Our Food Stories

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.

Dewey's Pizza is my connection to my life in Cleveland. My family's Dewey's obsession started a fantastically fun field trip in Pre-K, in which our classes got to explore the magic of pizza making. Now, every time we order pizza for dinner, it's like a little hug from my Pre-K pizza-making self.

A food that tastes like home to me is burnt bread. It is crisped brown with black burns on the edges. I grew up eating this bread with my grandpa. It is a symbol of respect towards my great grandma who fled her home and burnt her bread to conserve food during a time of hardship

Growing up, we had a small apple orchard on our property. When the trees were heavy with apples, before the wasps could invade, we'd pick them, cut the bad spots off, and give them to my mother for her apple cobbler - a simple recipe that I still use when I have a glut of fresh autumn apples.

My mom has been heating up Campbell's canned chicken noodle soup on the stove for me and my sister for forever - the plain kind with no vegetables, just small cubes of chicken and noodles. The savory smell of the salty broth tastes like home. Whenever we have it together we are little kids again.

French silk pie tastes like home to me. My mother makes it each Christmas in honor of my Nana who passed. We make the pie together, enjoying each step and helping my mom feel connected to her mother along the way. It is so wonderful how food can connect the past to the present. How is it so magical?

When I lived in Toronto, I was initially not a fan of butter tarts, but the more my sister ate them, the more they started whispering to me to try. The sweet scent of the gooey butter filling mixed with the flaky tart base just spoke to me. Now, when I eat them, it's as if I were back in Toronto.

My grandma's podi rice balls are like a warm hug. Those delicious treats were symbols of her love, each one made with maximum effort and care. It was a dinner I always looked forward to, not only because of the tasty food, but because of my grandma's comforting presence right next to me.