Steak, potatoes and rice
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Food is another passion of mine — and as a
 traditional
Jew, the flavors
of the kosher kitchen feel woven into my own story.
They’re not just tastes; they’re memories, small echoes of
family
tables, holidays, and the quiet rituals that shaped me.
When I cook or sit down to eat, it feels like I’m touching something familiar
and warm, something that belongs to me. Every dish carries a bit of my past,
and I meet it with my whole heart.
Because of
my
Iraqi
roots, I had favism as a child and couldn’t eat fava
beans.
Now they’re one of my favorite foods. I soak them for
hours, cook them plain,
and eat them while watching movies,
getting up again and again to refill my bowl.
There’s something
soothing about their simplicity,
something that feels like reclaiming a part of myself I once had to avoid.
My greatest loves are meat and potatoes — French fries, roasted
potatoes,
cold potato salad with hot pita, shishlik, kebab, arayes,
steak.
These foods follow me through the day like old friends.
Sometimes I return to childhood memories with rice, lentils and
garlic,
or with the children’s games.
Games
—
I still play (not only) when nostalgia calls.
If I’m not cooking myself — something I genuinely love — I’ll treat myself to a
meal in a restaurant or grab a small bite in a café, usually a burger or
some other fast food.
But the moments that mean the most to me are with my children: making pizza
together in my kitchen, laughing, creating our own little chaos…
or gathering around my electric grill for a cozy bbq.
Those simple things feel like real togetherness.
Every Friday, for Shabbat, I buy the only green salad I truly love:
Fattoush.
Often I bring home maqluba as well, and sometimes I just
have malawach,
burekas or falafel. And when I eat shawarma, I enjoy it the
way I love most
— with hummus, fresh parsley, and onions tucked
inside the pita.
I never use salt or sugar, and my popcorn is always
pure.
I rarely eat sweets, except for cherry tomatoes,
dates
or coconut ice cream —
my small, regular indulgence.
To afford good meat, I need my
Work
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