Tabbouleh

Today I made my first tabbouleh.

I am married to a Lebanese man, after all, it is in all honesty a bit of a travesty that it has taken me so long to give in. I can vividly imagine the face of many a Lebanese mama, going “haram…!” when learning that my poor husband does not get homemade tabbouleh every day. Haram, indeed.

The thing is, I like to think I’m a pretty decent cook. Not stellar, not fantastic, just overall pretty ok. But when you’re married to someone from a country with a cuisine as de-freaking-licious as Lebanon, and said spouse might not be very fond of the country as a whole but LOVES the food, and you yourself never even knew there was such a thing as Lebanese cuisine before you became acquainted with this man, then trying your hand at one of the signature dishes is SCARY. At least when anything else I make turns out different that originally planned, I can pretend it’s supposed to be like that.

Still, today was the day: I was going to make tabbouleh. With Fairuz in the background for mental support (although she probably only ever eats caviar and thinks tabbouleh is for peasants) and a whole lot of parsley in my shopping bag, it was really going to happen. I may never have made it before, but I sure have eaten it a lot, so I know what I like at least. I chopped the parsley almost to a pulp, because I hate it when the leaves are too big. I put a bit more mint than normal (because I love mint, who doesn’t?) and I only put half an onion since it was a very big one. Then, like magic, tabbouleh appeared! I like to think I did a pretty good job, let’s hope the husband agrees.

Next up: kibbeh. Eek.