I stumbled upon a wonderful blog and poem today.

Some of you may already be familiar with Ms. Maureen Abood's work. She cooks, photographs, and writes for her blog Rose Water & Orange Blossoms: Modern Musings on Lebanese cuisine, and has been published in the Washington Post and Chicago Tribune (among many others).

I have been a lover of cuisine from the Levant ever since I had my first bite of hummus and billowy pita, too many years ago to remember. That opened up new worlds for me; before then, I didn't know that I was missing these savory, fragrant, delicate, hearty and healthy foods from my life. The colors and flavors are utterly enticing, and I was hooked for good. Ms. Abood deftly captures the wonder inspired by the flavors of the food, but she does so much more than that. She gives us, in her lovely and moving prose, and through glimpses into her family's life, the history and the love that stands behind the dishes. It's a reminder of how deeply we are bound to each other and how food and love can transcend all. It's wonderful. 

I have been hungrily perusing her blog and recipes this afternoon. Her beautiful writing, recipes, and photos come together in what feels like a virtual hug. Good for the eyes, mind, and soul, and reading through her thoughtful recipes, good for the stomach and taste buds too!

These are some of the recipes I'm bookmarking:

Lebanese quick pickles

Kibbeh nayeh

Lebanese butter cookies

And of course, the poem:

In one of her posts, she refers to a poem - Kindness, by Naomi Shihab Nye - which touched me deeply. I am sharing it with you below. I hope it inspires you as much as it did me.

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

"Kindness" by Naomi Shihab Nye, from The Words Under the Words: Selected Poems