The Language of Baklava: A Memoir with Recipes

by Diana Abu-Jaber

Diana Abu-Jaber’s vibrant, humorous memoir weaves together delicious food memories that illuminate the two cultures of her childhood—American and Jordanian. Here are stories of being raised by a food-obsessed Jordanian father and tales of Lake Ontario shish kabob cookouts and goat stew feasts under Bedouin tents in the desert. These sensuously evoked repasts, complete with recipes, paint a loving and complex portrait of Diana’s impractical, displaced immigrant father who, like many an immigrant before him, cooked to remember the place he came from and to pass that connection on to his children.  The Language of Baklava  irresistibly invites us to sit down at the table with Diana’s family, sharing unforgettable meals that turn out to be as much about “grace, difference, faith, love” as they are about food.

Genres: Memoir, Food, Nonfiction, Middle East, Biography Memoir, Biography, Food Writing

352 pages, Paperback

First published March 15, 2005

About the author

Diana Abu-Jaber is the award-winning author of Life Without A Recipe, Origin, Crescent, Arabian Jazz, and The Language of Baklava. Her writing has appeared in Good Housekeeping, Ms., Salon, Vogue, Gourmet, the New York Times, The Nation, the Washington Post, and the Los Angeles Times. She divides her time between Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and Portland, Oregon.

Reviews

[Mackey · Rating 5 out of 5]

It took me forever to read Abu-Jaber's The Language of Baklava: A Memoir simply because I never wanted it to end! I savored each of the stories, reading some of them twice, and tried many of the recipes that she shared. In fact, I loved it so much that after completing the e-book I ordered the hardcover to own. It's truly delightful.

I needed to read a "food memoir" for a book challenge and chose this one because I could eat baklava forever and a day. I knew nothing about this book before beginning. Abu-Jaber is a Jordanian-American who lives in upstate New York surrounded by her incredible family who have come over from Jordan and her American mother - all who have the most fascinating personalities. Each chapter is a new story from her life revolving around her family told with such humor, love and delightful prose that you will feel as though you are right in the middle of tale with them. At the end of the story she shares a recipe that ties in with the story. For example, in the tale of the poor slaughtered lamb, and really even for PETA this is a must read, the recipe is not one for lamb kabobs as anticipated but rather for humanitarian vegetarian soup. Yes, that type of humor carries the day throughout the book.

I simply cannot recommend this memoir highly enough and look forward to reading other books by Abu-Jabar.

[PorshaJo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rating 4.5

I enjoyed this book so much. If you love food, all types of food, then this is the book for you. The author tells the story of her growing up and how much food was a central part of her life. She grew up in both the United States and in Jordan and she tells wonderful stories of each of these times. Her father, Bud, is such a unique character and would be someone you would love to just talk to for hours on end. Food is extremely important to him and his family. The tales of the most basic meals are wonderful - the delicious sounding picnic in NY when the snow is barely melting outside is one that will stick with me. (It was done to show the neighbors a thing or two since they frowned on the family eating in their front yard)

The book is a great coming of age story and within the book there are many recipes. I feel like I've been reading this one for so long but I've been slowly savoring the entire book, going back and reading the recipes again and again. It deals with multiple cultures and learning about them and immigrants in the US. A winning 'recipe' for me.

Diana Abu-Jaber can tell a story and I've already grabbed another book of hers and I'm so anxious to start it. I'm looking forward to reading the many other books by her as well. This one has been a highlight for me.

[Andrea · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5★

I wanted a foodie memoir, and that's precisely what I got with this book by Diana Abu-Jaber, who describes a life straddling two cultures. Although I enjoyed it, I've rated it down slightly as I thought it was a bit patchy. For probably the first 2/3, following Diana's life from the meeting of her Jordanian father and American mother, through until the end of her university years, it was excellent; warm, detailed and immediate. Then there's a gap of a number of years while she's establishing her career. When we rejoin Diana she's been awarded a Fulbright Fellowship to go and live in Jordan for a year while she writes a novel, and it's almost like a different book where she is no longer the central figure in her own story. The distance she put between us cooled my interest fairly rapidly, and I started to skim-read through to the end.

