Debby Does…

It’s been far too long since I took the time to dump files from my brain into paragraphs. I guess I’ve been busy, but I have also felt a little stymied. In the past week, my brain has awakened, and I feel compelled to write.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Lebanese cooking.

Now, I know some of you are thinking this is going to be a very niche piece. I promise it has broader connections!

I’ve learned, as I’ve researched and delved, what my family called things we cooked may have been incorrect. I guess they are names that sort of morphed over the years into titles that were inaccurate. So, as I seek out recipes and meals to recreate, I have a hard time figuring out what the heck they’re called. I recently joined a Lebanese cooking page on Facebook and am continually shocked by how many people are told they are wrong—wrong about the names, wrong about the spices, wrong about the serving style. Because Middle Eastern cooking is so varied by location, it seems that I’m not the only one with this problem. Plus, I think eventually we just make things the way we like them.

As I gathered different recipes and figured out names of things, I realized this quest is not about becoming an expert on Lebanese cooking. I think what I’m really trying to do is recreate the comfort of what was, the people who were, and how it made me feel.

Here’s where the broader connection comes into play…

I feel like lots of us do this at the holidays as well. We try to recreate something that can never be replicated. I can make my mom’s Christmas morning coffee cake every year, strictly adhering to that recipe, but it won’t ever taste like it did in 1977 when my granny and gramps were watching me open my special gifts—I got a play kitchen that year—and sipping their coffee, looking completely exhausted. The cake is still delicious, but it’s what’s not there that hits.

I don’t mean to be morbid or to claim that my grief takes over the holidays. I just like to dig into myself and figure out why I do the things I do and why they make me feel a certain way. I also know there are things, inherently in me, that nestled deep inside me because of that comfort, those people, and how it made me feel. My desire to make people feel special, particularly at the holidays; my love of combining the new with the old; opening my home to everyone; and taking care of the smallest details all come to me honestly, from my mom and my grandparents.

While the delicacy that I knew as laham ahjeen is something entirely different, there is comfort is what I know and love. There’s no grade for getting it right or wrong when the intention is to create a feeling of comfort and love. In a world torn apart by hate, you can never go wrong with comfort and love.

It’s the same for me at Christmas. I might make that coffee cake and put my own twist on it, but it will surely be in the avocado green bundt pan that my mom always used. There will be Williams Sonoma croissants and hot cocoa served while the Fred Waring Christmas album blares on the turntable, followed by new favorites like Christmas fondue, Raclette, and Straight No Chaser. I am seeking what was, all while making it what is. I don’t live in the past, but I value its contributions and lessons.

It’s good to recreate, but it’s even better when that nostalgia can find new dimensions, new traditions, and new ways to celebrate.

The comfort of what was, the people who were, and how it made me feel.

The comfort of now, the people we’ve chosen, and how it makes us feel.

Love to you and yours in this season of so much.