Because the book, Soup for Syria will include soup recipes... I invite you to share yours. My friend Tina and collaborators of Slow Food Beirut and I are going to test all recipes and feed the needy in Hamra during the Slow Food Earth Market on Tuesday. Eventually, we will take the giant casserole to the camps to give warm bowls to the children to show we care ...
The producers of the Earth Market have already shared their recipes. We will start testing them next week. If we all do a small effort, we can conquer hatred!
"Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth"
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Soup for Syria
Today is the 25th of December 2013. Looking back at this year in a glimpse, I can say it’s been hard—all is relative of course. In my bubble, there’s been turmoil. I’ll spare all personal details and explain my objective for this next project "Soup for Syria". When you feel imprisoned in your own country, something is definitely wrong. It’s been building up for a while—two years precisely, but who’s counting. During that time, I did have the opportunity to finish my third book on foods of my country, but still have not felt a great feeling of accomplishment. As one grows older and wiser, the focus of one’s life diverts. I will explain. I am a free spirit who needs to roam, to look for adventure, to seek humanity, to leave a trace, to help others. I’ve missed this for a while and it’s eating me up inside. Today, on this special day, on the day of the birth of one the most influential person, the man we call the son of man, the son of God, I’ve made an important decision. I shall liberate myself from the psychological fear and prison I’ve set up for myself, in spite of any danger I may encounter. I’m not scared, I’m always guided by the ultimate being—he leads me to wonderful places, where people smile, eat, love and pray. I’m free. I have the courage. I will start my journey tomorrow.
I call my son from his sleep. We must not be late. I’m so excited to take my car and leave far from Beirut and meet those who are suffering from this terrible war in Syria. I want to be their voice and shout, “HELP”! Why the Syrian refugees, for they are the poorest and meekest in our country today. I am apolitical—never think about this leader or another. I’ve never been involved in any political party here or anywhere in the world. I adhere only to good people with good intentions who live for others instead of for themselves.
I want to photograph children and give them a light of hope. I want to make a difference somehow. Today, my girls have camp with their friends in the Girl Scout movement at school. They will sleep in a camp for two days. I take them, kiss them farewell and head to the Bekaa valley. I’ve always had a weakness for that specific region in Lebanon. My son is sleepy in the car, but also excited to share this adventure. I call the woman whom I have been referred to—she will bring me to the refugee camp sites. I feel a bit scared. Will they kidnap me on the road? Will they take away my camera? God forbid I’ve saved up for years to get all this equipment. What if they hurt my son? All doubts vanish as I head towards my destination. I call Maria, a sweet woman from Nabatieh who has been working as a social aid for years in a NGO called Beyond. Her voice is very hospitable and reassuring. We have never met. She tells me to meet her at Mc Donald’s on the main highway in Zahleh. I start joking with my son, the irony of it all—Mc Donald’s! Oh well Mc Donald’s it is.
She arrives minutes later with a man called Turkey, a war refugee. Maria and I hug and kiss and immediately head towards the first camp. My heart aches, it’s not easy to witness such conditions of life. The people are welcoming. The children laugh, sing, joke, scream—like all children all over the world. I understand their language, I’m one of them. They know that, I’ve always had complicity with children. It’s a gift. I intend to use it to make a difference. I speak to Maria to explain my intentions. My aim is simple, “I want to send a message to the world that this is WRONG. People should not endure such conditions of life in 2013/2014.” I want to be their voice, to photograph their soul. It can be done, I know. I’m introduced to a university student from Baalbeck whose name is Fatima. She has been coming to the camps for months. She knows most of the families. She shares their worries, she shares their pain. She explains to me their conditions of life. It’s hard to listen and not cry. I won’t. I hide my pain. My son jokes with the children and photographs them. I’m proud of him. I listen attentively to each one. There are so many complaints. The water is polluted. Each child has a medical problem. The weather does not help. Lebanon is going through a tough winter. They heat themselves in tents with a “sobiah”. Instead of wood for fuel, they use plastic to burn. It makes a terrible stench, polluting the environment and makes children and adults even sicker—many suffer from bronchitis. Medicine is scarce. One little girl opened her mouth to show me her two cavities. It’s a lot to take in. I’m overwhelmed. How can I help all these people?