Generally I expect a foodie memoir to be about someone who loves to cook, but that's not so much the case here. The author loves to eat, but the cook is her father, Gus/Bud, who clings to his Jordanian Bedouin roots through his food, whether the family is living in upstate New York or in Jordan itself (they travel to and fro a little). Where the author excels is in describing the food and how it fits into her story, and she generously peppers the text with her family recipes. I've selected a couple to try.

My favourite part of the book was when Diana was 8-ish, and the family was living in Amman together for the first time. It amazes me that an adult can have such vivid memories of their tender years. Conversely, my least favourite part was a chapter covering an excruciating lunch at the home of Great-Uncle Jimmy, coincidentally also in Amman, where Jimmy and his wife Selma seek to dispel the ugly rumours of their mistreatment of their Sri Lankan servants. It was so jarring, it was almost like it didn't deserve a place in this book. However, for the most part, the tone of the book is fairly light, making for a pleasant read.

I've added one of the author’s novels to my TBR and look forward to reading her fiction.

[Blaine DeSantis · Rating 5 out of 5]

An absolutely lovely memoir that makes you laugh and cry. Does a very good job getting all of us non-Arab readers to begin to understand some of the cultural issues that Americans from that background encounter.

[Dana Al-Basha | دانة الباشا]

تقص علينا ديانا قصتها منذ طفولتها بخلط بين عائلتها الأردنية الامريكية والطعام الذي مر عليهم... القصة للأن رائعة جداً وصادقة جداً ولذيذة جداً

[Kavita · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Language of Baklava is a memoir by Jordanian and American author, Diana Abu-Jaber. With a Jordanian father and an American mother, she inherited both cultures, and the memoir revolves around her trying to decide which parts to keep and which ones to discard from both. The title itself refers to the popular sweet baklava, a delicacy that is claimed by many different nations as their own.

The main characters are Diana and her father, Bud, who emigrates from Jordan and tries to settle down in America with an American woman, but is unsuccessful in abandoning his yearning for Jordan. Father and daughter have a deep bond forged through food. Both kind-hearted and generous, Bud can also be irresponsible and abusive to his family. Diana's mother often fades into the background in the story, which makes me wonder if her views and needs were ever considered by her father.

Diana lived in both Jordan and the US as a child and the experiences were so different. But it's also very enticing to see the experiences through her eyes because it's so different from those who had already put out roots. In both countries, Diana is the outsider but also belongs. She effortlessly blends in, but at the same time, is unable to understand that she has blended in.

As a teen growing up, Diana was suffocated by her father's controlling and abusive behaviour. Though I liked Bud in the beginning as he appeared to be devoted to his family, he grew more and more annoying over the years. His own frustration with his life was taken out on his family, his irresponsible and impulsive decisions affected everyone else, his lack of respect for his wife and daughters was disgusting. Diana, as the eldest, was also the most rebellious, and was forever butting heads with her father. Eventually, she manages to forge a path of her own.

Later, it becomes clear that the entire Abu-Jaber clan is similarly annoying and abusive. She herself says "My family is full of snappy dressers, big dreamers, holy fools, drug addicts, riot starters, layabouts, poets, con men, gurus, murderers, gamblers, diplomats, tyrants, professors, vicious gossips, magicians, toughs, snobs, petty thieves, big crooks, rich guys, mesmerists, gigolos, and fancy idiots." All her uncles band together to sexually harass her friend, who was their guest. After this happened for the second time, I was left unimpressed by their 'generosity'.

The highlight of the book are the recipes that are intricately enchained with Diana's own memories about her childhood. Food memoirs are usually fun for this reason even if there are other depressing things going on in the background, and The Language of Baklava did not disappoint in this respect.

[doreen · Rating 5 out of 5]

I finished Diana Abu-Jaber's memoir The Language of Baklava, which I checked out from the library, and I may have to get a copy of this book. It's a wonderfully written memoir filled with memories and food recipes, much of which hailing from Abu-Jaber's Jordanian heritage from her father's side, but some others that are pulled from other places.

