Blog
In my attempt to unravel the mysteries of the world, I turn to writing. At times, I muse about food’s delightful symphony, other moments I embark on new adventures, and occasionally, I weave poetry and short stories yearning to escape the confines of my imagination. There are also times when I confront the world's injustices, particularly those faced by women and people of colour—because surely, rage deserves a place to be heard.
Each month, I’ll share a story, poem, essay, or reflection, inviting you into the vibrant landscape of my thoughts. It’s a true privilege to have you here; so, take a seat, pour yourself a cup of tea, and let me paint a picture with my words.
Comfort food: Ramadan edition
Food is a big part of my life and so is Ramadan. Interestingly enough, it's in this month where I choose to abstain from food that my love for food is illuminated, I reflect on my eating habits, feel gratitude in what I have and remember the wider issues around global food insecurity. The feeling evoked when taking that first bite after fasting is quite euphoric, cathartic even. Somehow the abstinence of food provides me with a clarity of mind and I am able to freely ponder on the many ways I can be more intentional in how I eat, cook, buy and share food.
Growing up in a Somali home in London my mother spent hours showing her love to us through her delicious creations in the kitchen, both traditional, and a fusion of the foods she adopted in her new home in England. While some dishes were inspired by the varied people from the global south who were our neighbours, fellow students, work colleagues, and parents of the children we went to school with. My mother is not only a very skilled intuitive cook but also a creative cook who likes to experiment with different flavours. This is where my love and respect for food was first born.
As the eldest in my household I was entrusted to help in the kitchen and although at the time it was something I resented, I didn’t realise it would serve me well in the future. Our kitchen was like a classroom, character building, a place where I learned the value of ingredients, that one could connect to another culture simply by embracing its food, that you didn’t need measuring instruments but intuition alone could lead you to make the most glorious of dishes. We made cardamom crepes, samosas filled with either tuna or spiced minced beef, and chicken oat barley soup called Shurbad (one of the soups I will share in the coming weeks). We also prepared fresh fruit salad, mandazi, buur (Somali puff-puff) drizzled with honey or dusted with icing sugar, and different types of rice, chapati or anjeero to go with stews depending on the day. Additionally, we made meat suqaar stuffed in Yorkshire pudding (my mother’s Somali-English fusion dish!), and sometimes a slow-cooked ragù sauce with pasta.
There is usually a large spread for Ramadan, both due to the excitement of eating after fasting and because the small window before the fast resumes allows for only two to three meals to be consumed, but we always either shared with our neighbours or saved the leftovers for the next days iftar to ensure no food was wasted. When my siblings were old enough they too joined us in the kitchen and we would at the end of the day sit down to eat with a renewed sense of belonging and kinship. I have always felt that Ramadan is as much about family, community and strengthening bonds as it is a spiritual cleanse and a month of giving (both through the sharing of food and the act of giving charity to those in need).
One of my biggest takeaways from my upbringing is that love is a verb found in the pots of many immigrant mothers who were raised to express their love through their cooking and desire to feed their families, neighbours and community. I am in awe of the generations of people who preserve their history and culture in a single dish, and oftentimes this being the only way to preserve their identity as immigrants in foreign lands.
As an adult and mother myself now I appreciate and feel immense gratitude for all that my mother was trying to teach me in our tiny little kitchen in north west London.
This Ramadan I am inspired to learn and make as many soups for my family as possible, each soup will originate from a different country whose soups I haven’t tried yet. In many countries, soup or broth is the first meal to be eaten by the fasting since it helps to cleanse and settle the stomach after an entire day of fasting, it is also easy to digest, gives a certain level of comfort like a warm embrace to say well done, you did it!
Ramadan Kareem to the 1.8 billion people observing this month and happy soup making to anyone interested in the food, stories and traditions of this vast and beautiful world we call home.
Turkish Bride Soup
This soup is not only delicious but also comes with an intriguing folklore story, perfectly satisfying my love for both storytelling and food.
In a town on the border of Turkey and Syria, a woman named Enzo, having endured two failed marriages, dreamt up this soup in an effort to win over her new mother-in-law. Needless to say, her plan worked brilliantly. Now, in Turkey, brides are traditionally served this soup as a way to wish them good fortune in their marriages. As I prepared the dish, I kept Enzo’s spirit close—her determination to create something that could win over the hearts of even the harshest critics was admirable. Culinary diplomacy at its finest!
I am a sucker for layered flavours and textures, which is what first drew me to this soup. Chef extraordinaire Samin Nosrat, in her book Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat, categorises soups into three types—brothy, chunky, and smooth. This soup manages to incorporate elements of all three, while also being hearty (or fatty!) and acidic.
