Friday without guests
This Friday we had no plans. No guests, no dinner at someone else's place, no holiday. A regular Friday, the kind you can get through with leftovers. I got back from the store, the kids scattered around the house, and on the counter stood the box my sister had ordered for me.
It had arrived at the beginning of the week, and all I'd managed was to open the lid and say "wow." Olive oil, tahini, honey and a few small jars of spices.
I opened one jar
I opened the jar of za'atar just to smell it. That's all, just a smell. And after that I couldn't go back to leftovers. I put olive oil in a pan, some onion, and slices of chicken with the shawarma blend. At the same time I put vegetables in the oven with a little more olive oil. I stirred tahini with lemon, chopped a small salad and warmed some pitas. It wasn't a recipe. It was just what happened after the first jar.
Fifteen minutes later there was the smell of real cooking in the house, the kind that pulls people down the stairs.
What's the occasion?
My daughter came down halfway through, stopped, and asked: "What's the occasion?"
"Friday," I said.
"But nobody's coming over."
"Exactly," I said. "That's the occasion."
She didn't move. She took a plate and stood next to the pan. A minute later my husband walked in with the exact same question and got the exact same answer. Our youngest didn't ask anything. He just sat down at the table and waited, which he never does.
I didn't get to arrange proper plates, because everyone was already there. I put the pan and the tray in the middle. Someone sprinkled more harissa than he could handle on his plate and said he was fine. He was not fine.
Friday
When everything was gone, my daughter asked quietly: "Mom, next Friday too?"
"Next Friday you're cooking," I said, and she said that was completely unfair.
Later I sent my sister a photo of the empty pan. She answered immediately: "Did you eat? What was the occasion?"
"Friday," I wrote back.
Because Friday night doesn't need an occasion. It is the occasion.