Much like Kim Sunée's Trail of Crumbs, which is another memoir mixed with recipes, Diana Abu-Jaber's recollections place a major focal point on the food, which is sensuously described. The recipes seem more attainable, and there are a few that are vegetarian-friendly. The people Abu-Jaber describes, especially her father, are shown lovingly, and I'm particularly fond of her Auntie Aya, the only daughter among many sons. The appearances she makes in Abu-Jaber's book are memorable--especially the conversation she has while making sweets with a teenage Diana on page 186 that I've included in my favourite quotes on my Goodreads profile:

"Marry, don't marry," Auntie Aya says as we unfold layers of dough to make an apple strudel. 'Just don't have your babies unless it's absolutely necessary."

"How do I know if it's necessary?"

She stops and stares ahead, her hands gloved in flour. "Ask yourself, Do I want a baby or do I want to make a cake? The answer will come to you like bells ringing." She flickers her fingers in the air by her ear. "For me, almost always, the answer was cake."

Seriously, best reasoning ever.

[Diane · Rating 3 out of 5]

I had mixed feelings about this book. When I first realized it was a book with recipes in each chapter, I thought, oh, no, one of those cooking books that are cutesy and vapid. But, no, it is a well written and delightful memoir of a Jordanian-American family with a high energy, outgoing father who loves to cook. The recipes are not the point of the book but simply seem to emphasize certain lessons in growing up in the author's culture. My favorite part was the year that the family spent in Jordan.

I was really enjoying the book and then suddenly about 2/3 of the way through, it's like someone else took over the story. The book should have ended when the author goes away to college. After that it becomes labored, slow, and basically boring. Even her trip back to Jordan as an adult is close to unreadable. Where was the editor??

I would say, read it till you get to the college days. Then stop. You will have enjoyed a well-written memoir, felt absorbed into the Jordanian-American culture, learned something about middle-eastern cooking. But I know you won't stop and then it will be just another ho hum book.

And, oh yes, the author's mother must be up for sainthood - I wish she would write a story about her.

[Orinoco Womble (tidy bag and all) · Rating 2 out of 5]

I love to read. I love to cook. I love to eat good, well prepared food. I love to read about people who cook.

But the author apparently isn't a person who cooks, at least not beyond helping grandma or auntie make the occasional pastry. She never does the cooking. It's done for her, or she's invited to a meal cooked by someone else.

The recipes are delicious, and a person with some cooking experience should be able to reproduce them--IF you can find the special ingredients. The author glibly stars things like sumac and zaartar and special cheeses and shreddable phyllo dough and says "buy in specialty shop." Meaning, I don't know--New York City? Chicago? Or, if you live where I do, London or Madrid or Barcelona, at the very least. If you don't live in a large city with a sizeable Arabic culture population, you'd better learn to make your own dough, and forget about anything containing other specialty stuff.

The memoir itself claims to look back with longing on a happy childhood between two cultures--but it apparently wasn't. There's a thread of bitter anger that runs throughout the writing like grit in a cup of steaming black coffee. Some of the anecdotes read an awful lot like payback. She whines constantly...about being forced to leave her friends and go to Jordan, then being forced to return to the US, then being forced to leave her neighbourhood and move to the country, and then --how dare they!--her parents sell the rambling old house she hated to move to, and move somewhere else.

At first I thought she disliked her bland American relatives and their bland American food--her portrait of her maternal grandmother is pretty dam' scathing, and her mother is portrayed as a non-person who just goes along with whatever her husband dictates. Ah, says I, she identifies more strongly with her Jordanian roots? No. She whines about those too. Her father is portrayed as a hapless goofball who drifts from one unskilled job to another, her uncles are shown as manipulative, predatory thieves who think nothing of diddling her dad out of his savings, while the Lebanese branch of the family are shown as filthy rich and privileged, but not the kind who share the wealth...yeah. She even manages to criticise her friends. The American ones eat "strange" foods like eggnog, and she keeps on about how her Jordanian childhood friends weren't very clean. Nice.

I guess the authoress' problem is--she doesn't like herself. No matter where she is, or what she's doing, she wants to be somewhere else doing something else, with other people.

I myself was a misfit in the place and among the people where I was raised. I myself skipped my junior year of highschool to go to college early. I myself chose to leave my birthplace and make a new home. And yes, there was some culture shock, but I knew early on that we make most of our own happiness or lack thereof by our choices. The authoress of this memoir seems to have been expecting someone, something, someWHERE to make her happy, without realising that she doesn't come off as the most loveable person in the world, either.

