My host mom (HM) drove my host brother (HB) over to a friends, and then we went to the shopping district and had a nice bit of conversation.
We stopped at a fruit and vegetable store, where the owner’s cute, young son was sweeping the floor. The only part of the conversation between him and my host mom that I understood was her asking his name and where he went to school and that she had a son that also went to school. It was so funny, because there was a Rumpelstiltskin, “guess my name” game going on between him and HM.
Then onto the bakery.
Oh, heaven.
Help me, Rhonda.
The fragrances. The scents. The essences of pure delight.
Fresh bread of every sort and every size. We saw the bread being made, just puffed from its trip through the oven and down the conveyor belt. Slap, slap, slap, the workers pulled it off and tossed it by the kilo onto the balance.
The sweets section drew me: trays of knaffeh and I-don’t-know-what-it’s-called just begging to be eaten. Just look at those delicious puffed and glazed pastries.
I held strong, though…..and then we went onto the “coffee” store across the way.
You know, if you really want to learn self control, just go and shop in a bakery and then a spice shop without buying anything. St. Anthony the Great himself would be sorely tempted.
There were huge bins of just zaatar, a thyme spice mixture you add to olive oil, zait, to eat with bread as zait al zaatar.
Further tubs contained rose hips, rosemary, curries, peppers, nuts, dates, corn, chickpeas, beans, flours, and sugars.
Perfume, I think, should smell like a spice shop – but then, I’d always be hungry. Scratch that idea.
We finally left…but I’m looking forward to returning!
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