“She made the most incredible tabbouleh, stuffed grape leaves, beef kibbeh, you name it. Those three are my favorites. They have it all on their menu!”
“Now I feel ignorant. I've had stuffed grape leaves at a Greek place, are they similar?”
She nods. “Lebanese and Greek food have a lot of crossover since it's all Mediterranean based. Lebanon is right across the sea from Cyprus.”
She talks me through what the dishes are like. There is a lot of heavenly sounding spice, bulgur wheat, and savory meat contrasted with sweet dried fruits and nuts like in the beef kibbeh. I love seeing her so animated and excited, and I sure hope the food lives up to her expectations. The atmosphere as we drive is just fun, easy, and the conversation flows as we get to know each otherbetter little by little. I can get a much better sense of how much she worshipped her Nana from how she talks about the way she cooked and lived. She tells me the cutest story about how they would go to the beach when she was little, and her Nana would float like a dolphin and let her ride on her back. I tell her about my dad's love for classic rock and the faces he would make while belting out the songs to me, and she laughs her head off when I imitate him. We play his playlist and rock out together, and I'm ecstatic that she's also into classic rock. She especially loves the British bands, which doesn't shock me given what I know about her. I get her completely cracking up demonstrating the faces my dad would make when Immigrant Song comes on. When we pull up to the restaurant, I'm almost reluctant to get out of the car and burst this little bubble we've been in for almost 30 minutes. We simply stare at each other for a moment or two, just taking each other in with heavy gazes, not saying anything but communicating so much. Then her stomach growls comically and we burst out laughing.
“Alright, that was quite the hint. Let's get you fed,” I tell her, still laughing, planting a quick kiss on her. We get out of the car and she leads the way into the restaurant, our hands interlaced. The place really is nice, with tasteful decor, ambient music, and the most amazing smells from the food. Red and purple accents are everywhere among the white linens, tables, and chairs, with coordinating colors in the artwork on the wall. There's a sleek bar along the back wall with intricate bottles and an antique looking hookah decorating the shelves. I give my name to the hostess and she seats us right away. Once we're situated at our table, Lyra turns to me with a delighted look on her face.
“This place is gorgeous,” she beams.
“I’m glad you like it,” answering her smile with my own as I take her hand to give it a kiss.
She opens the drink menu, deciding on a glass of Arak, which she tells me is a very traditional drink of the region that will go well with the beef kibbeh she wants. I stick to getting a beer since I'm driving.
“How's your mom feeling?” she asks as we sip on the water we were given.
“She's doing much better. Seth, Sienna and the kids get in tomorrow afternoon, so she's excited to have everyone home.”
“I can imagine! It has to be hard for her that they're across the country.”
“It is, but thank goodness for video chats. I think it's hard for him too, which is why we fought. He loves his life out there, but he gets homesick. Seth and I talked about making sure we get better about planning visits.”
“I love that. It's so bizarre to say this, but I don't understand sibling bonds. I have three, but I've never been close with my two brothers, and my sister has always been more like my other mother since she's so much older. Gina is probably the closest to a sibling bond that I have,” she muses.
“It's not bizarre. Every family is different. Carlo and his family are just as much family to me as my own family,” I tell her with a shrug.
She hums her agreement as our drinks arrive and the server takes our order. We order the tabbouleh and hummus with warm pita to start, then beef kibbeh for each of us. The food comes quickly, and I'm just as quickly lost to watching Lyra eat. She very obviously likes to keep herself guarded and locked down. When she dances, or eats, ortalks about food, though? The woman is so incredibly passionate. It's absolutely beautiful to watch her unabashedly show her love for this cuisine. She's making little noises of pleasure as she enjoys the warm pita and hummus, around asking me questions and making small talk. Her eyes widen, and she sighs when she tries the tabbouleh.
“This is just like my Nana’s,” she says wistfully.
“I’m mad that I have never tried tabbouleh before, it's incredible,” I reply.
The kibbeh is even more of a revelation for me. The savory beef and bulgur wheat crust, with the sweet dried fruit and nuts in the middle, is so perfectly flavorful. All of the spices and different textures are perfect. When the server comes back to ask about giving us the dessert menu, of course we say yes. She takes one look at the desserts and lets out a little gasp.
“They have mamoul,” she whispers reverently, almost to herself.
“What is it?” Anything that can make her have that reaction has to be special.
“It's a little pastry, like a mini turnover, and the filling is a mixture of nuts, butter, and spices, like you would have in baklava. They were my Nana's specialty. We have a family recipe that we make for Christmas every year. My sister is extremely protective about the recipe.”
“Well, I know what we're getting for dessert then.”
The small plate of pastry comes out, and Lyra is practically bouncing in her seat.
“Sorry, I have only ever had these around Christmas, so I'm just slightly excited,” she explains, a little ruefully, like she's getting shy about possibly being too much. That won't do at all.
“Firecracker, seeing you this excited is the best thing ever. Please don't ever apologize for getting excited about things.”
She gives me a grateful smile, and then we try the pastry. It's one of the most delectable things I've ever had. Lyra explains that the pastry shell is fragrant with mahlab, which is the ground pit of the cherry. The filling is exactly like the nut layers in baklava, just as she described.
“You know how to make these?”
She nods happily. “I make several dozen for the holidays every year. If you're nice I'll give you some, both for you and Eve.” She shoots me a playful wink as she says it. Then she takes another bite of pastry and she closes her eyes. When she opens them, they're shining.
“This is really special, you know? Thanks for bringing me here. It's bringing back a lot of great memories of my Nana. I love how food does that, it's so evocative.”
“I know what you mean. There are a lot of Irish foods that take me right back to sitting at the table with my dad. Every time I go to my mom’s, and we sit at that dining table, I remember so much. It’s where we did all of our best talking. Sometimes I can hardly stand being there because it hurts so much, even after 10 years.” It feels so good to share this grief with her, and let her in the way she is starting to let me in.