I do intend to prepare some of the recipes. I do not intend to slog through the memoir again.

[Jenny (Reading Envy) · Rating 5 out of 5]

To continue my continuous craving of Middle Eastern food, the memoir of Diana Abu-Jaber reads very similarly to her novels. You can see how family members she really has get woven into her fictional characters later on. Plus, this book has a bunch of recipes that I will hopefully get to try. Now I just have to sit and wait for her to write more novels! If anyone has recommendations for other books about people who live in two worlds (such as being of Arab-American descent) I would love to hear about it.

[Liralen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Abu-Jaber was a dual-culture child: with an American mother and a Jordanian father, she spent most of her childhood in upstate New York but a two-year (relatively brief, but formative) period in Jordan. She portrays her father as a larger-than-life character, eagerly embracing much of what the States had to offer while also hanging steadfastly to certain cultural norms.

This is not the sort of book with a tidy start point and end point, or one about a definable thing that happens. Rather, it is a coming-of-age memoir about food and family and living between cultures. Just as children pick up languages more easily than adults, Abu-Jaber found it easier to navigate between cultures as a child—to slough off one and pick up the other as a child. As she got older, of course, she had to find more complex ways to manage her identity. I retain vivid impressions [of Jordan] worked into my body, she says, sharp and inexorable—the whiteness of the streets, the stone houses, the running children. These tokens have always been within me: the scent of mint in my parents' garden, the intricate birdsong, the seeded crust of the bread, and the taste of dried yogurt steeped in olive oil. All of it returns in my dreams. But when I deliberately try to reimagine it, it turns to dust (135–136).

Abu-Jaber's mother is more of an enigma here than her father. Her father (and his extended family) bursts with energy and emotion, cooking up a storm and concocting one scheme after another. Her mother has it harder, perhaps: thrust into a culture that she did not plan to be part of, on the sidelines while her children adapt with ease. (There's a scene where she makes pancakes in Jordan—the neighbours end up referring to them as 'burnt American flat food' (38). Sadder, though, is the child of diplomats whose parents have taught him to shun/scorn the locals.) But then, despite her comfort with staying in one place, perhaps Abu-Jaber's mother is better equipped for uncertainty and change: This is the way she holds to things, lightly, knowing to let such stuff pass on and through. Neither Bud nor I can do this. We seize up, our insides tightening fiercely around our desires.... Better not to have dreams at all, I think in a surge of bitterness, than to feel this way. Better not to know what could have been (176).

Anyway. So it goes. Wide-ranging and thoughtful and full of lush descriptions of food. Lots of searching for answers to questions that can't quite be defined.

[Victoria · Rating 5 out of 5]

I could not out this book down. It's basically a memoir of eating and living the Arab way, but it will strike a chord with anyone who grew up in a close family. I loved reading about Abu-Jabber's family adapting to the American way. The trips to the city and NJ and thr family time made me think back on the stories I've heard of how it was when my own relatives lived in that area. The recipes are part traditional part American and are allllll very do-able. I found recipes that I want to make and discovered things about certain dishes that I never thought I'd try. The few words on Gus becoming "Jiddo"made me tear up. I read about half of the book to my Mom because of how often I busted up laughing. This is a book I'd like to add to my own library, to pass around to my frirnds, to cook from, and to be inspired by. It's gooood!

[Maryam Same · Rating 5 out of 5]

اول روايه اقراها للكاتبه و اول اكتشاف لي لكتبها اعتقد روايتها الوحيده المترجمه
كنت في زياره لنادي الكتاب في الرياض وصادفت الروايه اللي شدني لها عنوانها
لاني احب البقلاوه =)

الروايه تحكي عن عائله ابو جابر اردنيه الاصل الذين هاجر ابنائهم لامريكا و تزوجوا وانجبوا هناك حياه المهاجرين من اصول عربيه وتقاليد عربيه في المهجر
حفلاتهم اعيادهم و اجتماعتهم يتخللها اكل عربي \ عالمي وذكريات كل طبق وقصصه واسراره
حبيت الروايه ممتعه تذكرني بروايه كحل وحبهان لعمرو طاهر وروايه كالماء للشكولاته مترجمه وروايه برتقال مر
كلههم عن الطبخ والاطباق خلال حياه شخوص الروايه
في نهايه كل فصل في طبخه ومقادريها وطريقتها تمنيت انه يكون في فصل خاص بالطبخات كملحق
بدل ما يكون في وسط المذكرات بشكل عام روايه جميله وانصح بقرائتها واتمنى من دار النشر ترجمه اعمال اخرى للكاتبه

