My father came to Brooklyn from Egypt as an electrician, a trade which is one of the lowest-paid in Egypt. He came looking for a better opportunity and a better life. In Brooklyn, he met my mother while working as an electrician at the diner where my aunt was a waitress.
I had grown up seeing strict gender roles within my immediate family, but my father was almost the opposite. He fell in love with my mother even though he knew their relationship went against his religion and married her knowing our family would not look traditional. My mother had grown up in the Bronx and Brooklyn with a single mother and had rarely experienced home-cooked meals and never learned how to cook. My father was the one to show her his culture through food.
When I was around one, he took cooking classes to learn more, and our home became filled with maqluba, grape leaves, malfoof, and lahma (lamb). These meals were more than recipes. They were how he shared Egypt with us.
After 9/11, my father became a Staten Island ferry boat driver, transporting debris from Manhattan to Staten Island. When he passed away a few years later, the food remained. Maqluba, grape leaves, malfoof, and lahma became pieces of our daily routine. He taught himself to cook so two cultures could meet at our table. Every time I eat those foods, I taste the life he built for us and the love he had for our family. 

– AO

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant