artist)
"This event is my way of resisting," she explained. "Of showing the world that art can be a form of resistance."
The taste of Khiam
Abi Azar invites visitors to dip an olive leaf into each bowl, using it as a makeshift spoon, and challenges them to identify the flavors: candied and sticky quince (safarjal) jam, the sharp taste of sage, sweet tomato paste, thick pomegranate molasses with pulp, the familiar tastes of rose and orange flower water, and a harsh apple cider vinegar.
Last and most importantly, Khiam’s olive oil, marked by its deep olive green hue and a rich decadent taste, made with olives harvested under Israeli bombs — in what may be the last crop many farmers will reap for years to come.
Abi Azar's mother and an attendee taste mouneh from Khiam on July 5, 2024. (Credit: Renee Davis)
An attendee dips an olive tree leaf into bowls of mouneh from Khiam on July 5, 2024. (Credit: Renee Davis)
The entire country, most notably South Lebanon, is home to hundreds of thousands of olive trees, some centuries old. The use of white phosphorus, which is illegal when used against civilian targets has scorched southern fields with fires and chemicals. Experts warn the damage to the soil could persist for years. "These trees had survived every past war," Abi Azar said, which makes their loss now all the more heartbreaking.
Born in 1982, which she describes as "the year of hell" due to Israel's invasion of southern Lebanon, Abi Azar never had the chance to visit Khiam until she was 18, shortly after its liberation in 2000.
“I was so excited to visit my father’s hometown finally,” she remembered, “He made it sound like heaven. A place where they lived their whole lives outdoors, making everything they needed with their hands.”
But when Abi Azar finally saw Khiam for the first time, her experience did not match the idyllic picture her father had painted of his hometown. Decades of war had left their mark, leaving the town ravaged, as well as the remains of he notorious Khiam detention center — a site used by Israelis to hold, interrogate and torture detainees.
Despite the area not matching her expectations, Abi Azar learned to see the promise of a dream life in it, and most importantly, learned how someone could grow to become so attached to it.
Christine Abi Azar at her Beirut Art Days event on July 5, 2024. (Credit: Renee Davis)
For this event, as part of Beirut Art Days, she sought locals willing to share the last of their preserved foods (mouneh). One of the women told Abi Azar that she travels daily from nearby Marjayoun to tend her crops in Khiam, refusing to abandon her land.
Back in her space in Gemmayzeh, Abi Azar recreates a slice of Khiam. She builds a plot of soil, shielded by white covers, and prepares local specialties: stuffed cabbage leaves, burghul salads, and lentil dips. A recording of her late uncle singing at a wedding fills the air.
"Art can be resistance," Abi Azar affirmed, "and resistance can be joyful."
