At a relatively young age, I discovered my grandmother’s treasures and realized that she was the reigning “queen” of her kitchen, a woman who deservedly managed the family’s economy. For me, the “constant observer” and “first taster,” the arrival of Abu Mahmoud in his traditional attire from Deir Jarir, usually preceded by the smell of Arab smoke, marked the beginning of the fresh white cheese season, which my grandmother would transform into a masterpiece. Meanwhile, Aunt Muhammad’s ascent from Hazma, dressed in her Palestinian dress and white malaya, up the stairs signified the beginning of the fresh butter season. My grandmother would turn the butter into ghee and churned yogurt into white balls of jameed. Aunt Hamad’s presence in her gray dress and black pail meant the arrival of an abundance of figs, prickly pears, and fresh eggs.
