Cairo Kitchen: and a tale of where to eat in Cairo Egypt

I was born in Cairo to a mother who made food only from scratch. Nothing from boxes, nothing from cans, nothing with tiny print on industrial packaging.

just. good. food.

And so when I heard about Cairo Kitchen from friend and author Rawah Badrawi, I thought that perhaps it was the place for me.

I was right.

The restaurant itself is small but charming with a sea of tiling, a beautiful tin ceiling, a terraced seating area, and darling red stools.

But let's talk about the food.  The menu is simple and very reasonably priced.

Everything lovingly prepared in colorful, happy casseroles...

dished out by chefs who seem genuinely pleased to see you....

You can have a lemonade with a splash of rosewater or perhaps a hibiscus juice.

Can food taste cozy?  Apparently, yes....

No wonder some of the clients have a hard time controlling their enthusiasm....

Cairo Kitchen

118, 26th July Street, Entrance on Aziz Osman Street
Zamalek, Cairo, Egypt.

Phone: 0227354000

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Egypt: and tales of walking like an Egyptian

Oh the tales....the many tales I've told about Egypt.....

Yes, that's where I...

Considered a tattoo.

Contemplated faith 

Played with a naughty little boy.

Spent time with a polygamist.

Was bejeweled.

Got lost in the Khan el Khalili.

Was enlightened.

Witnessed intrigue

Drank coffee with Naguib Mahfouz.

Wore gold colored glasses.

Was crowned the Queen of Juice.

Had color therapy.

Skimmed the surface.

Tried to crack a secret code.

Shopped and shopped.

Couldn't get a girl out of my mind

Shared a love story. and...

Had visions of Paradise.

I'm in Egypt now, searching for another tale to tell.

Images from here and here.

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Marrakech: and a tale of a beautiful Moroccan courtyard house (riad) for sale

I met her years ago.  I'm not even sure how.  But I remember thinking light poured from her.  She collected heart stones and was connected to the universe. 

She was (and is) Swedish -- as many beautiful things are.

She had a little and perfect Moroccan vacation home in Marrakech.  I wrote about it here.  Oh. It's now for sale.  Perhaps it should be yours?

It has a courtyard at its center...

with lovely features...

and glamorous light fixtures & nooks in the living & dining room.

The prettiest stairs...

lead up to  just two bedrooms -- each as pure as a Christmas tale (and overlooking the courtyard below).

Amazing & elaborate sculpted crown molding everywhere.  And even...calligraphy!

Further up still....a terrace!

and a private outdoor shower (to complement the 2 full baths inside, of course).

1100 square feet, less than 200,000 dollars.  In the heart of the Marrakech medina.  Perfectly renovated and furnished.  Can we be neighbors?  

If you would like to see it or have more information, drop me a line at moroccanmaryam(at)yahoo.com.

PS Did you know that this darling house is in my book, Marrakesh by Design?  Yes, I love it that much.  A detail shot is even on the book cover!

PPS If you like this blog post, take a peek at my Pinterest boards.  I have one on Moroccan design.

PPPS Did you hear that Marrakech won Africa's leading destination for 2012 in the World Travel Awards? Check it out here.  I am as proud as a Moroccan Auntie. 

Mirleft Morocco: and a birthday tale for my son, Tristan

My husband hadn't wanted to know if we were having a boy or a girl.  And so after the sonogram, the Nepali doctor, his eyes unblinking, had solemnly handed me a little piece of folded paper.  On it in lower case letters was simply written the word, boy.   

I had been brought up by feminist parents.  I was prepared for a girl.  I knew just how I might raise a girl.  But a boy?  Well, that was something altogether different.  Now that was likely to be tricky.  

Tristan was a tiny baby with delicate features.  He didn't have rolls or dimples or pudgy fingers like the other babies.  Seeing my furrowed brow, the doctor had told me to massage his limbs every day to encourage growth.  And I did, with the vigor and determination of a first time mother.  

Tristan grew and grew and grew.  And now he is, well, big.  He woke me up early this morning by whispering in my ear that he was a teenager.  Oh.  

Dear Tristan, Happy Birthday.  May you continue to be kind and funny and brave, and well, sort of amazing. May you continue to set up impromptu chemistry labs to test out your theories (even though they make a mess). May you continue to eschew linear thinking in favor of free association -- like a firecracker display flashing in every direction.  And may you continue to create crazy personas with Southern drawls and gangster attitudes.    

If I could make a special request that you also continue to dance with your mother by the side of the road for absolutely no reason, no reason at all.  

I'm so glad that that folded piece of paper said, boy.  I wouldn't have had it any other way.

PS Images by the very talented Delphine Warin.