Shahir Massoud - Eat, Habibi, Eat!: Fresh Recipes for Modern Egyptian Cooking

Copyright 2021 Shahir Massoud

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system without the prior written consent of the publisheror in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, license from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agencyis an infringement of the copyright law.

Appetite by Random House and colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House Llc.

Library and Archives of Canada Cataloguing in Publication is available upon request.

ISBN9780525610939

Ebook ISBN9780525610946

Cover and book design by Emma Dolan

Photography by Kyla Zanardi

Published in Canada by Appetite by Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC

www.penguinrandomhouse.ca

a_prh_5.6.1_c0_r1

This book is dedicated to my mom and dad, the two people who told me that my decision to drop everything to go to culinary school was reckless, ill-timed, and quite franklystupid. More importantly, they also told me that they would love and support me anyway.

when my parents left Cairo in 1974, in search of greater opportunities and a place to settle down and start a family, their hopes didnt include any future children becoming cooks. My mom was a pharmacist, and the goal was to find a country where she could get her professional credentials recognized so that she could practice. (This is a known, yet unexplained, phenomenon among Coptic Orthodox Egyptians: at least one in every three people must become a pharmacist. Theres even a pharmacy attached to one of the churches that my parents attend. And why not? Divine intervention and prescription rash creams, all under the same roof! Total relief for whatever ails you.) My dad had an agriculture degree from Cairo University and planned to figure out what to do depending on where they ended up.

After a few short-term stops in London and New York City, where the only apartment my parents could afford was in a borderline brothel in Queens, they made their way to Montreal and, eventually, Toronto. After a few years, my mom opened her own pharmacy, where she still works to this dayover 33 years later. Dad had a less direct career path. He opened a flower shop, a printing business, worked at Radio Shack, and even started a medical equipment business before finding his calling as a real estate agent. My parents shared a strong work ethic, resiliency, and an unwavering dedication to providing for their kids. And, to their minds, the most important provision was education.

The fundamental Massoud mission never wavered: go to school, work hard, get a good job. Simple as that. However, my fascination with cooking was sparked at a young age after I learned that basic ingredients could be transformed into a finished product that people would enjoy eating. The first thing I made was a humble Rice Krispies square, compliments of the recipe on the back of the box. Inspired by the rise of culinary television, I began making late-night snacks (usually just a grilled cheese sandwich or scrambled eggs) and talking quietly under my breath as I cooked, walking my imaginary audience through the steps. Inevitably, though, I grew up and went on to graduate from a prestigious business school with a degree in accounting.

After graduation, I found a job with a large accounting firm, suckered in by the lavish recruiting parties where countless people in suits preached the gospel of public accounting as a career. They painted quite a picture, constantly proclaiming, Accounting isnt what you think it is! Its dynamic! Whether it was my navet or my constant intoxication from these parties, I signed on with excitement. But, as you might suspect, it didnt take me long to realize that public accounting wasnt quite the high life that the recruiters had promised. No matter how much I tried to like it, I found it mind-numbingly dull, and I started to rebel. I neglected my assignments, disrespected my superiors, and ordered singing telegrams with alarming regularity. After one year, my boss was fed up and called me into his office.

After one year, my boss was fed up and called me into his office.

Shahir, we would like to terminate the relationship, he said matter-of-factly.

But I didnt know we were in a relationship! I said, squeezing in one last cheeky remark before security escorted me out.

Shahir, we would like to terminate the relationship, he said matter-of-factly.

But I didnt know we were in a relationship! I said, squeezing in one last cheeky remark before security escorted me out.

The same thing happened at the next firm.

During these years, the one saving grace was Sunday. Each Sunday, my roommate and I would head to a local market, grab some ingredients that looked tasty, and spend the day puttering around and cooking. Come dinnertime, wed put on some Sinatra and sit down to our feast. Sunday was the only time that I felt some sense of control over my existence, the only time my creative juices could flow and I could make something from what I had imagined. The meals were simple, but unknowingly, I was playing with basic and important cooking techniques: baking, roasting, steaming, marinating, etc. Each week, we tried a new ingredient, cooking tool, or presentation, and those dinners remain in my mind as some of the best meals Ive ever cooked or enjoyed eating. They were the fuel for an upcoming week that was otherwise drowning in spreadsheets and work binders, and they will always be one of my few fond memories from that period in my life.

I decided to tell the news like ripping off a Band-Aid.

Ive decided what to do next with my life. Im going to cook.

Like, for dinner? my dad asked.

No, for a living, I said.

For a living? My mom asked, genuinely not understanding.

As my months of unemployment wore on but my passion for cooking continued to grow, I had an epiphany. Even though I was just five months away from qualifying as a chartered accountant, I knew I couldnt pretend anymore. I was going to cook for a living, and that was that. The only hurdle that remained was the small issue of telling my parents.