A time when the proverb spoke of he whose mother kneaded never starved
A time when we would borrow a loaf of bread from the neighbors
A time when every family had a copper bowl for dough and leavening took time from year to year, not instant like today
A time when our bread was made from our own wheat flour and every neighborhood had a bakery; the dough was kneaded at night and shaped and leavened by morning
A time when they used to say that market bread, if not sold quickly, would dry out
A time when bread was ¾ local wheat flour and a quarter zero flour
A time when bread varieties were many, with taboon and home ovens, and on the sajj (metal cooking sheet) was shrak bread, any visitor to the bakery was explained and welcomed
A time when bakeries were spread across all neighborhoods taking a small fee for each dough or a penny for every tray of kofta or chicken with potatoes, and two pennies for each mold of cookies and ma’amoul engraved at home
A time when the aroma of local bread described as – moist and ‘explained’ from the bakery – was intoxicating, and we would pinch two or three loaves before reaching home
A time when local bread would arrive hot at homes and was covered with a cloth to prevent it from drying out
A time when, upon arrival of hot bread, we would spread it with country butter and a bit of sugar as our treat
A time when the smell of Eid pastries was overwhelming as they were sent to and from the bakery
A time when we would take our wheat to the mills and return dusty, our faces white with flour
A time when as kids, our mothers would bake each child a small round of bread and how happy we were with it
A time when the baker exhibited his art by spreading the dough and designing the bread loaf, making symphonic patterns before embedding his fingers for a unique design
A time when as women gathered at the oven, one among them would humor the baker around the circumference of a bread loaf
A time when there was a position called the oven’s helper who took the dough and returned it baked for a modest fee
A time when wheat sacks were sent to the mill on what was called the miller’s donkey, where the donkeys would carry these loads on their backs
A time when the winter provision was wheat boiled in barrels after cleaning or sieving, placed in water over firewood, and upon cooking spread on rooftops to sun-dry and then sent to the mills to turn into coarse and fine bulgur and semolina
A time when our grandmothers made couscous and also vermicelli and pasta from local hard wheat flour
A time when the arrival of the wheat harvest at the granaries had our grandmothers praying for good beginnings and fortunes, and upon the baking of hot bread loaves they would say – may it feed those who fed us and bless those who brought it
A time when people were simple, kind, genuine, and humble, not envying or taunting each other, knowing peers and their integrity
A time when camaraderie, mutual support, humanity, and pure love existed without any ulterior motives
A time when the wheat grinder, called ‘the millstone’, would be worked by all the village women
A strange time, O time... A time with no trust
Why do you separate hearts that walked a journey together and had promised each other joy as much as they rejoiced, and when approached, departed?
(The times didn't change; it is we who changed)
