Our Food Stories

My first time eating french toast was the first time I cried over food. The warm bread covered in syrup was incredible to me, and I swear I'd never eaten something so good. Most importantly, it was the first thing I cooked with my grandpa. now , every time i eat it, i cant help but think of him

A food that tastes like home for me are my mom’s homemade fajitas. The meal has been a constant in my life working as a symbol of reliability. Growing up to now graduating high school, the smell of fajitas continue to be a reminder of love and commitment in my life.

Hot steamy gumbo always connects me back to home. Maybe its the rich taste of the roux that reminds me of my fav restaurant, Rice & Roux. Or perhaps its the juicy sausages, chicken and shrimp that reminds me of Louisiana’s bayous. Gumbo takes me back when I was known as a Baton Rouge girl.

I love the taste of an iced latte from a local cafe. No matter the flavor, the drink feels like a comfort, sweetly fueling me. It stays with me for hours, lacing my memory of the day with a lush bittersweetness. A symbol of determination and growth, it reminds me to appreciate every moment of life.

I love popcorn. Especially It's so buttery and yummy and my family and I are avid movie watchers, in fact, that is the only way we connect. Over indian and American movies.

I love how the warm, gooey insides of pupusas contrast with the sharp, acidic taste of the curtido. The taste revives memories of gratitude circles, growing up, and germinating friendships.

My grandma used to make lefse for holidays with my whole family, and now it represents my love for her and our culture. Now, tasting the somewhat bland wrap with sugar, lemon, chocolate, or butter transports me back to my Norwegian roots of magnificent memories.

A sweet food memory I have is making butter balls with my grandma. When I was little, we made these sweet cookies with pecans rolled in powered sugar. We mixed mushy dough into crumbly confections. The cookies taste great but my favorite part of them are my memories of making them with my grandma.

The best meal I’ve ever had wasn’t at a restaurant; it was in a tiny apartment in Cairo, at a crowded family table, where laughter rose like steam, and every plate carried more than food. Koshary, a chaotic blend of rice, lentils, chickpeas, and pasta, mirrors the richness of my Egyptian heritage.