We head to another camp. I follow a van full of clothes that UNICEF is distributing to families. I see the look of mothers as they receive their packages. It’s rewarding but makes you want to cry at the same time. The children don’t understand what is happening. They are scared when they see so many foreign people all at one. An elderly mother cries the death of her son, while she shows us his passport with the photos of his children. They look like little angels. It is surprising to see how many Syrian children are blond with mesmerizing light blue eyes. I continue towards the other families. I must hear all their stories. I promise them no money, no food, no products—I promise them only to portray their pain through words and pictures. That’s what I know. I explain to them had I been a barber, I would have given them all a free haircuts. They smile. They start to understand.
I leave late afternoon satisfied. The road will be long—not the one I’m taking home, but the one to accomplish some sort of documentation which will make an impact. I won’t give up until it’s done. Too much is at stake. Proceeds from the book will help to build the refugees a kitchen so they can cook healthy meals for their families. Maria warns me not to get involved emotionally because it affects one’s life. I’m willing to take the chance. I’m heading back tomorrow. I will hear testimonials, words, take plenty of photographs. I’m not imprisoned anymore… I’m free.
I call my son from his sleep. We must not be late. I’m so excited to take my car and leave far from Beirut and meet those who are suffering from this terrible war in Syria. I want to be their voice and shout, “HELP”! Why the Syrian refugees, for they are the poorest and meekest in our country today. I am apolitical—never think about this leader or another. I’ve never been involved in any political party here or anywhere in the world. I adhere only to good people with good intentions who live for others instead of for themselves.
I want to photograph children and give them a light of hope. I want to make a difference somehow. Today, my girls have camp with their friends in the Girl Scout movement at school. They will sleep in a camp for two days. I take them, kiss them farewell and head to the Bekaa valley. I’ve always had a weakness for that specific region in Lebanon. My son is sleepy in the car, but also excited to share this adventure. I call the woman whom I have been referred to—she will bring me to the refugee camp sites. I feel a bit scared. Will they kidnap me on the road? Will they take away my camera? God forbid I’ve saved up for years to get all this equipment. What if they hurt my son? All doubts vanish as I head towards my destination. I call Maria, a sweet woman from Nabatieh who has been working as a social aid for years in a NGO called Beyond. Her voice is very hospitable and reassuring. We have never met. She tells me to meet her at Mc Donald’s on the main highway in Zahleh. I start joking with my son, the irony of it all—Mc Donald’s! Oh well Mc Donald’s it is.
She arrives minutes later with a man called Turkey, a war refugee. Maria and I hug and kiss and immediately head towards the first camp. My heart aches, it’s not easy to witness such conditions of life. The people are welcoming. The children laugh, sing, joke, scream—like all children all over the world. I understand their language, I’m one of them. They know that, I’ve always had complicity with children. It’s a gift. I intend to use it to make a difference. I speak to Maria to explain my intentions. My aim is simple, “I want to send a message to the world that this is WRONG. People should not endure such conditions of life in 2013/2014.” I want to be their voice, to photograph their soul. It can be done, I know. I’m introduced to a university student from Baalbeck whose name is Fatima. She has been coming to the camps for months. She knows most of the families. She shares their worries, she shares their pain. She explains to me their conditions of life. It’s hard to listen and not cry. I won’t. I hide my pain. My son jokes with the children and photographs them. I’m proud of him. I listen attentively to each one. There are so many complaints. The water is polluted. Each child has a medical problem. The weather does not help. Lebanon is going through a tough winter. They heat themselves in tents with a “sobiah”. Instead of wood for fuel, they use plastic to burn. It makes a terrible stench, polluting the environment and makes children and adults even sicker—many suffer from bronchitis. Medicine is scarce. One little girl opened her mouth to show me her two cavities. It’s a lot to take in. I’m overwhelmed. How can I help all these people?
