A week before his
wedding, Scott called me and invited me to his
suhra -- or as his cousin Julie spells it,
suhada -- but however
anybody spells it, it's the Lebanese feast for family the night before the wedding.
Family? Yes, sort of.
Lebanese? Check.
Julie's Kibbe?
 |
| photo: Julie Tabouli |
Oh, check yes.
The kibbe maker herself, with her sister Jennifer. The great thing about being part of the festivities the night before? On the day of the Big Event itself, The Wedding Propah, one already has a
long history with half the guests . . .
. . . the crucial half-Lebanese half.
And oh what a delightful band of guests they were . . .
. . . even those who are sadly non-half-Lebanese . . .
. . . but everybody was half-Lebanese in spirit that night . . .
. . . and UConn in spirit.
Go Huskies!
It was a wonderful time. There was pontificating . . .
. . . and there was an awful lot of hugging.
As Jacquie once said, "Air hugs are not in our vocabulary."
Oh, the hugging . . .
. . . it never stopped.
Nor did the kissing.
And why would it?
We were blissed out that day . . .
. . . old friends . . .
. . . and new friends both.
But let's be real. Let's be frank. Let's be
honest here, people. That Saturday night was about one thing, and one thing only.
Raw kibbe.
Poor Lindsey went to the kitchen to find herself a scoop, and the next thing she knew, she was elbows-deep in the stuff, stirring . . .
. . . and kneading . . .
. . . with the peanut gallery yelling out advice on exactly how she should be doing it . . .
"More oil!"
"More salt!"
"Did you wash your hands?"
"Where's the syrian bread??"
I know
exactly where to find my kinspeople -- right in the kitchen, surrounding the raw meat.
We were like sharks on seals . . .
. . . it was a fabulous Feeding Frenzy.
And we came out to celebrate.
We came out in droves . . .
. . . nay, in hordes!
Oh, come out we did.
The day-before-Birthday-Girl wuz in the house . . .
. . . but yesterday was all about Madame Mumsie-Pie.
We ate great food . . .
. . . we delivered fabulous presents . . .
. . . and we celebrated Herself . . . 
. . . She Who Must Be Loved.
Happy Birthday Mumsie! Here's to LXXXV more!
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The kibbe maker herself, with her sister Jennifer. The great thing about being part of the festivities the night before? On the day of the Big Event itself, The Wedding Propah, one already has a long history with half the guests . . .
. . . the crucial half-Lebanese half.
And oh what a delightful band of guests they were . . .
. . . even those who are sadly non-half-Lebanese . . .
. . . but everybody was half-Lebanese in spirit that night . . .
. . . and UConn in spirit.
It was a wonderful time. There was pontificating . . .
As Jacquie once said, "Air hugs are not in our vocabulary."
Oh, the hugging . . .
. . . it never stopped.
Nor did the kissing.
And why would it?
We were blissed out that day . . .
. . . old friends . . . 
. . . and new friends both.
Raw kibbe.
Poor Lindsey went to the kitchen to find herself a scoop, and the next thing she knew, she was elbows-deep in the stuff, stirring . . . 
. . . and kneading . . .
. . . with the peanut gallery yelling out advice on exactly how she should be doing it . . .
I know exactly where to find my kinspeople -- right in the kitchen, surrounding the raw meat.
We were like sharks on seals . . .
. . . it was a fabulous Feeding Frenzy.