[Dawn's book diary · Rating 5 out of 5]

دایانا ابوجابر نویسنده‌ی اردنی-آمریکاییه که توی این کتاب خاطرات کودکی تا بزرگسالیشو نوشته. توی هر خاطره غذاهای اردنی (عربی) نقش مهمی بازی می‌کنن، انقدر که به نظر من اسم کتاب به جای «زبان باقلوا» می‌تونست زبان هر کدوم از غذاهای عربیِ نام‌برده توی کتاب باشه.😁
مسئله‌ی دیگه‌ای که توی کتاب مطرح شده و من تا حالا نمی‌دونستم بهش علاقه دارم، قضیه‌ی مهاجرت و تعلق به دو یا چند فرهنگ و کشوره؛ درست مثل بابای دایانا که با اینکه خیلی وقته توی آمریکا زندگی می‌کنه، تا سال‌های سال خودشو آمریکایی نمی‌دونه و وقتی هم به اردن سفر می‌کنه، با اینکه احساس تعلق خاطر بیشتری به اردن داره باز انگار خودشو اردنی واقعی هم نمی‌دونه. خودِ دایانا هم همینطور. با اینکه مادر آمریکایی داره، توی آمریکا متولد و بزرگ شده باز هم نمی‌دونه دقیقاً متعلق به کجاست. اونقدری که توی فصل آخر می‌گه: دلم می‌خواد فریاد بزنم و بگم چرا باید حتماً یه خونه داشته باشیم؟
پ.ن: تمام فصل‌های کتاب بسیار خوندنی و جالبن. فصل «زبان باقلوا» از بقیه بیشتر.
پ.ن۲: پیش به سوی خوندن کتاب‌های دیگه‌ی خانوم ابوجابر!😁✌🏻
پ.ن۳: کاش این کتاب به فارسی ترجمه بشه.

[Alice La · Rating 4 out of 5]

Probs 3.5

A cute memoir written well. Got me a bit excited for Jordan (except when she talked about the rainy season which isn’t ideal) albeit rendering it a bit of a literary fantasy.

I like memoirs.

[منيره عبدالله · Rating 4 out of 5]

القصة مفككة ، ويمكن تلخيصها بشكل كبير، أيضاً تمنيت وجود صور للوصفات

[Arminzerella · Rating 3 out of 5]

Diana Abu-Jaber is a product of two very different worlds – American and Jordanian – and like her Bedouin ancestors, she’s comfortable moving from place to place. “Home” is a fluid concept held more in her mind and heart than a stationary place. Her childhood is a rich combination of Jordanian foods and flavors and culture which occasionally war against her American ones - or maybe it’s just that she doesn’t always see eye to eye with her Jordanian father. The Abu-Jabers spend a year in Jordan when Diana is young and it’s amazing how quickly she acclimates to her new environment. Within weeks she has a new circle of friends and playmates, and the Arabic language comes to her just as easily. Her reminisces are spun between recipes for the foods her father cooked for the family – the same recipes that Diana now uses to cook for herself.

Diana Abu-Jaber’s memoir was very satisfying. It evokes a vivid sense of place (wherever she happens to be – in America, in Jordan) and is told with humor and some sadness (nostalgia or yearning for all of the places she’s been, the people she’s known, and the things she has experienced). The descriptions of the food (even more so than the recipes) are enough to start one salivating. I love reading about other places and cultures and really enjoyed this memoir.

[Annika · Rating 5 out of 5]

I really enjoyed this! I love the structure of this book. The recipes woven throughout come at appropriate times; it isn't a predictable boring structure. And I love the inclusion of even the simplest of recipes because of the intimate memory it represented in the author's life. Everything sounds soooo delicious, it makes me want to buy the physical copy to try out the recipes.

