It all started with a drive-thru on a Tuesday. One of those weeks where everything ran late—school pickup, laundry, dinner plans—and I found myself in the McDonald’s parking lot with three hungry kids and exactly zero energy to cook. I…
I still remember the first time I grilled lamb chops. It was late spring, just after chilly days finally gave way to that first breath of warm evening air. We were gathered in the backyard, nothing fancy—just a folding table,…
It was late spring when I first made this salmon salad, and I remember the day vividly—not because it was particularly extraordinary, but because I was in one of those ruts where even my favorite dishes felt like chores. My…
There was a summer—maybe five or six years ago now—when Tuesdays became “Taco Bowl Tuesdays” in our house, not because we planned it that way, but because life sort of nudged us into the habit. My youngest had just started…
I still remember the first time I made Caprese stuffed chicken—it was a Tuesday, and my fridge was playing that old familiar trick: full of odds and ends but seemingly “nothing for dinner.” We’d just come home from a long,…
I first tasted Arayes in a tiny backyard gathering in Haifa, years ago, when I was still learning to trust myself in the kitchen. It was a warm, breezy evening—the kind that smells like olive trees and sea air—and someone…
The first time I made enchilada pasta, I had every intention of sticking to my meal plan. It was supposed to be chicken enchiladas that night—classic, comforting, the kind of dish I’ve made a hundred times. But then, the afternoon…
The first time I made garlic butter steak and potatoes, it wasn’t some grand occasion. It was a chilly Tuesday night, the kind where you’re hungry but don’t want to fuss too much, and all you really want is something…
Some of my favorite recipes have nothing to do with perfection. They’re born from a craving, a little trial and error, and a few lessons learned with sauce on my sleeves and charcoal on my hands. That’s exactly how this…
Some dishes don’t just fill the belly—they sit with you, long after the plate is clean. They remind you of who you shared them with, where you were in life, what the kitchen smelled like as they simmered. Birria tacos…