I’m jet-lagged, and the last meal I’ve had—compliments of Air Austria—left a lot to be desired. My host mother sets down a piece of warm pita in front of me instead of a plate and demands that I eat. It’s one of the few Arabic words I know for sure, and I’m happy to oblige. I have no individual dish; instead, we all take turns dipping the bread into olive oil, yogurt, cheese, egg, za’atar, or hummus. When I don’t think I can fit any more inside of me, my host mother commands once more: eat!

While I was abroad last semester, Arab hospitality taught me to stop eating well before I was full because I would always be obligated to eat another few bites. And then dessert. And after that, tea or coffee, or, if I seemed indecisive, both.

Arab hospitality taught me a few other things as well. After a month into my stay in Amman, I felt awkward showing up to a friend’s home without Arab sweets. My measurements of olive oil in recipes progressed from “one tablespoon” to “liberal.” Dinners in the homes of those who had limited resources made me aware of what it meant to share a meal. I learned that hot tea with sage had the ability to fix stomachaches, bad days, headaches, and much more. And by example of my friends who placed their families before all else, I learned the importance of the community over the individual.

In Arab culture, nothing is done alone. Guidebooks would truthfully joke, “The concept of personal space is nonexistent.” The national dish of Jordan, mensaf, requires every person to eat out of the same dish with their hands. Dabke—an Arab folk dance—originated as a means to bring the community together to solidify the mud and sticks that make the roof of a house by jumping and stomping. It inevitably turned into a celebration and ultimately became a tradition. Every day, my visit to the market in Nablus resulted in questions regarding my home, my family, my extended family, my interests, and my Facebook. From the moment I engaged in business with someone, I was no longer allowed the luxury of being a stranger.

For many, being abroad can be a startlingly lonely experience, even when you are surrounded by people you know. However, everywhere I went, I met people trained in the art of sharing with and caring for one another.

I spent the month following my study abroad program teaching English in Nablus. With January came colder weather and tougher experiences. It was a month of offering countless cups of tea throughout the day and forgetting about coffee as it boiled over in the morning. I took it upon myself to learn to make some of my favorite Jordanian dishes for my housemates. Some were more successful than others. When I got it wrong, I’d be assured that there would be many more opportunities to get it right. While I cooked, friends offered bread and company. On the door of my house someone wrote, “Behind these doors, live people full of beauty. Are you learning from them?” Every night at dinner, I tried my very best.

This is one of the more successful dishes I made in Nablus, and I made it with almost every dinner. It requires some tedious chopping but allows a lot of creativity and variety. For a more substantial dish, add chopped egg, avocado, cooked eggplant, chickpeas, or really anything else.

Tabbouleh Salad

Ingredients

2 tomatoes, diced
2 cucumbers, diced
1 red onion, diced
1 yellow pepper, diced
1 cup bulgur
2 cups boiling water
1 bunch mint, chopped
olive oil
lemon juice
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 tsp. cumin
salt and pepper, to taste

Directions
1. Chop the vegetables (rough chopping is better than nothing). Set aside.
2. Pour boiling water over the bulgur. Store in refrigerator for 20 minutes.
3. Finely chop the fresh parsley and mint. Set aside.
4. Make dressing by whisking together olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, and cumin.
5. Mix together chopped vegetables, herbs, and cooled bulgur. Pour dressing over the mixture. Salt and pepper, to taste.
6. Add whatever other add-ons you’d like. See above for suggestions.