We head to another camp. I follow a van full of clothes that UNICEF is distributing to families. I see the look of mothers as they receive their packages. It’s rewarding but makes you want to cry at the same time. The children don’t understand what is happening. They are scared when they see so many foreign people all at one. An elderly mother cries the death of her son, while she shows us his passport with the photos of his children. They look like little angels. It is surprising to see how many Syrian children are blond with mesmerizing light blue eyes. I continue towards the other families. I must hear all their stories. I promise them no money, no food, no products—I promise them only to portray their pain through words and pictures. That’s what I know. I explain to them had I been a barber, I would have given them all a free haircuts. They smile. They start to understand.
I leave late afternoon satisfied. The road will be long—not the one I’m taking home, but the one to accomplish some sort of documentation which will make an impact. I won’t give up until it’s done. Too much is at stake. Proceeds from the book will help to build the refugees a kitchen so they can cook healthy meals for their families. Maria warns me not to get involved emotionally because it affects one’s life. I’m willing to take the chance. I’m heading back tomorrow. I will hear testimonials, words, take plenty of photographs. I’m not imprisoned anymore… I’m free.
 |
| Children of War |
 |
| Beauty |
 |
| I exist |
 |
| A Father's Suffering |
 |
| A Grandmother's Struggle |
 |
| Blue Eyes |
 |
| Maria's Philosophy |
 |
| Shy |
 |
| Almost a Woman |
What
I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This
rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for
the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder,
because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty
better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the
world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the
great man is he who, in the midst of the crowd, keeps with perfect
sweetness the independence of solitude. - Ralph Waldo Emerson from "Self-Reliance"
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
‘Mezze’: A comprehensive invitation to try your hand at Lebanese cooking
Here is an article on the Mezze Book, published in the Daily Star.
November 29 2013.
By Beckie Strum
BEIRUT: Barbara Abdeni Massaad took an unorthodox approach to her most recent cookbook, “Mezze: A Labor of Love,” by replacing photographs of the well-known dips, salads and finger foods with colorful illustrations. “If a single image could define our unique culture and heritage,” Massaad writes, “it would certainly depict an over sized table groaning with small, colorful plates of food, surrounded by happy people caught in the act of socializing and sharing a meal.”
Massaad and “Mezze” illustrator Pascale Hares launched the book Thursday evening at Falamanki restaurant in Sodeco, with women lined up from the minute the two sat down to sign copies of the guide to Lebanon’s most iconic foods.
This is Massaad’s third English-language Lebanese cookbook. She’s written on traditional baked goods in “Man’oushe: Inside the Street Corner Lebanese Bakery,” and preserves in “Mouneh: Preserving Foods for the Lebanese Pantry.”
The whimsical illustrations – kibbeh akras with eyelashes and smiles, a young woman sleeping in a pile of okra, silly speech bubbles containing local slang – in a way reflect Massaad’s approach to teaching mezze.
Rather than preach the correct way to make each dish, every recipe comes with a caveat or two: You can replace this for that, she writes; or in the south, they do it this way; and of course, some use pomegranate molasses instead of lemon juice.
The pictures offer abstract representations of the food and the genial spirit in which it’s eaten without obliging readers to duplicate from a photograph. The words together with the pictures accommodate the varying nature of mezze and strip the ego out of Lebanese cooking – the arrogance that proclaims one regional variation to be the real one.
For her fattoush recipe, for example, Massaad says the beauty of the salad is that it can be made from whatever vegetables are available and in season. She invites cooks to fry or bake their Arabic bread for the croutons.
Wherever she can, she offers people options and tries to incorporate as many variations as she can.