I think I learned a lot about Jordanian culture—one that guiltily has slipped under my radar. But also, anyone who is an immigrant or first gen can probably find something to relate to: the huge families, the overbearing father figure, the pull between your home countries. Even though Diana was butting heads with her dad, Bud, throughout the entirety of the book and her life, he was a lovable character and I loved seeing their relationship evolve over the years. Bud is a standout character just by himself.

I also really loved the side stories of all of the relatives and friends who visited Jordan/America and the dishes they brought to the table. I read a review that complained that Diana never did any of the cooking, which I thought wasn't really valid since she didn't say she was a cook herself. The Arabic food is her way of sharing her life story and the people attached to it.

I highly recommend this to anyone who likes good food and good stories! 4.5/5 for me.

[Emily Culver · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was between 3 and 4 stars for this book. I chose 4 because I think the heart of the content lived up to that rating, while the end of the book kind of dwindled.

This book provides an honest, descriptive, heartfelt glimpse into growing up between two cultures. The stories of Diana's childhood were relatable and it was easy to imagine the emotions of being torn between two places. You could see the struggle for her dad trying to find his place and how that impacted her as she was pulled back and forth from one country to another.

I enjoyed that so many of the stories focused around food and that there were lots of recipes to try. I haven't tried them yet, but maybe someday I will.

Once Diana reaches high school, I felt like the book sizzled out a bit and I found I had to remind myself to finish it, as opposed to the first two thirds or so where I was excited to keep going. The content is fine but it lacked a strong direction and felt more like a collection of additional stories than a single narrative. When you get to the end, it's clear it's about her father trying to resolve his own cultural identity, but that isn't a strong theme throughout.

If you're interested in reading the book, I think it would be fine if you don't read the last portion if you're struggling to get through it. The first two thirds are worth the time for sure!

[Susie Swanholm · Rating 4 out of 5]

I haven’t read too many memoirs but this one is def one of the best!

Now I want to cook!

4.5 stars

[Ali · Rating 4 out of 5]

In parts funny and yummy, sad and sour in others. Growing up in between different cultures, trying to blend in like eccentric ingredients in a recipe. History of baklava is very much like story of many immigrants.

“Dad says that everyone invented baklava.” It occurs to me now to wonder what that means. Aunt Aya rolls her eyes: Your father? He is the worst of the worst. He thinks he cooks and eats Arabic food but these walnuts were not grown from Jordanian earth and this butter was not made from Jordanian lambs. He is eating the shadow of a memory. He cooks to remember but the more he eats, the more he forgets.”

“Aunt Rachel removes the knaffea from the oven and places it on its sumptuous tray; the shredded phyllo dough is crisp and brown, crackling with hot, rose-scented syrup. Nestled within, like a naughty secret, is the melting layer of sweet cheese. The pastry is freshly hot, the only way to eat it, really, with its miraculous study in contrasts— the running cheese hidden within crisp, crackling layers of baked phyllo and the distinctive, brocaded complexities of flavors. It’s so hot that it steams in your mouth, and at first you eat it with just the tips of your teeth. Then the layers of crisp and sweet and soft intermingle, a series of surprises. It is so rich and dense that you can eat only a little bit, and then it is over and the knaffea is just a pleasant memory—like a lovely dream that you forget a few seconds after you wake. But for a few seconds, you knew you were eating knaffea.”

[Piotr · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rich, textured story of growing up and living between two countries. It not only creates images in your mind, but also tastes and sounds, almost as if one were where the author was. A very nice leisure read.

[Denise · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thoroughly, completely charming.

[Ana Carolina Matevosyán · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nothing to say, just 💖

[Nadia · Rating 4 out of 5]

حكايات لذيذة تحكيها لنا ديانا عن أسرتها الاردنيةةالتي تعيش في أمريكا عبر أطباق تعبر عن الأسرة و عن الانتماء

[Kotau · Rating 3 out of 5]

Autorka ma niesamowity talent do wciągania czytelnika w jej wspomnienia. Pierwsza połowa książki była cudowna, każda strona sż skrzyła od magii wspomnień z dzieciństwa.

Szczególnie pierwszy pobyt w Jordanii mnie zachwycił, czułam się jakbym sama tam była. Czułam to ciepło, szorstkość białych budynków, gościnność ludzi, przejrzystość nocnego gwieździstego nieba, wyraźne smaki potraw. Późniejszy powrót do Ameryki odczuwałam tak jak autorka - jakbym została wyrwana z pięknego snu.

