Home Food

Last April, I was wandering around Lloyd Park with Theo. Lockdown style. Park, cemetery, walk, park, cemetery, walk, walk. I’m not even sure the coffee shop was open— it was definitely before restaurants were allowed to have sit-down guests. I opened my email, as my son ran in circles around the tulip beds. It was from @oliahercules. Would I be willing to write a short vignette about a food memory for her upcoming book? UM HELL YES / But also: what would I write? Could I write anything? Could I write something for a chef and writer whose words and foods meant so much to me, a woman whose descriptions of people, place and palates enchanted as much as her recipes delighted and soared? 

As Theo frolicked, I thought about childhood. And food. And home. And family. And comfort. And I saw it. I saw our house in Grosse Ile. The kidney-shaped pool. The Detroit River. The concrete patio. The rhododendrons. The tea brewing in the sun. The grey metal table and chairs. The rusting grill. The parties. The sparklers. The food. The corn. The melon. And the kebab, the juicy, extraordinary koobideh. And the grill master himself— my father’s best friend, the late, forever great Dr. Ahmed Frugh. And so that’s what I wrote about, right there in Lloyd Park. And that’s what Olia included in her gorgeous new cookbook: “Home Food”. 

During a global pandemic when I couldn’t even get a coffee or go to a restaurant, Olia’s request moved, transported, inspired and comforted me. Her new book, this new cookbook, will do the same for you. I tested a big chunk of the recipes in it (and worked with Olia to develop a great take on Dr. Frugh’s koobideh). Run, don’t walk— buy this book, let this woman comfort, transport and inspire you too.