My magical cook is a person who possesses remarkable culinary skills that seem almost supernatural. This mysterious chef has an uncanny ability to transform the simplest ingredients into extraordinary dishes that not only taste delicious but also have a magical quality about them. Whenever my magical cook enters the kitchen, it becomes a place filled with enchantment and wonder. With a flick of their wrist, they can whip up a soufflé that rises to perfection or create a sauce that enhances the flavors of any dish. Their hands move with grace and precision, effortlessly creating culinary masterpieces that leave everyone in awe. But it's not just the taste or presentation that sets my magical cook apart.
I spent my childhood in Damascus, Syria, before immigrating to the United States as a teenager for college, work and freedom.
When Kelly Quinn and her two BFFs discover a dusty old cookbook while cleaning out the attic, the girls decide to try a few of the mysterious and supposedly magical recipes that are inside. At the initiation of a magician into the Royal College of Wizards, Kate finds herself alone with a mysterious witch who offers her a sip from a chocolate pot.
But it's not just the taste or presentation that sets my magical cook apart. It's the way their dishes seem to have a magical effect on those who consume them. One bite of their food, and you are transported to another world.
The mystery and magic of my mother’s cooking
My mother and I a half-century ago, left, and my mother's magical ma'lubay eggplant dish, right.
shares- Karim Shamsi-Basha | NJ Advance Media for NJ.com
I spent my childhood in Damascus, Syria, before immigrating to the United States as a teenager for college, work and freedom.
Even as I’ve lived in the U.S. for nearly 40 years now, my mind frequently returns to those days back home, especially my coveted Syrian summers, which really were no different from many American kids’ vacations. My friends and I played soccer for hours in worn-out shoes. We rode bikes with no gears, only a loud and lonely bell. We pedaled as fast as we could, flying over homemade ramps and crashing into the dirt. It hurt, sure, but we laughed and repeated until our elbows and knees begged us to stop.
Upon my return home, my mother would demand a bath while I tried every excuse known to mischievous boys, whose aversion to hygiene is the stuff of legend.
“But I’m clean, Momma,” I’d say, showing her the hands I’d just washed. Unswayed, she would run her fingers along my neck and display the smear of filth. Foiled again! After the dreaded bath, I would emerge ready to devour something I, and most children, regularly take for granted: A true home-cooked meal.
Momma was (and still is) a seasoned cook, and everything that came from her kitchen was exceptional, in my completely unbiased opinion. One of my favorite dishes was ma’lubay, an eggplant casserole also spelled maqluba, which means ”flipped over” in Arabic. The funny name comes from its preparation, which requires an action so precarious only the bravest chefs (or an incredibly strong boy) would ever attempt it.
To cook the ma’lubay, my mother sliced the eggplant longways, dabbed it with flour and sautéed it in olive oil. In a different pan, she browned vermicelli and basmati rice, then dumped that mixture over the eggplant. Next, the seasonings: Salt and pepper, of course, then some secret blend of cumin, sumac, cardamom, turmeric, saffron and coriander — all her favorite Arabian touches. Finally, she covered the pan with water and cooked until done (no timer necessary).
Here’s where I came in, ready to execute the step only a tiny hero could possibly pull off. Momma would yell “Karim!” and I’d run to the kitchen gleaming with anticipation. At her nod, I would take a deep breath and grab the pot covered with a serving plate from both sides. My lips squeezed tight, my muscles clinched, with all my might, I would flip the pan over then rest it on the table.
Momma would smile and take the serving plate off as I beamed with pride, as though I’d just slayed Goliath. The steam would rise, revealing the hunks of eggplant now on top — think pineapple upside-down cake — to be sprinkled with roasted almonds and on occasion, pine nuts.
Mouth watering, I’d scoop a huge serving onto a plate and inhale every last bit of that magical food.
Yes, it is magical, mainly because it seems only my mother can cook it correctly. Since coming to this country in 1984, I have attempted hundreds of times to replicate this dish. The results have been satisfactory, but never the same. I’ve tried everything, using the same spices with approximately similar amounts (Momma never measured). I’ve even purchased eggplant from an Arabic store, but my dish always falls a bit short.