When I’m in the kitchen, I see myself as a painter—my spoon and knife are my brushes, and my pots and pans are the canvas. After briefly scanning this recipe in the cookbook Ripe Figs, I immersed myself in the process. I carefully chopped the fresh ingredients, noticing how the zestiness of lemon and tomato instantly lifted the flavours. The fragrance of fresh garlic, mint, and dried oregano filled my kitchen with the scents of the Eastern Mediterranean. The crunch of celery and the subtle sweetness of carrots took center stage, all held together by red lentils and bulgur wheat, with butter adding a silky richness. Though I often love shortcuts in cooking, for this dish, fresh ingredients make all the difference. Juicy tomatoes, onions, mint, garlic cloves, carrots, celery, and lemons elevated this soup beyond my expectations.
A fascinating fact—Turkish soups are enjoyed at any time of the day and are commonly served at weddings, funerals, and other celebrations. So really, this soup can be savoured whenever the mood strikes. As I stirred the pot, I recalled a delicious lentil soup I once had at an unassuming Turkish restaurant in Green Lanes—London’s own "Little Turkey." My friend Jess and I would often visit just for their lentil soup. As broke postgraduate students at the time, it was cheap as chips, filling, and absolutely delicious.
Despite its origins, I believe this soup is for anyone who feels homesick or in need of comfort. I can picture a Danish intern in Kenya making this soup to bring warmth to a new city—perhaps omitting the chili flakes! I believe there is a universal language in soup consumption that few other dishes can match.
As I slurped a spoonful, I felt instantly embraced by its life-affirming layers of flavour. Beethoven was onto something when he said, "Only the pure of heart can make a good soup." I wholeheartedly agree. It’s not just about the composition of ingredients—it’s about the genuine interest, appreciation, and love that the cook infuses into the dish. That energy, I believe, is what elevates food beyond mere sustenance.
My husband commented that this is probably the best soup I’ve ever made, and I have to agree. But as an ambitious and curious cook, always searching for ways to improve, I welcome the challenge of making an even better soup next time!
The Greek Chicken Lemon Soup That Has Many Interesting Dimensions!
My son was unwell with a flu last week, and I wanted to make him chicken soup—but something a little different from my usual. While browsing online, I stumbled across a recipe for a Greek soup called Avgolemono. Although it’s widely recognised as Greek, I was intrigued to discover that its origins can be traced back to Spain. It’s believed that Sephardic Jews introduced this soup, also known as Sopa de huevos y limón, to Greece and Turkey when they were expelled from Spain due to the Inquisition.
What sets this soup apart is the use of raw eggs whisked together with lemon juice, lemon zest, and chicken broth. To be honest, I was initially sceptical about adding raw eggs to a soup, something I’d never attempted before. However, following the instructions carefully, particularly regarding temperature control to prevent the eggs from scrambling, eased my concerns. Though I’m British, I must admit that I’ve never particularly enjoyed an "eggy" taste or smell—sunny-side-up eggs are not really my cup of tea! Thankfully, the lemon wonderfully masked any egginess. To my surprise, the soup emerged beautifully creamy, as though I’d added actual cream, and the aroma from the lemon zest and fresh dill was truly delightful. Most recipes suggest adding rice or orzo, but I decided against it that day, as I wanted a more broth-based soup. Using the broth from the boiled chicken itself provided a hearty, rich flavour—exactly what I look for in healing soups like this.
Making this soup sparked my curiosity, and soon I found myself down an anthropological rabbit hole, researching its history. I’ve always loved uncovering the origins of cultural practices and foods—exploring how they’ve travelled, adapted, and been preserved over generations. As part of the Somali diaspora, I deeply appreciate the importance of maintaining aspects of my culture wherever I’ve lived. I remember preparing tripe suqaar and anjeero in Peru so my host family could experience Somali cuisine; similarly, I carry my hawaaji spice mixes and uunsi scents with me to make new places feel like home. This act of migration, taking primarily cultural practices, is common among diaspora communities everywhere. It’s no surprise, therefore, that this soup originated with one of Europe's earliest diaspora communities, who have preserved many soup recipes traditionally enjoyed during significant ceremonies. According to this article, in Turkey, Greece, and the Balkans, this soup is traditionally eaten to break the Yom Kippur fast. I found this particularly fascinating, as I too was enjoying this soup during Ramadan, breaking my fast in my own little corner of the world. The relationship between fasting and the tradition of breaking the fast with soup is an intriguing phenomenon observed across various religions and cultures. This connection reminds me how food, stories, and recipes unite us as human beings first. Considering how divisive the world currently is, it warms my heart to think that by appreciating and enjoying this delicious soup, I’m connected to those who first created it and generously shared it with the world.
For me, the spirit of Ramadan embodies peace, sharing, togetherness, and community, and I choose to honour this spirit through the diversity of the food I eat.
This has easily become one of my favourite chicken soups—I hope you’ll give it a try and enjoy slurping it down as much as I have!
Avgolemono soup.