Yeah, so some of my best friends are Lebanese. Yeah so he’s not all that great at ping-ping. And so he needs to use the hand break to move a car with a clutch stopped on a hill. But we love him. And we love his mum. When she comes to town, you learn how to cook for many, hungry people.
She cooks dish after dish of Lebanese yummidom that makes you sit back in your seat, loosening your buttons while giggling or singing. I’m not sure why I have a fear of leftovers, but tonight I tapped into my inner Lebanese mama and cooked a whole lotta meatballs. The kids munched and munched. We giggled. We sang. I think I’m going to arrive here again. Food, it ties a room together.