Dear reader,
The other day, while lamenting my struggling cooking journey, a friend and I reached a conclusion: I’m just a very good “comfort food cook.” And by comfort food, I mean labneh sandwiches with chips, tortilla bread with chocolate spread and emmental, or pasta drowning in cheese and ketchup when there’s no proper sauce in sight.
I don’t plan on staying at that forever. At this stage in my life, conventionally, I should be married with kids, rolling warak enab with the neighborhood moms — the way my grandmother describes her Civil War cooking days when women were built full meals out of nothing to feed entire families. Meanwhile, I call adding olive oil to pasta a “special technique”...
For now, I’m accepting the comfort food label. My own mother still cooks for me. But in the near-future, I aspire to become a functional adult who can make something that doesn’t rely on bread, cheese and survival instincts.
After embracing my “creative” comfort food repertoire, my friend and I decided to get bagels at The Pink Lady. Ever since I made that one perfect egg-and-salmon bagel, I’ve been chasing that high.
On the way, we passed Barbar. I suggested we share a cheese man'usheh. Then I proposed a detour to Basterma Mano for two shawarmas — you know my sharing theory by now. Technically, it wasn’t on our way, but it was Ramadan, Iftar, aka no traffic. Also, I have standards: Barbar is for man'usheh. Basterma Mano is for shawarma.
We ordered sujuk and chicken (add mayo to your sujuk shawarma you’re welcome). By the end of the night, every craving had been satisfied. A week later, I’m still thinking about that meal. It was simple. It was excessive. It was perfect comfort.
If you’re fasting for Lent, Liza Soughayar Asseily’s lentil soup is the kind of comfort that feels virtuous. You could also try her stuffed Swiss chard leaves, confit in olive oil (mehshe selek), or go for something different like Andrea Boueiz’s broccoli with tahini and black garlic.
Melissa Manouchakian
Distribution editor
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