In a large skillet, heat one tablespoon of olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the diced onion and salt and sauté for two to three minutes. Next, add garlic. Cook for two minutes. Add cumin, smoked paprika, chili flakes, cayenne pepper, and tomato paste, and sauté for two more minutes. Add the remaining tablespoon of olive oil. That’s the start.
These are the steps, the motions, that send flickering lights down a long hallway of memories—the many hands that have made this family dish, the many kitchens where Amanda Arafat has seen shakshuka prepared. The bloom of spices sends the lighter parts of her consciousness to these tender moments of the past, connecting generations in the way that only this combination can.
But it’s different this time.
This time, it’s a class. A brightly lit storefront with floor-to-ceiling windows facing a darkened street. Students in matching aprons. Ingredients pre-measured and sorted on trays. Stapled recipe printouts. Flat-screen televisions mounted on both sides of the long rectangle of a store-slash-teaching kitchen. As Amanda prods the spice mixture through the sizzling oil, a camera pointed at the stovetop broadcasts the image onto the screens, and the students at that night’s Middle Eastern breakfast class all watch, take mental notes, and wait for their chance to do the same.
Amanda effortlessly dices red bell pepper and tomato and adds them to the pan. Cranking up the gas burner, she stirs vigorously. The red mound deepens in color and releases its moisture. This posh setting in Northwest Arkansas feels worlds away from Gaza, from Cairo, from Tennessee, from Utah—places where she has connected with food and family. But these familiar steps and motions stir memories within her. Like how she and her siblings were often roused from their dreams on weekend mornings by the sound of garlic being pummeled in a mortar and pestle, or the whine of chickpeas passing through a meat grinder to become falafel. Or how nestling eggs in the sauce conjures her grandfather chastising his grandchildren “gently enough” for breaking etiquette and eating from the middle of the pan, rather than the sides. Gradually, these other kitchens take shape; the intimacy and warmth of past meals settles over the moment. In tonight’s class, however, there’s no talk about the present, and of all the people Amanda loves who populate her stories.
