Ghraybeh - Arabic Shortbread Cookies

May the S be with you. Delicate, sweet, simple, and pretty.

Comfort Queen

Is there anything more comforting than stew? Peas, steak, and tomatoes simmering in cinnamon and garlic, seated atop a steaming bowl of Arabic rice.

Pretty Eats

It was for my sister. So it was worth it. All that fretting over the cheese dough. The hack of shredding fruit roll ups for rose hips. Beauty takes time.

Little Things

It takes that extra minute. Well, maybe four minutes if you’re me. To put the hatchmarks on the hummus. Dip the fork in oil, then dip it in sumac or paprika. Make the hatch mark. Wipe off the fork. Repeat. Some things are worth it.

Cooking with Love

Today I’m thinking of my cookbook. I have been working on it for two years now, and when my mom comes over, she says, “You’re always cooking!”

“Yeah, I cook a lot, mom!” I say.

“You have two desserts [poundcake and peach tart] right there! You bake so much! You never stop baking,” she says.

“I do never stop,” I say.

“I don’t like baking anymore! Probably because nothing ever comes out.”

Sometimes my sister Sarah teases my mom and tells her that you have to cook with love or else your dish won’t come out. My mom thinks this is nonsense, and I used to, too.

But it is true. Just like people have to be worth your time for you to fall in love with them, cooking has to be worth your time for anybody to fall in love with the results.

I don’t need to cook for a person I love. Sometimes I cook or bake, then stand outside on my porch and see if someone shows up. Sometimes our cute indie girl neighbors drive up in their white Honda Fit, and I hoist my goods off on them.” Sometimes Mary comes up from the garden apartment, and I give her muffins or bread or cakes (no Lebanese food for Mary). Sometimes we see the other Mary, the 80-plus-year-old former art teacher, who we share a yard with, and I send my husband over with ribs or a part of a roast chicken.

“Let’s admit it, he’s hot,” Mary says of my husband.

Today is one of those days where everything is synching up. I made a salad with big pickles, little pickles, pickled turnips, onions, an heirloom tomato, softboiled eggs, a crack of pepper, a squeeze of lemon. I walked outside and the weather was perfect, that kind of infinity pool weather where there’s no difference between the temperature inside and outside. I watched my dog dig a den to sit in, dirt spraying everywhere, but then it was too deep, so she splayed on the ground next to it.

I ran to St. Mary’s thrift, and I bought an off-white hefty gravy boat; an oval platter; two wire bread baskets; silk purple orchids; a painting of blue, purple, and yellow owls; a bottle painted gray with a green bird standing on a bicycle seat with musical notes above his beak, and his assumed girlfriend, a pink bird watching from a high birdhouse, hearts above her head.

Usually I don’t let myself buy many things. I think the total was 7 dollars. Still. If I can’t see myself plating it, stuffing it, or hanging it, it stays where it is.

That Meal

Sometimes you have that meal—so simple, so colorful, it gets burned into memory. I shared a similar meal with my best friend, Spanish, in Spain, poolside, on holiday, August. Giant rectangular platter. 10 of us eating together and a long rectangular table. It struck me as so easy and perfect. Nespresso afterward, lungo.

Bread-Making Classes

I am going to start to give Syrian (pita) bread-making classes on Saturdays, 1001 Washington Street, Michigan City, Indiana, 46360, in the Artists’ District. The pilot classes will be two hours long, from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m., and I will be teaching how to make Syrian bread dough and Syrian bread—from proofing the yeast, to kneading the dough, to rising, shaping, rolling, and baking. You will bring home freshly baked loaves. The classes would be very small, four people, and cost $30 to cover the cost of the ingredients. Let me know! (You can also bring wine! Haha.)

Growing up in Michigan City in the 70s, I had never heard of the term pita bread. My family always called it Syrian bread. That was what Syrian-Lebanese people in my city called it, and they still do. On this site, I’ll use the phrase Syrian bread because store-bought pita is not exactly a clean substitute for my family’s Syrian bread. If you think of bread on a spectrum with Greek pita bread being at one end, and Indian naan at the other, my family’s bread is much closer to naan in color and texture. It is white, soft, pillowy, and made with milk—but where naan is a flatbread, Syrian bread has a pocket. It opens and you can stuff it full of anything your heart desires. 

If you tend to be intimidated by making bread, you shouldn’t be. The first time I made it, it came out great. And like my mom always says, “Life isn’t perfect.” If one of your loaves doesn’t open all the way, nobody will notice. They’ll be too busy eating.