Reviving the Flavors of My Heritage: A Journey Through Iraqi Cuisine
In a world where culinary traditions collide, I found myself at a crossroads, yearning to share the rich tapestry of Iraqi food with my son. My family’s connection to food is profound; it serves as both a heritage and a memory, crafted through generations. When my mother’s family made the arduous journey from Iraq in 1971, cramped with their most cherished belongings, they didn’t forget to pack not just any rolling pin, but two—symbolizing their dedication to the cuisine of their homeland.
The Legacy of Iraqi Cuisine
Growing up in England, my father’s stories of Baghdad street stalls filled my childhood with vivid images of samoon, a teardrop-shaped bread encasing the rich flavors of amba, a vibrant mango pickle. However, my father had left Iraq in 1951 during a mass airlift of the Jewish community. This made me an outsider in my own heritage, longing for a place I have yet to visit—especially now, when only three Jews remain in Iraq.
The recipes we brought with us became our lifeline, cultural anchors tossed in the turbulent sea of displacement. I still cherish memories of my grandmother’s kitchen, where I sat under a Formica table, meticulously pulling parsley for the beloved tabbouleh. As I prepared to become a mother, I envisioned transmitting this cultural legacy to my son—oh, how I hoped he would assist me in the kitchen and revel in these flavors just as I did.
Cooking as Cultural Connection
I dreamed of introducing him to an array of dishes: vividly green tabbouleh, the flavorful ingriyi—fried aubergine layered with spiced meat—and the delightful tbeet, thoughtfully prepared overnight for Sabbath. I even imagined serving him kitchri, a sumptuous blend of rice, lentils, and spices that would coax out an “ashteedek” (long live your hands) in our Judeo-Iraqi Arabic.
Yet, life had other plans. The first obstacle came wrapped in the guise of a dietary preference. To my dismay, my son resisted the very foods I’d loved—hummus, yogurt, even soup were off his list. His strong aversion felt like a personal affront to my culinary heritage; he preferred fish fingers and cheddar over any Middle Eastern dish.
Navigating the Taste Buds of a Child
As I attempted to enhance his culinary repertoire, I encountered a familiar struggle. Despite my desperation, the more I pushed, the more he recoiled. My beloved lentil soup, rich in spices, was met with complaints about “bits.” I tried to smooth it out, remove ingredients, and even disguise flavors, but to no avail.
We’ve all heard of picky eaters, but who knew I’d fall into the trope myself? Each attempt at crafting a flavorful dish felt like a recounting of my own childhood—a time when I, too, traded my vibrant lunch for the safety of white bread and cream cheese to escape the teasing from classmates.
Rediscovering Flavors Together
Despite these culinary setbacks, hope glimmered as I noticed certain foods he embraced. Dates became a staple; the sticky sweetness of date syrup from Basra poured generously over pancakes, while pomegranate seeds caught his eye when served in a playful treasure chest.
His affinity for watermelon, however, brought its share of confusion. In a surreal encounter, a stranger once chastised me for allowing my son to indulge in such “exotic” fruit. Her outrage left me baffled, yet it ignited a resolve within me to connect Iraqi and English food, proving they are far from mutually exclusive.
The Breakthrough: Embracing Heritage
As time passed, my mother’s superior culinary skills drew my son towards Iraqi flavors. Familiar delicacies like ajjat b’jeben (spicy cheese omelets) and kubba, a dish I always feared he would reject, piqued his interest. To my astonishment, he devoured twelve kubbas in one sitting, proclaiming it as his new favorite.
This moment marked a transition, not just in his palate but in our connection to heritage. The sheer joy he expressed as he chronicled his newfound love for kubba signaled a deeper understanding—a heartfelt appreciation for where he comes from.
Sharing the Flavors of Heritage
When my son shared makhboose—the sweet, date-stuffed pastries—with his schoolmates, I felt immense pride. It revealed he wasn’t merely embracing food; he was immersing himself in a story, weaving a lineage of flavors that connected his present to generations past.
As his laughter echoed in our kitchen, reigning over a messy expanse of dough and dates, I felt the stitches of our heritage being sewn into the fabric of his life. My heart swelled with love and belonging as he savored each bite, reassuring me that our culinary traditions would thrive, even in the hands of future generations.
In the words of our culture, “awafi!”—to your health! Here’s to the journey we’ve taken together and to the many flavors that await in the kitchen of life.
Samantha Ellis is the author of Chopping Onions on My Heart: On Losing and Preserving Culture. This exploration of heritage through cuisine showcases how our culinary past shapes our future, one dish at a time. To explore more about preserving cultures through cooking, consider reading here.
