Once Upon a Spice
A novel to be eaten with both hands
A Taste of the Story
Once Upon a Spice, simmers with the magic of inherited kitchens, where recipes carry the souls of women who stirred love into lentils and whispered prayers into rising bread. This is Levantine heritage made tangible, where the past seasons the present and each meal becomes a quiet séance with our ancestors.
A letter to my mother. A mezze of memory laid out for a heritage I once wrestled with.
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But do not mistake it for solemnity. Here, there is warmth—the unshakable pleasure of a perfectly ripened fig split open to reveal its crimson heart, the steam rising from za’atar-dusted bread fresh from the oven, the hush of an evening stretched long with mint tea and honeycomb. History has been full of feasts as well as famines. I would rather invite you to the table than leave you staring at the ruins.
A time-travel novel infused with magical
realism.
Once, saffron bloomed in a mother’s mortar, and stews were thick
with foraged grace. No one measured thyme or soaked chickpeas by
clock. This is the story of a kitchen remembered—where every
handful knew its place.
Flavour is a form of memory—the tongue forgets nothing sacred.