Natomiast powoli coraz gorzej mi się czytało od czasu pójścia do college’u. Gdzieś ta magia całkowicie uleciała, a punkt ciężkości się przesunął gdzieś w mało interesujące rejony. Ciepło i magia zostały zastąpione ironią, cynizmem i niechęcią.

Dlatego 3/5 zamiast 5/5.

[Caroline · Rating 3 out of 5]

Read for my Reading the Global Kitchen class

[Ciham · Rating 4 out of 5]

كتاب فريد من نوعه ، عازمه على تطبيق بعض الوصفات بإذن الله
ديانا ابو جابر جعلتني اركز على الطعام في مراحل حياتي
كيف مذاقها ، من يعدّها وكيف قُدمت لي
واستطعت ان اكتب قرابة ١٠ اوراق عن وصف بعض اكلات لا انساها في مراحل متنوعة من حياتي
شكراً ديانا ابو جابر على هذا الكتاب الرائع
شكراً بثينة الابراهيم 💛

[Madhulika Liddle · Rating 4 out of 5]

Diana Abu-Jaber, eldest daughter of a Jordanian named Ghassan Abu-Jaber ‘Gus’ (though his daughter calls him Bud, since that’s how he insisted on addressing everybody when he came to America), writes about her family. And about food.

The Language pf Baklava begins when Diana, six years old, is growing up in Syracuse, America, surrounded by her father’s many brothers and their families. Great big family gatherings, where the tables groan with food and the brothers fight and joke and laugh and feed each other. From there, the family—thanks to Bud’s yearning for his homeland, and his conviction that all will be well in Jordan, he will finally find his dream job—moves to Amman.

There are other moves, other shifts across continents, between homes. Some are traumatic uprootings, the effects of which last long. Others are gentler, more pleasant. And in between are more trysts with food: a meal at an Oriental restaurant with Diana’s American grandmother, a grand banquet with Bud’s Bedouin clan in the desert in Jordan, a backyard al fresco meal with literary sidelights in the company of classmates. A harrowing childhood excursion to buy ice cream. A frugal meal with an extremely wealthy and extremely eccentric pair of relatives.

I liked this book a lot: it’s a superb blend of food and family, of interpersonal relationships. Diana Abu-Jaber has a way with words when it comes to drawing her characters, and all the wisdom, the wit, the madness and life of her family and friends comes roaring through in this book—along with all the food. There are recurrent themes, including xenophobia in differing degrees; the bonding of people over food; tradition versus modernity; the West versus the East; looking for that elusive pot of gold at the end of a rainbow which never seems to be the right one.

And, the food. The food deserves a special mention: it’s so well-written, I spent most of time salivating over the descriptions. Fortunately, Abu-Jaber provides plenty of recipes, not just of the more common dishes like baklava, hummus and falafel, but of relatively little-known ones too (or at least little-known in my part of the world).

[Jessica Haider · Rating 4 out of 5]

Several years ago, I read two novels by Diana Abu-Jaber: Arabian Jazz and Crescent. I really enjoyed both books and found them unique from other novels that were out at the time since they focused on the Arab-American experience. Both books were big hits in the book clubs that I read them in. My friend Amanda still cites Crescent as one of her all-time favorite book club books. In her memoir, The Language of Baklava, Abu-Jaber share her memories of food and family and growing up between cultures. Abu-Jaber’s father is from Jordan and her mother grew up in America and is of western European stock.

I found the book really interesting from a personal perspective since I am an American of European descent and my husband is from Pakistan. We are definitely a food-centric household. Many of our memories are built around food and we both love to cook. Our future children may face multiple culture clashes… food-related, tradition-related and definitely religion-related.

Abu-Jaber’s memoir was funny and insightful as to what it felt like to grow up in such an environment. Her observations about the influence on members of both sides of her family on her life were humourous and heart-felt.

There are recipes interspersed throughout the chapters. These recipes are related to the memories relayed in the chapter. Some of the recipes are for Jordanian food and others for more American fare.

I recommend this book to those who enjoy foodie memoirs or coming of age memoirs.