Plate

For me, the Tabsil Attous is not just a dish. It is a living memory, something that returns every time I think of the sense of community and the weekends, when the aromas would begin to fill the house from early morning: the scent of meat with prunes, spiced lemon chicken, and freshly baked homemade bread.

The Tabsil Attous was always kept preserved in the living room cabinet, alongside my mother’s most precious tableware: round, in deep shades of blue and purple, with a majestic peacock at its center, decorated with gold. It was reserved for special occasions, used only when guests were invited.

At mealtime, it was placed right at the center of the table. I can still see the hands breaking the bread and dipping it into the marqa – such a simple gesture, yet for me, it already embodied the meaning of being together. And yet, a question stayed with me: why, in the West, is that same gesture – eating with one’s hands – often seen as something improper?

Even today, whenever I long for that feeling of togetherness, the Tabsil Attous simply cannot be missing.