There’s the juicy leg of lamb she marinates in a purée of onions, tomatoes, garlic, cinnamon, thyme, and olive oil, then expertly roasts and carves; the fattoush salad she puts together from pieces of toasted pita bread and the freshest tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, scallions, and whatever else she finds in the fridge; the macarona bil bechamel (a personal favorite), a casserole she builds with spaghetti, beef, and bechamel sauce that’s baked to golden brown perfection; and the buttery, crumbly ma’amoul cookies—prepared just before Eid, the post-Ramadan celebration—made from semolina flour, filled with sweet dates or nuts, and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Each of these recipes comes with a story: how my mother used to go to the local market with her brother as a child, picking up as many ingredients as they could carry; how she used to enjoy certain dishes at friends’ houses; or how she spent much of her time in the kitchen with her own mother, preparing meals for her dad and her nine other siblings.
