I entered the kitchen to check on our dinner, hopeful that my mother remembered to adjust the burner on each of our 6 meals. To my surprise, the Tunisian roast was just done. Egyptian Falafels seemed ready, but according to my sister, it needed more cooking. The Libyan couscous unfortunately burned. “We could just dump the bad stuff and save the rest,” said my uncle Sam. He kept on insisting that some of it was still edible. It was a mess though, and I disagreed: “let’s just stay away from it,” I said. The Bahraini risotto was boiling. It was made up of two kinds of rice, that didn’t seem to mix well. The Yemeni soup was burning hot, the bits of foods shooting from the pot seemed surreal, like signs from another world sending us a message about imminent times and new beginnings. As for the Moroccan Tagine, it was simmering, and tickling our appetite…
Don’t even ask about the recipe for this Mideast cuisine. It’s secret. In fact, no one really knows how to make it, except everyone knows that the recipe does exist somewhere on the Internet, Facebook, or Twitter, but, people are still googling to find out how to make it the right away.
Some of the ingredients could be smelled from faraway: a lot of corruption sauce, a few cups of poverty, and roasted unemployment. Funny enough the only flavor that stuck out the most was the tiny bit of hope seeds and b-leave (believe) added to the mixture. I could swear someone added a good drop of confidence in Morocco, Egypt, and Tunisia.
Yemen, Bahrain and Libya tasted kind of nutty though. I feel bad for Uncle Sam. His decision to save the Libyan meal left him with a bad indigestion.