says. “I’d had all these achievements in my career, and I realized
that this was by far the most important moment.” From there,
something took root. Not diplomacy. Friendship.
A year later and here they are at Congdon’s Point,
architects of a collaborative holiday feast for their two
families. Kassis’ husband, Albert Muaddi, made the trip
with their kids, Hala and Yasmeen, plus his brother
Jawad with wife, Christine, and daughter Violet. Solomonov
brought his sons, David and Lucas, along with friends and col-
laborators: Dorothy Kalins, who produced his two cookbooks,
including the just-released Israeli Soul, and her husband, film-
maker Roger Sherman, who featured the chef in his 2016 docu-
mentary In Search of Israeli Cuisine.
It’s 9 a.m., but already the kitchen smells of lamb fat and
fenugreek, the perfume a heady contralto riff that intensifies
throughout the day. he five kids are chasing each other around
the house in an endless Tom and Jerry loop. “It’s corny to say
it, but even in moments when Reem and I disagree, seeing how
well our kids get along makes it hard to throw in the towel and
say this isn’t worth it,” says Solomonov. “Compromise is life;
that’s what we have to do.”
But for now it’s just about sharing counter space in the
kitchen, and there’s a lot of work to be done. Kassis is soaking
jasmine rice for hashweh, the grains suffused with her nine-
spice mix—the cinnamon bark and lacy blades of mace, the
coriander and cardamom. Solomonov is rubbing short ribs with
hawaij, a Yemenite spice blend of turmeric, cumin, and black
pepper, before sticking them in to roast with Kassis’ lamb. hey
work on the grape leaves together—stuffed collards, actually,
steamed in the Persian style, with cranberry juice instead of
pomegranate. “We wanted to make something that was both
Israeli and Palestinian, but also neither of those things,” Solo-
monov says. “his dish is what would happen if we dropped off
an Ottoman soldier in the American South.”
She drenches cheesy knafeh (shredded phyllo pie) in fragrant
orange blossom syrup. He cranks Beck’s Midnite Vultures and
rolls out dough for bourekas, savory pastries stuffed with sweet
potato and feta. It’s nearly dinnertime, and the lamb is resting, a
great glossy haunch on a mountain of hashweh rice. Solomonov
breaks off bubble-pocked shards of salty, sizzling fat to crunch
while he spoons spicy schug over those short ribs.
he clouds are hanging low over Gardiners Bay, filtering the
last of the daylight when Solomonov and Kassis bring their
showstopping meats to the long table. Kids are squirming; bel-
lies are grumbling. Platters are passed along, dishes are piled
high, and no one wonders who made what.
Two families around the table tonight. One shared home.For Reem Kassis, author of the cookbook e Palestinian Table,
the word starts with something like a sigh, “haahmus”—a lyrical,
open-throated hum in Arabic. he same word rumbles when it
comes from Michael Solomonov, the Israeli chef behind Zahav
in Philadelphia. “Chhhhummoooz,” he says, the Hebrew letter
heth catching on its way out. here’s a clucking of tongues, two
friends pinching a live wire. Is it a hum or a rumble? Palestinian
or Israeli? his, of course, will not be resolved today.
Kassis and Solomonov are tucked into a breakfast nook at
Congdon’s Point, a grand, rambling cabin occupying a notched
peninsula on New York’s Shelter Island. It would be glib to
say that it feels unlikely to find them at the same table this
morning, and maybe too small to say that it feels special. After
all, the flavors of their respective cultures may overlap, but
that’s a common thread pulled precariously taut. Tug a bit
and complicated questions emerge: Where did the culinary
traditions of the Middle East come from? How did they get
there? Where did they go next? Who owns them?
“he first time I ate at Zahav, I was a student at Wharton,”
remembers Kassis, who grew up in a Palestinian family in Jeru-
salem. “here was freekeh on the menu, something I missed
from home. I remember feeling frustrated that the best Pales-
tinian dish I ate in the U.S. was at an Israeli restaurant.” When
she released her cookbook last fall, she sent Solomonov a copy
with a note about the freekeh. “I think food is a way to have a
conversation where other things have failed,” she says of the
decision. “Food is a way to hold on to your identity, especially
when you are threatened. As Palestinians, when someone says,
‘You don’t exist,’ our food is something we can point to. It con-
nects us, and it ties us to our roots.”
Solomonov received the book the night before he was set
to deliver a speech about Israeli cuisine, and it changed his
perspective. “I could not look at this person and say, ‘It’s OK
for me to have independence as an Israeli, but you cannot,’” he
THERE’S SOME
DISCUSSION
ABOUT THE
PRONUNCIATION
OF
“HUMMUS.”
(PEOPLE) PROP STYLING: CARLA GONZALEZ-HART. (FOOD) FOOD STYLING: TORIE COX; PROP STYLING: HEATHER CHADDUCK HILLEGAS