As the sun rose, I awoke with a familiar concern: “What should I prepare for dinner tonight?” This was a habit I had formed back in my college days when it was my turn to cook once a week. Despite it being just one day, the question of what to cook lingered in my mind throughout the week. When the school year ended and I returned home, I initially felt relieved to be free of this responsibility. However, I soon found myself getting bored without the challenge.
Cooking once a week was a positive experience for me. I found joy in making desserts while singing along to music, which provided a brief escape from the world and allowed me to focus on myself. Through this, I discovered the secret to the tasty dishes we made in the student house.
Our country is divided into seven distinct geographical regions, but when I consider the variety of food types and flavors, it feels as though there are more than just seven regions. I have a strong interest in the history behind each dish and will meticulously select ingredients from the provided list, scanning it multiple times until the words transform into colored and shaped forms that I can easily memorize.
During my time in the student house, I was able to learn new recipes and couldn’t wait to try them out at home. I looked forward to my family’s reactions with excitement and curiosity, hoping to witness their pride in me and the joy that discovering a new flavor brings.
At times, I found myself reminiscing about the flavors of winter and would often find myself in the kitchen. It was during one of these moments that I stumbled upon some cubed meat, which I had previously overlooked for other plans. The eggplant on the bottom shelf also caught my eye, and before I knew it, a side dish had formed alongside the rice and legumes on the shelf. The potatoes standing on the counter seemed to be beckoning me, and as a slightly upbeat song played in the background, I found myself singing along with the vegetables and legumes.
The meat being well cooked is deemed acceptable. As the pot simmered calmly on low heat, the vegetables danced on the counter and made space for themselves. They shed their shells and soaked in water to cleanse themselves. Eggplants are considered “noble,” unable to share a container with potatoes, and impart flavor only when they release their spiciness in water. It is believed that before fulfilling their purpose, they require thorough cleansing and rest. Potatoes, on the other hand, are fast, versatile, and delicious. Rice requires water to reveal its beauty, and its starch must be removed to display its pure white color. After transferring it to a separate container, the cooking process continues. I can tell how much time I’ve spent in the kitchen checking my playlist. While I’m taking care of the vegetables and singing songs to the slowly cooking meat, I treat the rice like a princess, acknowledging the blessings bestowed upon us, and feeling regretful about being unable to express proper gratitude to our Lord. As the meat begins to sizzle, I come to my senses.
It’s time to combine everything. People can imagine the type of work that will emerge from the fusion of so many different flavors that trigger their taste buds. I started by layering the chopped onions in rings at the bottom, and each ingredient seemed to know its own place. They calmly awaited the feast of flavors that would arise after settling into their respective spots with Basmala. As the pot’s lid closed, the kitchen tools left on the countertop exuded a sense of satisfaction in fulfilling their duties. Every plate and dish left behind traces of the blessings they contained, necessitating a hand to reach the water to clean them. This was the most challenging aspect of the kitchen. I began losing my manners with the plates, picking them up with a huff. However, everything carries traces, as I learned from my elders’’ teachings on respecting the goods. With this knowledge in mind, my perspective shifted. Porcelain, glass, and plastic containers that perform their duties without showing any signs of fatigue instantly gained value.
Dinner is ready now, and it’s time for serving. I believe it’s the serving that elevates a meal. We place the dish, named “upside-down,” in the center of the table and arrange yogurt and salad around it in a particular order. With every “knock knock” sound of the spoons tapping on the pot, we gradually raise it, generating a sense of anticipation and excitement, until the dish is revealed.
Here is the awesome maqluba! The taste of this “work of art,” which ten, maybe fifteen people ate together in the student house, was insatiable. Now I’m sitting at the table with my family. I am noticing that we are fewer in number than when we were in the student house. We have a spoon and fork set, and a serving plate in front of everyone, and this does not look like the first maqluba table I saw, but the tray was similar. I am concerned about the feedback that my parents will give after tasting it. In my opinion, the maqluba shared with friends holds a special significance.
