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A Taste of Lebanon MAG
Brights lights
He sits alone at the small red table,
cold white tiles under his feet,
warm air heavy with garlic
but empty of people.
Fresh spinach and plump roma tomatoes
swim in a lake of slippery olive oil
and dark, sour vinegar
just the way Uncle taught him to make it.
Warm flatbread –
kneaded and pounded by his own bony hands
instead of the strong, muscular ones of his son –
is stuffed with bursting ripe tomatoes, crisp leafy lettuce
bought from the farmer’s market
instead of grown by his wife
in their backyard,
loved and nourished
as she gently whispered Lebanese lullabies
from their childhood together in Beirut.
Warm, tender gyro meat
sliced off the loaf
that is crammed in the tiny fridge,
lamb and beef that he mixed as he stood alone
instead of behind his daughter
whose small fingers could not grind the meat
so he guided her
holding her precious hands in his.
Cool tzatziki sauce drips:
fresh, watery cucumbers, sweet onions, and thick cream
carefully blended
with Popa’s spices, tediously added –
thyme, oregano, basil, garlic, salt,
and his secret Cavender’s mix –
still kept in the small green vial
now in the crowded pantry
of his American apartment
instead of the wide open shelves
of the kitchen in Tripoli.
The warm embrace of pita and gyro
the sweet explosions of fresh produce
and splashes of refreshing tzatziki
the acidic bite of vinegar and oil
overwhelm his taste buds
and send him home
to his lovely Aziza’s garden
to the tiny Shevna, playing at his feet and reaching
for the mixing bowl
to Uncle and Popa’s kitchen
full of spices, oils, and vinegar,
and Zahle, with the dough.
The taste of Lebanon
takes him home
so wherever he travels
he is never really gone.
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Inspired by the owners of a local Lebanese restaurant