#32: Ramadan at the Kitchen Table
aka, Dubai girl discovers the wonders of good food by people you actually know
Dear reader,
Hello!
I’ve been sitting with this particular newsletter for a while - waiting for it to work. Between Easter and the last few days of Ramadan, the week has been a whirlwind of social gatherings and black tie dinners. I haven’t had much time to read, much less write - but one does need a change of scene every now and then.
Ramadan in Bahrain is a busy, joyful time - the entire country comes alive at dusk, and generosity abounds in the most surprising places. Evenings are for ghabgas - feasts with music and live entertainment. Some are organized solely for charities, some are occasions for staff to enjoy a good company-sponsored meal, and some are just corporate show-offs, boasting their dispensable income for the year. The variety is the most interesting bit: one night can contain haughty guests of honour, relaxed groups of ex-classmates bonding over years gone by, and total strangers (my personal favourite to come by). Some events have flashy raffles, and some have nothing but sweet traditional music played live under the stars. All in all, it’s a month to explore all the different facets of the country’s culture and ideas of celebration.
Come dawn, the place turns quiet as a mosque: sacred, clean, chandeliered in its piety. Work hours are shorter, traffic more chaotic, and naps are crucial. It’s when you really see the culture of Bahrain shine through, and a sense of community among people you may never meet again. And you’ll find this culture distilled, its purest form, far from the glittery galas studded through town.
The food that makes the best impression is rarely a hotel dinner (although I was lucky enough to eat the food of Anis Mouldi, pastry chef at Sofitel Bahrain Zallaq Thalassa Sea and Spa - the most mindblowing restaurant desserts I’ve had in a while) - divinity comes in the form of walnut and chocolate brownies made by a woman you know with a hundred more talents, or homemade tabbouleh happily assembled in a French villa hidden from view. It’s in the simple flavoured water made by a little girl adding sparkle to a family dinner, or a precious lemon loaf cake wrapped in brown paper and placed in your hands by someone who just heard you say you like lemons. The difference isn’t just kindness, or love - but the contact between cook and consumer. The relationship and stories that exist between the two. The fact that I know how many talents one brownie recipe holds within it, and the perfectionism that breeds within lemon and mint water. The thoughtfulness behind that one piece of lemon loaf cake.
It took me a while to put this into words that didn’t feel cliché, because I’ve spent most of my life outside of this kind of neighbourhood cooking. Growing up in Dubai as it grew to glamour meant that our typical lunch out included Maine lobsters prepared by French cooks in a restaurant owned by royalty. I never thought I’d be a little glad to skip out on a five course meal in favour of an IKEA bag of dark chocolate crinkles, but hey - never say never and always say thank you.
Wishing you food cooked by true friends,
Kaav.