Not being able to speak a word of English, I was scared and alone. As a Lebanese immigrant in a predominantly white community in post-9/11 America, I was the target of relentless bullying. Although my parents were busier in Boston than they were in Amherst, my mother insisted that the family gather at the dinner table every night. Although it was important for us to sit together and discuss the day’s events and check in, my parents worked full time, so starting at age 10, I began helping make dinner.
I started with a small repertoire of chicken burgers, fettuccine and ravioli, and the occasional shawarma skewer. The bullying, the name-calling, the pressure to speak English without an accent all vanished when I rolled out Pillsbury pastry and made my own savory mini croissants. I stuffed them with sliced deli ham and cheese from Stop & Shop, topped them with sautéed mushrooms, and always finished them off with an egg, which is the finishing touch to a jacoo. The few times Odette and Jacoo came to visit my family in Boston, they wanted to keep the tradition going, and shared their cooking tips with me. With a notebook in hand, I learned how to make stuffed potatoes and whole chickens stuffed with rice and ground lamb. It’s a dish I’ll never forget. At one point, Odette yelled at me, “What, have you become a lazy American?” because I was trying to make her a liz-a-jej using Minute Rice instead of Jasmine Rice. I couldn’t help but laugh as I hid her unpleasant rice from her eyes.
For what seemed like a lifetime, I returned to Lebanon to visit my family at age 14. It was summer when I returned to Amfeh, and everything felt surreal. Memories I’d always cherished came flooding back to me: the beach, the grilled fish, the fries, the long journey to Aleppo, and that kibbeh nayeh. Except this time, I consumed not one, but two toshkas.
It felt amazing to speak Arabic and French all day after communicating only in English for five years. In the evenings, playing cards with Odette and Jacqueline, I tried to pry more recipes out of them. They kept their secrets, but I followed them into the kitchen anyway to watch. Leaving was never easy, but returning each summer was always a celebration. I clung to the memories of the food and often found my mouth watering at the thought of what my first meal would be once I landed in Beirut.
Middle school was boring. I was in ESL classes all day, the bullying was terrible, and I would rush home every day, grab a Diet Coke and Cheez-Its, and be glued to the TV at 4pm. The Oprah Winfrey ShowAs soon as that was done, I went into the kitchen and made everything I had dreamed of while at school.
By the time I reached high school, I was finally able to speak fluent English and my accent was starting to fade. I started to relax and discover my true self. When my high school cut culinary classes from the curriculum for budgetary reasons, I petitioned and started an after-school cooking club in the cafeteria. The students really participated, and the cooking club evolved into my cooking series broadcast on the local public access channel once a week, recorded in my kitchen.
I wanted to be a chef, cooking was a way to find myself and keep Lebanon alive in me.
excerpt Staying Up: Edy’s Grocer Celebrates Lebanese Tastes and Culture Used with permission from Harper. © 2024 Eddie Massi