The raw meat section contains seven different recipes, all of which she says can be made with lamb, beef or goat. And the topping options on her hummus read like the fine print in a car owner’s manual: beef tenderloin, lamb tenderloin, basterma, sujuk, fried pine nuts, awarma, more chickpeas and on and on.
That’s not to say Massaad doesn’t divulge her favorites. She explains her affinity for muhammara, a red pepper and walnut dip from Aleppo, and her love of kibbeh orfalieh, which originated in Turkey.
And though accommodating of regional tastes, when it comes to flavor she urges readers to heed her advice. For example, she insists eggplant should never be cooked in the oven to make baba ghannouj – chargrill it on the stove top and remove the seeds, which can produce a bitterness.
Mezze also defies the standard recipe design that separates the ingredients from the method in tidy uniform layout. Thus, she puts emphasis on thoroughly reading her words, which are littered with crucial tips that will make the difference between passable and superb mezze.
She predicts the nuanced challenges her readers might face and divulges tips that only seasoned cooks have learned – the kind of advice for which those of us who don’t have Lebanese tetas crave.
So what are some of these secrets? To make hummus smooth, for example, most big producers have heavy machinery to give it that buttery consistency. To do it at home, Massaad suggests pulverizing the chickpeas first in the food processor and then moving them to the blender, where the other ingredients are added.
Similarly, did you know that at Sahyoun, arguably Beirut’s most famous falafel makers, the owners use only fava beans? Massaad offers a recipe that mixes fava beans and chickpeas.
The book is realistic and reflects what one actually finds on the table. She includes Lebanese-style French fries, which are not age-old local fare but are part and parcel of today’s mezze spread. She also incorporates Armenian mezze that were brought to Lebanon relatively recently, but which she says are here to stay.
Massaad gives a nod to chefs that have remained true to their heritage while moving recipes forward. And she presents the lessons she’s learned not as a monologue on mezze done right, but as a dialogue in which she invites readers to participate – readers that she knows will come with their own culinary baggage.
“Food preparation is never about a strict set of rules,” she writes. “Cooking is personal, meaning that the character and personality of the cook should be evident in the final outcome.”
Read more: http://www.dailystar.com.lb/Culture/Lifestyle/2013/Nov-29/239443-mezze-a-comprehensive-invitation-to-try-your-hand-at-lebanese-cooking.ashx#ixzz2mOI7KLox
November 29 2013.
By Beckie Strum
BEIRUT: Barbara Abdeni Massaad took an unorthodox approach to her most recent cookbook, “Mezze: A Labor of Love,” by replacing photographs of the well-known dips, salads and finger foods with colorful illustrations. “If a single image could define our unique culture and heritage,” Massaad writes, “it would certainly depict an over sized table groaning with small, colorful plates of food, surrounded by happy people caught in the act of socializing and sharing a meal.”
Massaad and “Mezze” illustrator Pascale Hares launched the book Thursday evening at Falamanki restaurant in Sodeco, with women lined up from the minute the two sat down to sign copies of the guide to Lebanon’s most iconic foods.
This is Massaad’s third English-language Lebanese cookbook. She’s written on traditional baked goods in “Man’oushe: Inside the Street Corner Lebanese Bakery,” and preserves in “Mouneh: Preserving Foods for the Lebanese Pantry.”
The whimsical illustrations – kibbeh akras with eyelashes and smiles, a young woman sleeping in a pile of okra, silly speech bubbles containing local slang – in a way reflect Massaad’s approach to teaching mezze.
Rather than preach the correct way to make each dish, every recipe comes with a caveat or two: You can replace this for that, she writes; or in the south, they do it this way; and of course, some use pomegranate molasses instead of lemon juice.
The pictures offer abstract representations of the food and the genial spirit in which it’s eaten without obliging readers to duplicate from a photograph. The words together with the pictures accommodate the varying nature of mezze and strip the ego out of Lebanese cooking – the arrogance that proclaims one regional variation to be the real one.
