Reclaiming

Whenever I am in San Carlos, I usually stop by their library.  They have a nice section of used books which they sell at a very low cost.  I do not always find something of interest, but I often do.  When I was there last week, I picked up a copy of the novel, Crescent, by Diana Abu-Jaber.  It looked to be an engaging tale, and I could not even argue with the price: $3.  I thought to myself that I might never get around to reading this novel, but I went ahead and bought it.  

 

This week, however, I found myself with a sore knee, and the routine of elevation and icing has taken up almost two full days.  While a bit frustrating for the dogs, this time has given me a chance to immerse myself in this novel, a story that weaves together love, ancient Middle Eastern recipes, poetry, an odd photographer, poignant tales of exile, strange stories told by a loving uncle, and more.  It has been so long since I have read a work of fiction that I am even hesitate to say, "This is a very good book."  I think it is, but sometimes after fasting, even the simplest piece of bread can seem particularly delicious.  I am reminded of a long afternoon into evening decades ago when I rented four movies, and watched them back to back.  Three of them I do remember at all, but the fourth, Babette's Feast, has long stayed with me. As night descended and the story continued, I did not even get up to turn on the light.  When the movie was over, I was amazed to find myself, not at Babette's table in Denmark, but rather sitting in a very dark apartment in Oakland.   

        

We humans are story tellers and story listeners, and I think it is important that we remember that - it is often stories that knit us into the fabric of culture, family, and tradition.  As a child, I was convinced that if we could imagine something, it must be happening somewhere, and that was of great comfort to me.  It meant anything was possible - maybe not right at that moment, but if one could just have patience...  

 

There is a recipe from the medieval book that she wants to try - an omelet fried in oil and garlic, a stuffing of crushed walnuts, hot green chili peppers, and pomegranate seeds.   She goes to the cabinets and the refrigerator and begins to work while her uncle sits at the table and opens his history of Constantinople.  She stands at the table, peeling and mincing onions, then fries the omelet lightly, turning it once, and its aroma is rich and complicated.  Then Sirine and her uncle sit together in the library and eat. 

 

The dish is sweet, tender, and so delicious that it's virtually ephemeral, the eggs dissolving in their mouths.  Sirine is hungry; she eats more than the she has in a single meal in over a year.  It's good - she can taste that.  For the first time in over year,she can taste her influence on the food.  She licks her fingers when she's done. Her uncle puts down his napkin, says, "Alhamdulillah, thanks be to God." Then he nods, points to the empty plate, and says, "The eggs have forgiven you."  (389).  

 

Thanks be to God.