My interpretation of this dish is a little different than momma's, and hers is for sure tastier. It's like magic! Karim Shamsi-Basha
I tried again earlier this week. To my credit, it tasted very good. Yet I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Momma’s was and is leagues better.
Whenever I ask her what she does differently, she laughs, saying: “Just add a bit of love, a dash of soul and stir.”
Momma's last visit to the United States was a decade ago. She stayed at my sister's house in Statin Island. Rowaida Shamsi-Basha
Nevertheless, my children adore my version of this dish and request it every time they visit. My now-grown daughter thinks I’m the best cook on the planet because of my ma’lubay. She posts it on Instagram, sends it on Snapchat, and texts pictures to her friends with comments: “OMG! Babba’s (dad’s) ma’lubay. Best dish ever!! TTYL.”
Seeing her reaction, no different than mine a generation earlier, I’m beginning to understand how little our love for ma’lubay actually has to do with the dish itself. It’s about the memories we keep and cherish, of growing up in a world with ample time to play and no adult problems. A world where others love you and hold you more dear than themselves. A world that too quickly fades away as we mature, and a world we hope someday we will pass to our children, and them to theirs.
I know my daughter will make ma’lubay for her kids one day, and I can’t help thinking: Will she think mine was better?
Momma, who still lives in Damascus, is 90 years old now and in poor health. I recently asked my sister to photograph her with the ma’lubay, which she still cooks. Looking at her picture, my heart leaps begging the universe to give her a few more years. The universe listens sometimes, doesn’t it?
Momma is getting older, but she still makes a mean ma'lubay! Mimi Shamsi-Basha
No matter what comes to pass, I will continue trying to recreate her perfect dish, even though I know it’s a fool’s errand. And I’m in peace with that. Let that exquisite ma’lubay remain with my golden memories, beside my soccer shoes, my tattered bike, and my mother, who understood dinner with her son was about so much more than the food she served.
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The flavors dance on your tongue, and you can't help but feel a sense of joy and wonder. Some say that my magical cook has a secret ingredient - love. They infuse each dish with a generous amount of warmth and care, creating a connection between the food and the person consuming it. It's as if their love and passion for cooking is transferred into every bite, making it an unforgettable experience. People travel from far and wide to taste the creations of my magical cook. The word has spread, and everyone wants to experience the magic that happens in their kitchen. But the cook remains humble, always attributing their success to their lifelong pursuit of culinary perfection. In the presence of my magical cook, cooking becomes an art form. It's not just about nourishing the body - it's about nourishing the soul. Their dishes are a testament to the power of food to bring people together, to create joy and happiness, and to transcend the ordinary. My magical cook's talent is a gift that brings delight and wonder to all who have the privilege of tasting their creations. And as long as they continue to work their culinary magic, the world will be a more flavorful and enchanting place..
Reviews for "From Apprentice to Magician: The Journey of a Magical Cook"
1. Jane - 2 stars - I was really excited to read "My Magical Cook" as I am a fan of fantasy and culinary themes, but unfortunately, this book fell flat for me. The plot was predictable and lacked originality, and the characters felt one-dimensional. The magical elements were also underdeveloped and didn't add any depth to the story. Overall, it was a disappointing read that didn't live up to my expectations.
2. Mark - 2.5 stars - I found "My Magical Cook" to be an average read. While the concept of a magical cook was intriguing, the execution didn't deliver. The pacing was slow, and the story lacked excitement and suspense. Additionally, I felt that the writing style was overly simplistic and lacked depth. Overall, it was a forgettable book that I wouldn't recommend to others looking for an engaging fantasy read.
3. Amy - 3 stars - "My Magical Cook" had an interesting premise, but it failed to captivate me. The world-building was weak, and the magical aspects felt forced and unconvincing. The main character was also difficult to connect with, as their motivations and actions seemed inconsistent throughout the story. While there were some charming moments, they weren't enough to salvage the overall lackluster reading experience. I would say it's an average book that might appeal to those looking for a light and easy read, but for me, it fell short of expectations.