For her fattoush recipe, for example, Massaad says the beauty of the salad is that it can be made from whatever vegetables are available and in season. She invites cooks to fry or bake their Arabic bread for the croutons.
Wherever she can, she offers people options and tries to incorporate as many variations as she can.
The raw meat section contains seven different recipes, all of which she says can be made with lamb, beef or goat. And the topping options on her hummus read like the fine print in a car owner’s manual: beef tenderloin, lamb tenderloin, basterma, sujuk, fried pine nuts, awarma, more chickpeas and on and on.
That’s not to say Massaad doesn’t divulge her favorites. She explains her affinity for muhammara, a red pepper and walnut dip from Aleppo, and her love of kibbeh orfalieh, which originated in Turkey.
And though accommodating of regional tastes, when it comes to flavor she urges readers to heed her advice. For example, she insists eggplant should never be cooked in the oven to make baba ghannouj – chargrill it on the stove top and remove the seeds, which can produce a bitterness.
Mezze also defies the standard recipe design that separates the ingredients from the method in tidy uniform layout. Thus, she puts emphasis on thoroughly reading her words, which are littered with crucial tips that will make the difference between passable and superb mezze.
She predicts the nuanced challenges her readers might face and divulges tips that only seasoned cooks have learned – the kind of advice for which those of us who don’t have Lebanese tetas crave.
So what are some of these secrets? To make hummus smooth, for example, most big producers have heavy machinery to give it that buttery consistency. To do it at home, Massaad suggests pulverizing the chickpeas first in the food processor and then moving them to the blender, where the other ingredients are added.
Similarly, did you know that at Sahyoun, arguably Beirut’s most famous falafel makers, the owners use only fava beans? Massaad offers a recipe that mixes fava beans and chickpeas.
The book is realistic and reflects what one actually finds on the table. She includes Lebanese-style French fries, which are not age-old local fare but are part and parcel of today’s mezze spread. She also incorporates Armenian mezze that were brought to Lebanon relatively recently, but which she says are here to stay.
Massaad gives a nod to chefs that have remained true to their heritage while moving recipes forward. And she presents the lessons she’s learned not as a monologue on mezze done right, but as a dialogue in which she invites readers to participate – readers that she knows will come with their own culinary baggage.
“Food preparation is never about a strict set of rules,” she writes. “Cooking is personal, meaning that the character and personality of the cook should be evident in the final outcome.”
 |
| Falamanki Book Launch / Beckie Strum |
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Le mezzé à la manière de Barbara Abdeni Massaad
Article of L'Orient le jour, Carla Henoud has captured the essence of my work and of my being. I am very grateful!
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Mezze: A Labor of Love
 |
| The cover of Mezze: A Labor of Love |
Why a book about Mezze?
Mezze is an obvious choice. It often defines our Lebanese cuisine all over the world and is definitely something to boast about. Julie Andrieu, a French TV host who has traveled all over the world in her famous show "Fourchette et sac a dos" claims that the Lebanese mezze was one of the most interesting food experience she encountered while traveling over 80 countries. It's impressing! But we knew that!
On the 28th of November, at Falamanki in Beirut, we are launching Mezze: A Labor of Love. I want to thank Al Wadi al Akhdar for their support and encouragement to make this project possible. Falamanki has always showed support in my work and my soul lies in their cute "Dekeneh" with all those wonderful village products and artifacts.
There's over +70 recipes with beautiful illustrations. The book will be sold for 35 USD.
I hope that the launching will be success, in spite of the political instability and economical crisis and everything else going on.... God help Lebanon and neighboring countries, spare us from more bloodshed and suffering.
Peace. Let's create beautiful and positive things while we live on this earth.
Here are some exerts:
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| The Vegetable Basket |
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| Kebbeh Nayeh |
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| Beef Tongue |
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